Mexico…Monday

My job today was kitchen duty. I spent the day with Jan Feliciano-Cruz. She has been a missionary in Chiapas for 33 years and is truly a blessing. She lives concern for others, spending her days feeding Americans and caring for her husband, Pablo. She makes remarkable sacrifices for her faith. Life has many rewards as well, but it is not easy and I truly admire her servant’s heart.

I got to watch women and children today. This is a dangerous place to live, horrific by American standards. Construction materials are placed for convenience and accessibility, not safety. Men use their machetes and sometimes lay them on the ground. NO child touched a machete, youngest to oldest. Not one. One lay in the middle of the compound all day. It was like it was not there.

Children play without hovering parents. Often you will see a ten or twelve-year-old with a baby strapped to her back or side. Once during the week I saw a mother warn a child about a danger. One time a child fell and bumped her head...but she was about two and just lost her balance. Children balanced on a stick in the ground next to the deck. Children played ball on the deck and when the ball did escape down the hill, they (literally) ran down the steep hill to rescue it. The 10, 11, and 12 year old boys came the last day to work with us. They were swinging a pick-axe like it was a spaghetti noodle. No one got hurt. No one even came close. They scooped buckets of dirt onto their shoulders and carted them across the slick hillside for dumping. They climbed onto a five foot hill of big rocks, rolled the one they wanted down the pile, worked to get it on someone’s back, and carried it to build the wall.

All the children were strong, agile, sure of themselves, and very much a part of the community. They were very proud when they accomplished a task. These small boys got to eat lunch with the men that day...a reward for working like a man all day.

No question the Mexican world is a dangerous place for children. Common childhood diseases can often result in death for a child in Chiapas. But you had to wonder if the extreme protectionism of the states has resulted in a different kind of disability. I wonder what complete freedom to explore means to the creativity and social interaction of children?  I wonder what it might mean to us to explore our faith journey like these kids explored their world. We can watch our elders, but might be joyfully free to try something new, something different, or something we watch others do well. Mistakes were learning experiences, not failures. I think the joy of trying was most of the fun. Pride in accomplishment, the reward.

Mexico…Sunday

Sabbath...at least for us. Americans lived for one whole day without electronic distraction, the ability to go anywhere by car, or work at our chores or jobs. We sat and talked, played with village children. A few of the kids were invited into a home to watch Mexico play World Cup soccer. Our kids took note of the hospitality. Strangers were welcomed without question. Family members got up out of their seats and gave honored placed to their guests. As I listened to them talk about their experience, I was humbled when I thought about the language that swirls around immigrants here. We label them other, we assign the worst motivations and behaviors, we assume they are out to hurt us and ours in variety of ways...physically, economically, culturally. We must admit, if a bus full of strangers pulled up into our neighborhood, even if planned, we would not be likely to invite the strangers in, even if we knew they would be there for a reason.

We are the first Americans in this village, outside of one person who visited the village in preparation for our trip. I find myself hoping they never watch some of the reporting on immigrants that comes out of America. I find myself, on this issue, mightily glad they speak Tzeltal and will hopefully never be able to fully understand the negative nuance of an American broadcast.

Worship was two hours, we didn't understand the language except at brief points during the service when instructions or the sermon were translated. The kids expressed surprise at themselves that they weren’t bored after an hour. It wasn't spirited worship.  These Protestant worshippers would make our stereotypical picture of John Calvin proud. They are stoic. No smiles. No movement. No apparent joy. Some great (and loud!) Mexican music, hymn tunes we recognized, ones we did not. Everyone sings. They bring their own Bibles and song books to worship. No one sits out because they can't carry a tune or don't sing well. They open their mouths and out pours music. We didn't even slow them down. But little could be identified as boredom-busting.

I wondered what it is that creates the boredom at home. We had no other options here...well I guess we could have sat and looked at the mountains or read a book. But we chose to be with the people. We did not have distractions flitting through our brains, the people we could be with, the Facebook feed we could be checking, the chores that needed to accomplish. We seemed simply in the moment. Perhaps the fact that we weren't waiting for the next thing eliminated the boredom.

The people of the village seemed to have an ability to live in the moment. They certainly had chores to be done. Those were for a different moment. Some had worked early to prepare soup and tortillas for us and the visiting elders and pastor for after worship. When worship was finished, they set the table and served the meal. There was no rush, no worry about what things looked like or whether we would be impressed. Meal was gift, hospitality, offering. Community was blessing.

Others sat with friends and family. You eat in shifts in Mexico. People watch, but don't covet. Their turn comes. All are fed. The soup was simple, a slightly spicy broth with greens and one small piece of chicken or beef. Tortillas. And it was enough. More than enough. We were filled.

Another observation around the meal. As we waited for worship after breakfast, we saw the chickens caught, scalded, plucked, and cooked. Corn is soaked overnight, ground into paste, shaped into tortillas then cooked over a wood fire. Dishes are washed on a table and flat rock. (Pics at the bottom.) The food scrap goes down the hill where it becomes feast for chickens. Clothes are washed on this rock. I would be challenged to survive. From growing food in the nooks and crannies of the village to knowing how to build the fire, I would need to be taught. Our health and welfare depended on the hospitality of these strangers. It simply begs the question, why do we, who have so much, show so little hospitality. (And I'm not talking about "having parties" hospitality, I'm talking about "inviting people into our lives" hospitality.) Why are we afraid we have something to lose if others gain? From questions of living wage to immigration, that seems to be a sticking point…the assumption there is not enough to go around and that we must have more than we need to be secure.

I've been reading a book this week on community. Peter Block's premise is that until and unless we rebuild our community--local, state, national--we won't solve the problems that plague us. He challenges us with the idea that people choose to live in a "retributive" society or a "restorative" society. Retributive societies are “based on a culture of fear, fault finding, fragmentation, and worrying more about taxes than compassion; it is more about being right than working something out, more about gerrymandering for our own interests than giving voice to those on the margin.” (Community: TheStructure of Belonging, p. 45)

Restorative community "comes from the choice to value possibility and relatedness over problems, self-interest and the rest of the stuck community's agenda." In essence, we treat each other as fully interrelated, fully human beings...no labels, no finger pointing, no fixing the other before our own lives can be good. Transformation and healing begins with our individual choice to live in deep, hospitable community. Every person is my neighbor. Transformation cannot begin in a program or institution and is dependent on each individual’s willingness to act without expecting anything in return.

The folk of Chiapas aren't perfect. They often treat each other as badly as we do. The Indians we are visiting are the lowest of the low in Mexican society. The gift of hospitality we’ve experienced is a momentary glimpse of God's kingdom, a brief experience of unconditional grace being given. For me, those moments create a longing for more, a hunger for the re-creation of life together on this planet.

Not all of us are called to go as far as Chiapas. All of us are called by God into restorative community. We don't have to travel for 17 hours to find a stranger. We see them every day. Often they live next door, shop with us in the grocery each week, or worship with us at the other end of the pew. I think today’s invitation is to let go of our fear and suspicion of “other” and embrace their identity as child of God.

Table for food preparation

Flat rock and bucket for dishwashing and clothes washing.
The women squat at the bucket to wash dishes.

Food runs off the rock onto the steep hill.
Chickens act as garbage disposals.

The church...

The chicken soup...

Tortillas….

Mexico Saturday...

The sun rises in the Chiapas mountains about 6:30 central time. At home, it is quiet until the birds begin to chirp outside my window at sunrise. New York City has nothing on this little village for noise. Roosters crow all. Night. Long. They assert their "roosterhood with" great insistence...I wonder what the hens, tired from a long day of foraging and laying eggs, think of them. I know we are thinking rooster stew.

Travel was long and mostly uneventful. A couple of bags were checked in Mexico City without tags...that was the first miracle of the week...they arrived in the right place at the right time. Mexican airlines make the chaos of American travel look organized and pleasant, though  Mexican planes win the prize for comfort.

The trip to the village from the airport gave us all a formula one racing experience. Ascending the mountain, we passed through villages built along the side of the road. Literally. The houses are within 10 feet of the road. The villages build concrete speed bumps, topes, that insist you slow down or destroy the undercarriage of your car.  We followed a car with no brake lights for a good twenty miles toward the top of the mountain. Brake lights are important, y'all. Finally, after coming within inches of his tailpipe, we managed to pass and move on. 

Everyone in the village was out to meet us at 10 when we moaned ourselves out of our vehicles  and tried to loosen muscles long since embedded in the seated position. We were the first Americans this village had seen. We were tired, wind-blown, and gimpy. Not telling what their first impressions of us were. We pretty quickly made our way to sleeping quarters (do not picture the Holiday Inn), and pretty much passed out as soon as we managed to find toothbrushes and pajamas. Two insights there. One: women of a certain age and responsibility who need to get up often to shhhhhhh or peeeeeee should never sleep in these camping bags with no zipper. A hidden camera in the room last night would have yielded much hilarity. Two: earplugs are a gift from heaven.

(This is the view from the bedroom window…)

What's the Question?

Yet another response article to the GA suggests that PC(USA) seminaries will be hurt because of the decisions made by the General Assembly. The focus is different, but the question is the same as all the other articles: "How many will leave?" How many congregations will leave? How many individuals will leave? How many will leave?

And we wring our hands and fret because we don't know "how many will leave." We think we know that it will be bad.

"How many will leave?" is certainly a question. It is not the question. It is a question that walks us down a path of futility and despair even when nothing has happened yet. It is "borrowing trouble" to use my grandmother's phrase. Not only do we borrow, but we pay interest on trouble that is already happening, may not happen, or cannot be stopped at any price. We have fretted over this question for the last 30 years. Our worry has not stopped people leaving our churches.

The question is "How many will come?" How many of the displaced, the unloved, the outcasts in religion or society will hear in this new action, God's invitation to inclusion. How many will come in? Once the gentile population understood that God's love and transforming work was for them and not just for the Jews, the world changed. Ironically, we who are deciding whether to leave or not would not be here had God not flung the doors of inclusiveness wide open for all people, all nations.

I am saddened by those leaving, those who have already gone, and those who will depart. But the question I ask, what I am really interested in, what I eagerly await to see is who will come in. Who will be included? Who will bring new insight into the practice of faith in 2014 and beyond? What understanding will be gained in new conversations and new relationships? What grace will become evident that we couldn't see before?

I'm not spending much time thinking about the question everyone is asking, just long enough to think it's a bad question. I'm spending much time thinking about how to invite those not involved, those who think they are not welcome, those who assume there's a secret code of behavior that they have to know before they enter our doors, those who need to know that I have experienced grace beyond measure and that grace is theirs as well.

I've been taught that one way we evaluate our decisions and behavior is by seeing if we produce the fruit of the Spirit, peace, love, joy, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. To see if we achieve that, the only question is, "Who is coming in?"

A Vote for Change and Trust in the Sovereign God...

Many Presbyterians considered yesterday a momentous occasion when the General Assembly of the PC(USA) voted on an Authoritative Interpretation that allows clergy to marry same gender couples in states where that is legal. They also voted to change the definition of marriage in the Book of Order from between "a man and woman" to "between two people." That will go to presbyteries for a necessary two-thirds ratification vote before it "sticks."

Many, many folks celebrated yesterday. Many did not. My discernment on this issue began some 30 years ago when my sister came out. Life was extraordinarily difficult for her. The question I remember her asking was, "Why would I choose to live this way?" Reading the gospels and studying the life of Christ, I decided if I was going to make a mistake, I was going to err on the side of inclusion and acceptance. Mark Achtemeier's speech to the Covenant Network beautifully articulates more of my journey as well.

Honestly, I am excited that we as a denomination have discerned a move toward full acceptance and inclusion. I also recognize the anguish on the other side because I have been on the "losing side" for the last 30 years. 

Where we still are together is centered in the providence of God, trusting in the sovereignty of God. That is a central part of our Presbyterian heritage. Again and again, when my children would ask why I didn't leave the church, I replied that I would forever work for what I saw as God's will, but that I would trust that God was working harder than I was, and I would be patient for God's time.

I still trust that sovereignty with my whole heart, with my whole life. Today I celebrate with the sure knowledge that if we are wrong God will correct us. Perhaps this is the correction. I know what I think, but my sure hope is not the decision of the PC(USA) or the even the "win" as "proof" of right thinking. 

My sure hope is in the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God and the communion of the Holy Spirit. My hope is in the Triune God who creates, rules, sustains, redeems, reconciles, and transforms all things and all people.  Thanks be to our God who constantly works on us and in us so that we might understand what God wants us to be and do.

Letter to a Dying church?...

Sojourners Magazine is running a series called "Letters to a Dying Church." The primary assumption seems to be that there is little to no hope for the institutional church. "Hopeful" letters speak of resurrection and some purpose in dying. One letter accurately reminds us that what is happening in the "west" is not true of the rest of the world. Of course, I have an opinion. So IMHO…a letter.

To the Church of Jesus Christ,

Many have pronounced you dying; some have pronounced you dead. Most see no hope. Many have deserted you in the name of seeking "life." And some are still a part of you, participants in the "institution" who are dismissed by many as foolish or deluded…or simply crazy because they continue to participate in a lost cause, to beat a dead horse, to cling to hope when all hope is gone.

Dear Church…here's the thing. Your fate is not ours to determine. You belong to the Triune God, the Alpha and Omega. Jesus Christ is your head. The Spirit courses through your veins. Creation is and always will be yours until the Lord God dwells among his people and there is no more need for you. 

I wonder, often, what the criteria is for pronouncing you dead or dying. Is is numbers? Is it wealth? Power in our political system? Respect by the "secular" rulers or powers? Profit? Relevance? How do we judge that you are dying?

Yes, here's the thing. Your fate is not ours to determine. Ours is an invitation to participate with God as God creates, redeems, rules, reconciles and transforms all things and all people. It's a magnificent invitation. It is not a promise for particular outcomes. The invitation is just that. We are not planning the event, nor are we to determine what is "successful" at a particular place and time. We are called to be part of the Body, called to be active in a congregation. We are called to prayer and discernment, not judgment and determination of how things "should be." 

I've been in some churches in which I struggle to see the Spirit at work. I've been in others that seem full to overflowing with Spirit. I've learned to be skeptical of my opinions. Often the "Spirit" I see is a reflection of my preferences and comfort. Often the struggle is my lack of imagination and connection. Do we, as your hands and feet, toes and fingers, have work to do to be more faithful to you, more open to the work of the Spirit in our midst, more able to witness to the steadfast love and grace given to us? You bet we do. But does our work determine your health. I don't think so. 

Dear Church…here's the thing. Your fate is not ours to determine. Individual congregations come and go. We are, after all, human. No congregation is immortal. No congregation immune to the human frailty that moves us through life to death. But our hope is not in our ability to be the oldest living congregation. Our hope is not in our ability or our definition of your success. Our hope is in the God who established you, who sustains you, and who will inspire and guide you in good times and bad, in health and in struggle, in life and in death.

I am grateful, Dear Church, that you are not mine to control. I am grateful that your fate is not mine to determine. I am grateful that I can trust that the sovereign God who created you and gave you as a gift to our people is working even now to bring about good, to work good when we manage to create chaos, to bring new life and health and wholeness to us and all creation. And I am so grateful to be invited to participate.

You have been pronounced dead and dying before, you will be again. In the meantime, I give thanks for the witness you provide, for the nurture that is promised, for the guidance that is gifted. I am grateful for your saints that have gone before, for my time to work for the Kingdom, and for those who will continue the Kingdom's work long after we are gone. 

A humble servant of God... 

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The Myth by Which We Die...

Confession. Instead of reading great literature in the evening, or painting great works or art, or even vacuuming the floor, I've been watching this pretty ridiculous "drama" about women who work a ranch in Australia. It gives me a good fix of the farm life. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't last a day, but the fantasy is that I would. At the very least, I would love chickens in my back yard. I also like the idea of working outside all day and then being able to eat real food with no guilt. Sitting in my office chair really doesn't open that door.

I know it's not all real, though the beautiful women who star in this show actually get filthy dirty. They don't manage to do the farm work and stay clean and well-coiffed as many shows portray. They do, however, manage to do hard labor all day, then cook themselves dinner and sit and enjoy it like they didn't wish with their whole beings for a bed and some sleep. The house also cleans itself now. They did have a woman whose role was house upkeep, but she left to become a scholar and now the house magically cares for itself. I would pay good money for a house like that.

I know I've written on this before, but this show (made between 2001 and 2008) is again this "don't help me"… "don't share what's going on in my life with anyone"… "don't tell the truth"… "I have to do it myself or it's not valid."

PEOPLE!  We need each other. We don't do anything on our own. Our relationships are healthier if we communicate with each other. We cannot succeed at anything if we try and do everything alone. 

Yes. That's what I yell at the TV. Really. I talk to them because they are so stupid. It's a bit scary.

Does anyone else think this way of life is crazy? Does everyone else in the world think it is normal and right to work so hard to isolate from all those around us unless we are perfect and perfectly competent and perfectly in control. Because if that is normal, you'll never see me again.

OK. Periodically on an episode we "realize" that our friends have our backs and it's good to ask for help and there are tears all around and we celebrate. But they never learn. The craziness starts again the very next episode.

So, I'm not sure what the moral of the story is…probably don't watch soap opera drama. But I do know this, living without relationships is not living at all. It's death. Being independent is not a cause to celebrate, it's the cause of loneliness and fear. "Doing it myself," "making my own decisions," "handling it alone,"…it's not the successful measure by which we live.

It's the myth by which we die.

Guvment Meetin' Prayuh...

A meeting of the Chicago City Council
from the Chicago Tribune.

Today the Supreme Court ruled that prayer before government
meetings was to be continued…even if
the prayers were predominantly Christian. They lend a sense of "gravitas" says one justice. My colleague, Joe, says basically they made prayer the jewelry of Lady Justice. I believe it is faux jewelry at that.

I think the world of faith, regardless of the religion or denomination should refuse to ever pray at a guvment meeting' EVER…period! 

The reduction of the practice of prayer to "lending gravitas" is a frightening emasculation of a profound practice. In the name of preserving faith, the court has, in fact, removed all semblance of real faith and practice. A prayer is not a decoration or a means to quiet the crowd so they don't miss any of the politician's rhetoric.

A prayer is a powerful, subversive force to bring us closer to the Kingdom of God (at least for those of us who practice the Christian and Jewish faith traditions).

Let the prayers continue. Let Lady Justice find her own cheap jewelry.

Reality and Easter Reality...

Trouble has been stirred by the new Noah movie. I haven't seen it yet. The trouble seems to stem from a portrayal of a gritty, certainly angst-ridden man instructed to build an ark. God is at work to save humankind.

The dumbest comment I have heard--and I thought about trying to soften the "dumb" but really, it was just dumb--is a female news anchor remembering the story from the children's Bible she read (as a child) where all the stories had happy endings. And children's Bibles tend to do that. We don't typically tell our children the story of the slaughter of the innocents after Jesus was born. Four year olds aren't ready to process that. Sometimes 40 year olds aren't either. From what I am hearing about the Noah movie, some adults aren't ready to process the reality of the text either.

The reality of the text is one of my favorite things. After the Easter celebrations in which every church puts on their finest clothes and music and resurrection joy, we return to lives that often are all too real. We hear and speak promises that God has defeated evil, has won the victory over death…and we still face the realities of death and evil in every part of our lives.

So if we read stories of a perfect Noah, the righteousness that got him attention, that enabled him to do the job God asked of him…and then if he is nothing but perfect, how do we understand the story? I might can sustain the obedience of righteousness until I can finish a task that God assigns, but I am more likely to slip, to forget the source of my hope, my sustenance, my focus. If the Noah story is about a perfect man, the guy who never fails, who always does the right thing, who lives the "happy ending," then what have I to learn? The story becomes about Noah, a man who I can never emulate, a man who lived a different reality than do I. Instead, the story is about God and God's work…and the moments of righteousness (obedience to God) that inspire our own obedience, perhaps. Certainly righteousness/obedience is not easy, especially if you are fully human and not some children's-Bible-cartoon character. (Though perfectly good for children!)

Regardless of what the sin will be once the ark comes to rest, there will be sin. Noah is not saved because of his ability to be sinless. Noah is saved because God's work is the redemption of humankind.  Noah "comes home" to the same brokenness that God tried to wash away in the flood. Truth is, no matter how much we want it, we cannot escape the brokenness that surrounds us. We cannot wash it away. We cannot simply "get rid" of the broken "others" who mess things up for us (or so we would like to think).

Reality is, we continue to sin. Easter reality is God doesn't give up on us. Even in those moments deemed righteous, those moments of our finest and best, God knows who we are and remarkably, miraculously, loves us unconditionally, warts and all. Easter reality is God providing a righteousness that is dependable, the righteousness that never fails, the righteousness that is ours because we live in the body of Christ. Somehow in the mystery of God's work, we live "in Christ" and he in us.

There is no storybook "happy ending" in scripture. Even Jesus' resurrection is a series of brief, joyful appearances and then life goes back to reality. But the reality has been changed. The resurrected Jesus brings an invitation to live into and out of God's reality, that we really have nothing to fear, that nothing can separate us from God's love, not even ourselves. So now we can live in our "reality," our brokenness knowing that God's love wins…always…forever. Someday we will have the ultimate happy ending here on earth. Until then…living obedient lives out of an Easter reality just might change the world!

Easter Again...

So here's the thing. I believe it. Actually, the better wording is that I trust the good news of this Easter resurrection thing.

"Believe" is a head thing. What you think about something. If I think about resurrection too much I struggle. I do have a quite capable brain and am thoroughly immersed in the enlightenment investment in scientific methods.

But with every fiber of my being, I trust this resurrection thing. I have experienced God's ability to bring life from death, to call out new life where nothing existed before. And I am amazed and grateful that God invites me into God's work of transformation and reconciliation. I am so completely human that it boggles the mind that God thinks I have something to offer.  But I experience those moments of grace and see the healing and I hold out Easter hope for the world.

I trust this Easter resurrection thing. I will sing my heart out and lift my prayers because this trust gives meaning and focus and hope to a world that too often and too completely spins out of control.

All this is wrapped up in that phrase we wear out in the Easter season:

He is risen. The Lord is risen, indeed!

To-Doing Holy Week...

Wonder what Jesus would have thought if he had known how Holy Week would morph over a couple thousand years. One church my husband served had a mini-revival beginning on Palm Sunday. So you had evening and breakfast events Sunday through Wednesday, plus the pastor had to entertain the guest speaker. Oh yeah, and still prepare the Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter sermons. I always said (in my nicest preacher's wife annoying way) that I though that church put their preachers in the tomb for the week to see if killing him resulted in a funeral or a resurrection.

Wonder if Jesus could do anything more than put one foot in front of the other during his last week, "left foot, right foot, breathe" as Anne LaMotte says. When life…or death…comes at you that fast, I'm not sure you have the ability to reflect. Today, I pray for families in South Korea. The sinking of a ferry carrying 300, with most of those being high school students on a school trip, is devastating. I wonder how you even put one foot in front of the other in light of that event.

Sometimes I wonder instead of making Easter Sunday the celebration day with the new dresses and family dinners and congregational decorations…what would happen if we met on Easter like the women at the tomb. They didn't know to wear their new dresses. They were still trying to breathe. What would happen if we just showed up after a slow week of contemplating death and suffering; of confessing our own complicity in the sin that took Jesus' life, that takes our own lives a little every day. What if we just showed up in our regular clothes and listened to the good news of the gospel, that new life is possible. What if we, undistracted by the to-do list, were able to really hear the reality of the promise of new life and transformation.

Hearing that promise, being surprised by the possibility, glimpsing the kingdom…that is worthy of celebration. That is when we might buy the new dress. That is when we might invite friends and family over for the renewal of community. Then as we continue to live into the Easter reality all through the season, more and more signs of new life might arise…

I guess I hope our focus on the celebration doesn't eclipse the good news that will be ours. 

He is risen…

The Lord is risen, indeed!

Holy Week...

Palm Sunday begins Holy Week. It's the consistent lament of church professionals that we have to pack Palm Sunday and Passion all together because few people will come out for the darker services of Mandy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday.

Today my hot water heater stopped working. Cold water showers are horrible, to be avoided at all costs. I just thought today as I showered at my daughter's, we are mighty lucky that we can avoid the horrible. Many people can't. There are people tonight who have to face the sudden unexpected death of loved ones, people who live and serve in dangerous places, people who don't have enough to eat.

I wonder if the discipline of Holy Week is a necessary reminder that the world doesn't always have an abundance of hot water. I promise I will appreciate my hot shower when it comes back. Perhaps it is in the journey through the darkness and the pain, the hopelessness and the evil that is our companion in this life that we can truly appreciate the resurrection, the promise of new life.

Daily...

Some life events define us. We know immediately what they are. We can describe them in detail. We know how we were changed.

Today, I wonder about between the life events. We are defined there, too. Get up, go to work, be with other people, perhaps read or watch TV, go to bed. Perhaps this between time shapes us even more than the big events. The habits and perspectives we develop in the between shape our responses to the events.

I'm going to try and be more aware of daily practices that inevitably shape who I am. I'm not going to change anything now. Just see how I'm being defined in the footsteps of the mundane.

The Children...

A friend who became  father yesterday mused on his child's nursery and posted picture of children's rooms from all over the world.

I wonder how we are defined when some children in this world live in extraordinary poverty and others have more than they could ever want. More importantly, I wonder how we are defined if we justify that inequity or ignore it.

The birth of a child suddenly and completely redefines us. We know that beyond doubt.

God's love and mercy redefine us too…though for most of us it't a slower, more incremental process. Once we recognize we are re-defined, perhaps we are inspired to live in a way that might re-define the world. The children are depending on us...

Joy...

Holy Week approaches. The story fascinates me. I suppose it always has. As long as I can remember (that's getting longer all the time), I have been curious about what Jesus thought and felt during that week. I had a hard time buying one of the common explanations of dealing with the tragedy of Holy Week--that Jesus knew he was God and knew the outcome of the week…therefore he was willing to go through the death. If Jesus was fully human, he couldn't have known the outcome. We don't know the future except in nebulous ways…like trusting in the sovereignty of God.

So what enabled his willingness to put himself in danger, danger he pretty clearly knew existed in Jerusalem?

I was reading The Longing for Home: Reflections at Midlife by Frederick Buechner. He describes a moment at Sea World (surprising) when the killer whales came out in "one great, jubilant dance of unimaginable beauty." Tears filled his eyes and, he found out later, the eyes of his family members.

That led him to a conversation about joy. In a "tourist trap" in Florida he says "there is joy unimaginable." And his words are beautiful and significant as we approach Holy Week:

The world does bad things to us all, and we do bad things to the world and to each other and maybe most of all to ourselves, but in that dazzle of bright water as the glittering whales hurled themselves into the sun, I believe what we saw was that joy is what we belong to. Joy is home, and I believe the tears that came to our eyes were more than anything else homesick tears. God created us in joy and created us for joy, and in the long run not all the darkness there is in the world and in ourselves can separate us finally from that joy, because whatever else it means to say that God created us in his image, I think it means that even when we cannot believe in him, even when we feel most spiritually bankrupt and deserted by him, his mark is deep within us. We have God's joy in our blood.

I believe joy is what our tears were all about and what our faith is all about too. Not happiness. Happiness comes when things are going our way, which makes it only a forerunner to the unhappiness that inevitably follows when things stop going our way, as in the end they will stop for all of us. Joy, on the other hand, does not come because something is happening or not happening but every once in a while rises up out of simply being alive, of being part of the terror as well as the fathomless richness of the world that God has made. When Jesus was eating his last meal with his friend, knowing that his death was only a few hours away, he was in no sense happy, nor did he offer his friends happiness any more than he offers happiness to you and me. What he offers is more precious than happiness because it is beyond the world's power either to give or take away. "These things have I spoken to you," he said, "that my joy may be in you"--joy, as poignant as grief, that brings tears to the eyes as it did to mine that afternoon in the crowded bleachers.

Perhaps that is the power that gets Jesus through the last week of his life. That's why some people with terminal disease exhibit a peace and trust that takes our breath away and makes us wish we could be them for a moment. There are those who serve in areas of intense suffering and describe the miracle of intense joy they experience.

It rings true to me. Joy is home. "God created us in joy and created us for joy, and in the long run not all the darkness there is in the world and in ourselves can separate us finally from that joy…"

It's a nice way to be defined, don't you think?

 

Questions...

A series of interesting questions for the Lenten definition of self…

(Thank you T.S. Eliot…choruses from "The Rock"…and it seems appropriate for National Poetry Month.)

Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word
Where is the life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

Dry Bones...

We drove past a dying church last weekend and yesterday's text was on the valley of dry bones. And this happened…

The LORD's power overcame me, and he led me out and set me down in the middle of a church parking lot in a certain neighborhood. The church was full of bones. He led me all around the church; there were very many bones in classrooms, in the sanctuary, in the kitchen and the fellowship hall…and they were very, very dry.

The Lord asked me, "Human one, can these bones live again?"

I said, "LORD God, only you know."

He said to me, Prophesy over these bones and say to them, Dry bones, hear the LORD's word! The Lord God proclaims to these bones: I am about to put breath in you, and you will live again. I will put sinews on you, place flesh on you, and cover you with skin. When I put breath in you, and you come to life, you will know that I am the LORD."

I told them what the LORD had in mind, just as I was commanded. There was great noise as I was prophesying, then great quaking, and the bones came together, bone by bone. When I looked, suddenly there were sinews on them. The flesh appeared, and then they were covered over with skin. 

And then the trouble started. 

Wait…you're not one of us. Who put your bones in our church? Bones of your type should be coming together in the church up the street. 

Look at this…this skin color is just not right. We planned this church around the lovely colors available to us at its inception…yeah, we know that was 40 years ago, but Sherwin Williams can match colors now, you know. There's no need to start fresh. And, besides, nothing matches. Look at this mess. It's like the LORD just threw together leftover skin from all over the place. Nothing goes together. It doesn't look like it used to. How are we supposed to function if it doesn't look like it used to?

Why couldn't the LORD have put the skin on first, then filled in with the sinew. That's private business. What sinews I have are between me and God, not the business of other folks. Having seen the muscle I've got, now people have all kinds of expectations about what I can do. I was content just coming and worshipping on the back pew. Now people keep asking for participation. 

The flesh had certainly appeared, and they were covered with skin, but the LORD saw there was no breath in them…and actually, the LORD God clarified…there was plenty of hot air, but no pneuma…no spirit…no breath of life…

The LORD said to me, "Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, human one! Say to the breath, The LORD God proclaims: Come from the four winds, breath! Breathe into these dead bodies and let them live."

The LORD God was no dummy. Human one, these bones…say "Our bones are dried up, and our hope has perished. We are completely finished." 

But the LORD proclaimed: I'm opening your graves! I will raise you up from your graves, my people, and I will bring you to fertile land. Lotta new people in your neighborhood who need to hear your witness of good news! You will know that I am LORD…I will put my breath/spirit in you and you will live!

Will those bones live? God only knows. Certainly we can choose to stay in the graves we have dug. But I can tell you this. I'm listening and breathing as deeply as possible of the breath God is pouring out in all times and places. I want to see the dry bones covered and raised up…dancing and singing and proclaiming that the LORD has done it!

 

Resurrection Sunday...

Mini Holy Week, I suppose. Last post on Thursday…absence Friday and Saturday. Resurrection Sunday! I only wish I was a profound as the real resurrection. Maybe…

Seems more crazy than profound. You have women visiting the tomb, carrying with them spices and oils with which to anoint the body of Jesus, and Jesus is gone. Mark has them running in fear from the tomb (original ending…that's all folks). Women crying in gardens, then seeing angels…oh no, it's Jesus!

Walks with Jesus on the road to Emmaus…breaking bread and recognition! Breakfast on the beach.

Who'd believe any of this.

But it's Sunday and after days of business and distraction, the miracle beckons. I think not having to explain the unexplainable is one of the gifts of Sabbath…

Dear God...

I was cleaning out…"redefining my office" if you will. Found a beautiful prayer that absolutely defines who we are and who God is. I am only sorry that I no longer have the author…

Dear God, we confess that often we find your unrelenting presence tiresome. It is so hard to live seemingly caught between what it seems you want us to be and what we know we are. Help us to realize that our very pretensions of unworthiness are unworthy. Make us glad to be your people, gathered into your church, celebrating the victory that is ours. Amen.

Self-denial...

I listened to a man talk about the Lenten season this morning. He does a bracket with saints and people vote their favorites. He described Lent as a season of "self-denial." Aaaannnndddd that got me thinking for today…

We don't do self-denial well in this culture. We want what we want, when we want it. We hate to wait.
When we practice self-denial during Lent, we focus far more on what we give up than on the God for whom we give things up.

What is the value of self-denial? Should we learn to accept "no" or "not now?" Is there value in denying our immediate wants? What do we gain by "losing?"

I do think we tend to self-define by what we have or can get. How do we re-define by what we don't get or by what we give up?

Today I seem to have questions but no answers. So I will give up answers for Lent today. Maybe tomorrow I'll figure more things out…

We Get What We Are...

I work with children, youth and young adults and I can tell you how their parents solve problems, deal with conflict, overcome obstacles, decide on consequences for misbehavior. I've not been in their homes, but you can see the patterns in the kids. You can see them in my kids, too. Not one of us is immune.

An headline in the New York Times this morning speaks of the patterns that are us, "An 8th Grader, a Gun and a Bystander." The paper tells a tragic story of teenage turf wars, an eighth grader who looks grown who listened carefully to his cultural patterns that guns solve problems, and an innocent bus traveler in the wrong place in the wrong time.

Note: someone will now be offended. I appreciate our right to own guns, but I think the conversations that try to frighten us into maintaining that right and assuming it is God-given in all times and places seeps deeply into the minds of children who do not yet have fully developed brains. If someone is trying to hurt you, or saying they will, the problem solving functions that 1) are weak because they are young and 2) are weak because they operate out of fear fail to work in the ways they should.

Guns solve problems in our movies and TV shows. We see people acquitted of shooting other people when the reason is "self-defense." The first move of this 8th grader was not to seek out his parents help, the support of a faith community (don't even know if he had one), the guidance of a trusted teacher or school official, or even the police. He just bought a gun.

Chew on that. An 8th grader bought a gun to solve his problem.

I've had four eighth grade children. They are bright, educated, well-supported, and not ONE of them had the sense to make a decision with a gun in the 8th grade.

So several lives are destroyed. Certainly the man who lost his life to the poorly aimed gun. The child now charged with murder. The children who will assume they need guns to protect themselves from each other beginning yesterday. The society who must now spend its tax-payer dollars to house a prisoner instead of educate a bright, promising student. Parents, grandparents, siblings, and friends of all those involved.

Again and again in parenting circles we are told, "You get who you are." Extrapolate. We get, as a culture, who we are. Our intense individualism, our assumptions that other's problems are not our problems, our dismissal of tragedy as not our problem, our glorification of violence, all these cultivate the culture that results in an 8th grader, a gun, and a bystander.

Who are we? Read the headlines as your Lenten practice today. Reject the assumption that negative headlines are "someone else." Consider who we are by what we get.

Pray for forgiveness, reconciliation, redemption, and transformation.

Journey...

I learned a bit about walking a labyrinth today. I have the privilege this summer of mentoring some new seminary students, students whose lives have taken a turn in a very different direction.

The point was made that, unlike a maze, a labyrinth has no dead ends, no wrong turns. This spiritual journey walk always moves forward. It twists and turns, but always moves forward. Sometimes it seems like you walk back where you've been before, but you in a different place. You continue to cover new ground.

It's an interesting practice, walking with each other on this journey. Were about halfway through Lent. We might consider where we've been, with whom we have the privilege to walk, and where we might be going...perhaps slowly, but going nevertheless.

Tell Me the Story...

Listening to The Moth, a storytelling series on NPR on a drive to Richmond this afternoon. A pastor told a great story of what we like to call the "baby preacher" days…those last days of seminary. He pastored three tiny churches and was preparing for his big Easter sermon.

Anyway, there was a youth event at one church and one of the kids got left behind and had to be taken home. Travel "home" was out into nowhere land. He dropped the kid off, started home, and ran out of gas.

He walked for miles "toward the light"…guess that in itself could be theological…but it turned out to be a roadhouse/bar/poolroom. He went in, looked among the bikers for a friendly face, found himself playing a game of pool, winning a game of pool, and then explaining he had run out of gas and needed to get home to rest before Easter.

And then came the question. One of the bikers said, "What is Easter anyway?" He had never been to church, never heard the story, never known anything but the chicks and candy in the big box store.

And while the pastor finished his story, I thought, "Wow. Could I tell the story to someone who had never heard it before?"

It dawned on me how much I depend on familiarity with the story before I even start. It's a crazy story. Could I tell it in a way that made any kind of sense at all to someone who hadn't a clue?

That's the Lenten challenge of the day. In preparation for Easter, can we tell the story to someone who has never before heard the story?

Ready…go...

Good-bye...

Saturdays are for good-byes. Good-bye to the weekend…Sunday starts the workweek. Good-bye to my husband who returns to Roanoke where he serves as an interim pastor. Good-bye to the dog who, at least this week, goes with him. Good-bye to good intentions of finishing massive amounts of household chores that didn't happen.

Good-byes lead to hellos, though. We can't start a new week until the old one is gone. We can't celebrate homecomings until someone leaves and comes back. One theory on the origin of Lent was the preparation of new converts for baptism on Easter Day. They gave up an old way of life for a new Way. Some would be martyred. Some would lose friends and family. Some would be accepted into new community and would end their loneliness or trouble. While we don't know for sure, I would guess they experienced life in discipleship the same ways we do. But to become disciples, they had to be ready to say good-bye to a former way of life and live in a new way.

Some good-byes are easy; some are hard. Some we expect; some we don't. But to live into the promise of new life brought by Easter, we must be willing to say good-bye. That may be the task of Lent this day…cause a new week starts tomorrow.

Baggy Pants…(yeah, you read it right)

A local city has taken action to solve a problem. No longer will saggy pants be allowed on city busses. The waistband of said pants must be no more than three inches below the waist. If they hang lower, they must be pulled up while on the bus. If the passenger refuses, they may not ride any city bus for the remainder of the day.

My relief is overwhelming. All our problems will now be solved.

Perhaps the season of Lent should be a time to discover the real issues of sin and brokenness and work toward reconciliation and healing.

We have time and space to do that now that the baggy pants issue has been solved.

Re-Defined...

Missed a day…but in my defense, I was being re-defined. First, a permanent crown. My husband says I should think of it as my coronation for "ruler of the world." I think it is just a bit of hell on earth. Whatever it is…I am crowned.

I am also now the parent of an engaged child. That happened last night. So we have a son-in-law to be, and a set of "new family" that redefines who we are.

You'd think at our age (which, of course, isn't far from 32 ish), we'd be pretty completely defined. After so many years, you'd think we would move toward completion. Not true. Every day is a new variable, a new experience, a new way of being. Every day we are re-defined.

Our Lenten hope, our Lenten journey, is our plea to the God who loves us to insure that our re-definitions move us toward God's will, God's kingdom, God's redemption for the whole creation.

Not many of us like this redefinition process. We'd often just like a bit of a break from the constant change (great oxymoron…constant change…). But if we have to be re-defined, let's do it toward health and wholeness and peace for creation.

For me, that means more sons and daughters in law and fewer crowns…OK?

Self-definition...

Self-definition. I am a pastor's spouse. 30 years today. We probably should have had a celebration of that ordination day. We made the mistake of having children, however. Mostly what I remember about that day is fitting into a real dress. Figuring out how to strategically nurse my three week old son. Being really proud of my husband, though I didn't truly understand the significance of the event.

I am almost a pastor. Now I understand the significance of the day. I also understand the significance of the gifts my husband brings to ministry. He shaped my life and faith journey.

The journey of preparation doesn't happen only in Lent. We are shaped our whole lives for the vocation God has given us. Whether we are pastors or plumbers, we are people of faith. We are defined first by God's love. Lent gives us the gift of becoming aware of how and by whom we are defined.

Redefining the Questions...

Great sermon yesterday on the story of the Samaritan woman at the well. She came to get water at midday because she was ostracized by the community. They didn't approve of her lifestyle. Bad choices all the way around. So because she was guilty and they were either mean or self-righteous, they couldn't even be in the same space.

The sermon made the point that the Samaritan woman made the choice to change and went back to the community that ostracized her to witness to the experience she had with Jesus. I found it interesting that  no one conversed about what "they" had done to the woman, what "they" might do if she returned to the community, how Jesus might get "them" to change before she returned.

There might be a Lenten definition here. How often do we define a problem in terms of the "other?" What must "the church" do to attract "young people" might be better asked, "What am I willing to do to witness to God's transformative power with the young people I know?" How is "the church" going to attract "new members so we can balance our budget" might be better asked "What is the price I am willing to pay to be sure God's work through our congregation can be done?" Why is church so "broken" might be better asked "What is my contribution to the problem I am concerned with?"

Perhaps we should take a lesson from Peter Block's ability to redefine the questions and the story of transformation we find in the interaction between the Samaritan woman and Jesus. The change we most effectively make is in ourselves. And in being transformed, we may find that we participate in God's transformation of the world.

Re-Formed...

Formative experiences. That's what is on my mind today.  Tonight is a congregational fundraiser for a mission trip this summer. We've been looking back through pictures and telling tales.  Along with that comes an inevitable faith assessment.

Trips are fun. You remember stuff. The cricket looking bug as big as your hand crawling out of a cardboard hut and the sinking feeling you get when you figure out that is your house for the week. Eight hours of painting in July heat and that sinking feeling you get when you realize dinner is a box of cold hotdogs, marshmallows, and chips. You have to start a campfire to cook the dogs. 

You remember the kid who spends a hour on the phone with her mom complaining that she was having a miserable time, that no one would talk to her and that she wanted to come home. Then she hung up and within 45 seconds, she was out the door, laughing and playing with her friends. You remember the adults who revert to kids and make the trips gloriously fun. You remember no sleep, bad food, and being lost most of the time. 

But what you really remember is the transformation. God seems close...tangible. God's people live in intentional Christian community...prayers and Bible study are as common as breath. Somehow in the mess and the hilarity, God reaches deep into our psyche...into those places we too often section off, protect at all costs. God incarnate becomes reality. But however it happens, whatever happens,we are transformed. And though we fall pretty quickly back into old habits when we get home, we can't ever go back to where we were before. We have been re-formed. 

Spring Sprung...

Today was beautiful. The grass is growing. The trees are budding out. The forsythia is blooming. It was warm and fresh. I had windows open and fans going. Spring…finally.

Except, two days from now, the forecast is snow.

It's a bit like the faith journey, if I might end the day with a completely cheesy metaphor…though it's true. We experience warmth and growth, new life and beauty. Then, we are socked with a cold spell, sometimes with other destructive forces at work.

So my advice today…wait til tomorrow. Things will change.

Respite...

I'm part of a difficult process as part of my job. Disagreement, competing priorities, different perspectives...all to be expected and all part of the process. But over time, there are days I am tired. I want to leave it for awhile.  Pick it up later.

Perhaps Lent is that same kind of journey. Self-examination. Wrestling with sin. Learning.  Preparing. Makes me want to take a break.

The gift of Sunday. Note that the official church calendar language says the five Sundays IN Lent, not the five Sundays OF Lent. Each Sunday is a celebration of resurrection hope. In the midst of all the things that fatigue us, Sunday worship is our respite. Sunday worship is our moment to live into the sure promise and hope that God's purposes will be accomplished, have been accomplished. Sunday defines us. We can let go of all the difficulties for the day. Jesus lives. Reconciliation and transformation are real. Breathe. Rest. Live.

And on Monday, we go back to work.

Grace and Garbage...

Part of who I am is "congregation." I think being "Christian" means being actively involved in a faith community. I believe that baptism into the body of Christ means we are inescapably part of the body…as crazy and flawed as that body is, we are part of it and it is part of us.

So, I am particularly sensitive to how this body gets defined--because it defines me. The irony is who I am and who my particular congregation is doesn't often define the body. Two examples bump up against each other today.

First, NPR told a story of a musician who self-defined as a "person of faith who had struggles with 'THE CHURCH'." Of course the interviewer dug deeper to discover what terrible thing "the church" had done. Turns out a woman had died of cancer and "the church" had deemed that death a result of a lack of faith.

That is NOT "the church." That is "a church." And that attitude is stupid and hurtful and not in line with the witness of the biblical text as a whole. You certainly can find a verse or two. You can find a verse or two to support just about anything. But the media does love to report the brokenness. And people do love to generalize that from "a church" to "the church."

The other story that irritated me was the story of help for High Point citizens who will struggle because they are food insecure. When power was out for three to five days, many families lost the contents of their refrigerators and freezers. As reported this morning, Food Lion donated $5,000 in gift cards for these families. That is probably true. But what wasn't reported is the additional $30,000 raised by churches and other worshipping communities in High Point. With less than a week's notice, the generosity overflowed. Good news about "the church" is apparently not a story.

Really, I'm not even sure that "the church" is appropriate unless it is followed by "of Jesus Christ." That includes every Christian church…and we do, in fact, have to put up with the "less desirable" parts of the body. They are part of us, and we should stand up and speak out against the hurtful, stupid things they do. But many remarkably small parts of the body cripple the body if they do not work or are absent. Opposable thumbs come to mind.

I know truly remarkable words and actions of grace that come from "the church of Jesus Christ." That, I believe, is how God defines "church." It is those moments and those congregations that have the power to overcome all the stupidity that we may enact intentionally or unintentionally. But we want to get the word out…insist on reporting the grace as well as the garbage.

Lent is a season of recognizing that each of us is a mixture of grace and garbage. Knowing that will prepare us for the miraculous reality of Easter, that God's power means grace will win over garbage, life will win over death.

My only point today, is that grace might win sooner if we insist on making it at least as public as the garbage.

More Daffodils, Ice and Snow...

Last night when I finally got home, I enjoyed the only benefit of Daylight Savings Time and went into the yard to pick the broken daffodils. I figured they wouldn't survive if their stems were broken and they might bring the hope for spring into my winter-musty house.

Add daffodils to the conversation about independence and interdependence and here's what you get. The flowers that were broken were the "outliers." They were the ones separated from the pack. The flowers transplanted which haven't yet formed large clumps of flowers were all broken. The large clumps that had blooms that pointed in a different direction from the rest of the flowers…snapped. Most of the flowers survived.

The survivors leaned in the same direction. Many on the outside ring had face-planted, but they supported each other somehow and the weight of the ice got dispersed. If the flowers were part of that community that leaned on each other, they survived.

Perhaps there's a Lenten lesson there…outside of PLEASE-MAKE-WINTER-STOP!

Here's to daffodils!

Raspberries...

If I could start this post with a giant "raspberry," I would.

I've been watching a detective show on Netflix that started in about 2000 and ran six seasons. Aside from the fashion sense of the characters (would a professional really wear a shirt that showed midriff at work?), it is most interesting in its statement on "individualism." The main character's favorite refrain is "I don't need help. It's my life." Sick? In trouble? Challenged on a case? Doesn't matter. She doesn't need help. She can do it herself.

And though she always needs help and constantly must be bailed out of trouble…she never learns that community is a gift.

The danger of defining who we are is that we tend to self-define in isolation when we should begin and end our definitions in the communities integral to our lives. If we cannot identify any community that is significant or helpful in our lives, we are in trouble. Humans are not meant to live in isolation, even "chosen" isolation.

All of creation is good until Adam is alone. Not good. We are not complete until we are in community. We are not born self-sufficient. Our very helplessness at birth ties us together. And yet, as we age, we insist more and more that we should do it ourselves…care for ourselves first…be independent…not rely on others for help. When we find ourselves in situations that require assistance, we are embarrassed, we feel ashamed, we spend all our time and energy trying to reclaim our aloneness, claiming that independent solitude is the pinnacle of human achievement.

Raspberry…

Defining ourselves during Lent should begin with relationship. Seeing each other as undeniably interconnected changes the way we live with and for each other. After the last ice storm, a large number of limbs had fallen into the yard. I was preparing to leave town for the week, and once the storm cleared, there wasn't time to clean up the yard before I left. And, I am not adept with a chain saw (Though at times I can cut pretty deep with words, they don't seem to be effective on tree limbs--believe me, I've tried.)

So a couple from my faith community shows up as I am leaving home on Sunday afternoon to cut and clear limbs. I feel guilty for leaving them with the mess. I feel like I should take care of my own business. And I feel SO incredibly grateful for the gift they offer. They spent their Sunday going from place to place, helping people clear. They said it was their worship that day. For me, it was the grace of God enacted.

I had to let go of the cultural insistence on independence before I could experience the grace. I don't know when or if I can "pay them back." They don't expect it. But the fact that there is not an immediate pay back intensifies the grace of the gift.

I wonder how much grace we miss because we are so insistent on taking care of ourselves. How many beautiful friendships do we lose because we are not open to connection. Too busy. Too tired. Too afraid of commitment. Too unsure about where our lives might go next.

Perhaps the people of God should reclaim community as a gift. Perhaps our voices of valuing interdependence needs to be heard. Living together and supporting each other, where no one claims or values independence might be one way God calls us to transformation.

Then raspberries can be for eating.

Ice and Snow and Daffodils...

Ice and snow…again.

Winter this year feels like a long Lenten season. Sometimes you want the joy and warmth of Easter and you just keep having those days of waking up to ice and snow. As much as you'd like to live in resurrection glory, the sin that defines our lives keeps coming back. It may not even be our "sin." The brokenness of the world around us seeps into our existence regardless of the barriers we try to build to keep it out.

I looked at my daffodils…the harbinger of spring. They are bowed over under the weight of winter. Their faces are pushed into the ground.

Sin and brokenness…they push our faces into the ground. I think the Lenten life may be like spring daffodils. I think, for today, we face-plant and are miserable in the cold and wet. And tomorrow, or the next day, the sun will come out and the warmth will seep through our bones…and we will lift our faces to the sun.

The Problem...or not...

Definition as Lenten practice is partly about how we have been defined by God. It is partly how we define ourselves in relation to God. And, perhaps, it is how others define us.

I was defined by a colleague today. "Every time you speak, I hear the love you have for Christ's church." That made me happy. I can only begin to tell you how tired I am of hearing all the "bad news" about Christ's church. The church is not a problem. We face some problems, usually of our own making. But when do humans not face problems?

We are defined by God as God's beloved people. We are charged to witness to God's desire to gather all things to God. We are invited to be part of that process of reconciliation and transformation and as we participate, we are, in fact, reconciled and transformed. So why do we let the word "problem" define us? Why have we accepted an opinion that the church is dying?

We have work to do. No question. We, like all other people in all times and places, must figure out how to witness to our fundamental truths in this time and place. We need to use language and images people can understand. We need to teach the traditional language that reveals timeless truths about who God is and how God acts in the world.

But part of my Lenten journey is the proclamation that church is NOT a problem to be solved.  Church, the community life of a gathered people of faith, is a gift to be celebrated. The gift of community brings together the resources we need to face the challenges of witness in our here and now. Community has always been God's call and gift.

Humans hunger for authentic, transformational community. We are a people who can offer that to the world. Thanks be to God.

Seasons...

Sometimes others say it better. Linda and Dwight Vogel have created a poem about the church seasons that I find chock-full of insight. It's from The Wisdom of the Seasons.

When we long for things to be different,

when we watch and wait,

we are an Advent people.

When we recognize the presence of the holy in the ordinary,

we celebrate Christmas.

When a sense of the sacramental is broken open to us,

And we respond by offering our material wealth, our worship, our lives and our deaths,

we live an Epiphany life.

When we wrestle with life and death decisions, seeking to live out our baptism,

we are in Lent. 

When saving victory and suffering are closely interwoven,

we live in resonance with Passion/Palm Sunday.

When death and resurrection become one word, and we are able

to dance on the gravestones without ignoring them,

we live as Easter people. 

When the dynamics of out mountaintop experiences are uncovered,

we experience the meaning of The Great Fifty Days.

When we are aware that the Holy Spirit empowers us and sends us forth

for service, ministry and mission, aware of both the diversity and unity of God's people,

we become Pentecost people. 

And when life seems mundane and we put one foot in front of the other

in order to do what needs doing,

we are in Ordinary Time. 

Life and death considerations...literal and figurative...as we are seeking to live out our baptism...

food for thought...

The Question Is...

We are a questioning people.  Who? Why? How? Those seem to be our favorite. Mostly we use them to point toward others and away from ourselves.

In the trivia department, did you know that Jesus was asked 183 questions? (Can't quote a source...came from the teacher of a class who I trust did his due diligence.) Jesus asked 307 questions. Jesus only answered three questions directly...others with stories and parables.

Lenten questions can help define who we are as disciples. But they can't be those questions that point to others. So here are a couple to challenge us:

• What is the "story" you tell most often about church? (The one you are wedded to and perhaps even take your identity from) (Positive? Negative? Real experience? Hearsay? Current experience? Past experience?)
• What are the payoffs you get from holding onto the story? 
• What is your attachment to the story costing you?

Dare you to do a little self-definition on this Lenten day. 

What's Next...

Spending the week with church professionals means a plethora of conversation about problems to be solved. I think we've defined ourselves as a giant corporate problem. That leads to defining each other as problem.  Our churches have problems. Our church must solve our problems. (Same is true for business and industry, government, non-profit...BTW)

I read Sunday that the Renaissance began with the discovery of a new land...the desire to explore what was beyond what we knew. It did not begin with a discussion of how to solve the myriad problems of the Middle Ages.

Perhaps Lent could be the redefinition the world as a crucible of new possibility and elimination of our problem-solving perspective.

Stripped Away...

"Giving up" for Lent, at its core perhaps, is at attempt to eliminate the distractions between us and God. I don't know if we are very good about remembering that. Trying to follow the 10 Commandments tends to make us hyper-focused on the law...forgetting the One who gives the law. Giving up chocolate may mean we only think about chocolate. Our language around Lent lifts high our challenge to "give stuff up" and but says little about how we are using extra time, space, money or thought to focus on or serve God.

Yesterday we worshipped with no power in the sanctuary. It was cold, colder inside than outside. It was dark. We have a dark sanctuary even with power. But we threw the doors open to the sunshine outside and we worshipped. As the pastor said, "It's what we do on the Lord's Day."

Because of the things we were missing, we all sat crunched up together on the side of the sanctuary where only a few usually sit. We could hear each other sing...not just individually, because that's not always pretty, but when all those voices are put together, we are transformed into "one voice," and that voice can carry a tune! We were "together" in a way we aren't usually. We baptized three beautiful children and enjoyed worshipping with their friends and family, celebrating the larger church of Jesus Christ.

Maybe "giving up" for Lent shouldn't be one thing...but a process of giving up what distracts, what separates us from each other, the excuses we make to not focus on God because of circumstances. It's not as easy; it requires small decisions all the time instead of one-and-done. But perhaps that's the purpose of Lent. Perhaps its a season of checking to see if we can be defined as a people of faith who know how to live in that small decision world, people who make many small decisions every day to keep God first in our lives.

Researchers tell us that decision making is exhausting for human brains. The more choices we have to make, the more fatigued our brains become and then we avoid decisions or make poor ones. We have too many choices. Perhaps Lent is a season of defining who we are by limiting our choices so we are not too busy, or too tired, or too distracted for God.

Power Surge--NOT!...

One of the questions I've been asked during Lent is "what powers your faith?" We here in this little town of High Point are living a Lenten metaphor. Many of us have no power.

EVERYTHING WE DO IN THIS COUNTRY IN ALL TIMES AND PLACES INVOLVES POWER!!!!!

I thought I was pretty adjusted until I was sending food with my husband today as he headed back to Virginia. I needed a container and found one in the dead frig with some really dead squash in it. So I dumped it in the sink because I knew I had to wash it by hand. We don't have power for the dishwasher, you know. So I dumped in the sink and flipped in the disposal.

Fail.

I just was thinking as I'm borrowing a home with power to wash a load of clothes and recharge the phone that we should be this plugged in to God. Cheesy, I know, but I wonder if faith was as connected to every part of our lives like power is…what God could accomplish.

I've given up TV, vacuuming, dishwashers, radio, any source of refrigeration, and the power garage door. At least for the next three days. It has been an interesting Lenten season.

"Giving Up" Lent...

I didn't come from a faith background where "giving up things for Lent" was practiced. We preferred judgment. Seemed unnecessary to consider our own shortcomings when so many were available in others. I heard of Lent only from my Catholic friends, and then only in high school when we actually went to school together. They "gave stuff up." 

So what I never figured out was why that was significant in the life of a disciple. Perhaps if you stopped to pray every time you thought about chocolate…which would be pray without ceasing for some of us…perhaps your prayer life would be strengthened. But I only saw people talking about missing chocolate.

I can't think of a time when someone has "given up" gossip, talking back to parents, giving up time to do someone else's chore at home, or giving up tickets to their favorite sporting event to work at a shelter. I think the Triune God must have a headache from eye-rolling on our practice of Lent.

Today I'm giving up coffee with my husband. Well not really. We just can't get out of the house. I KNOW! Today I'm giving up winter weather! 

What I need to give up is the jealousy I feel when people get national attention for creative lists of service for Lent. I've created those lists for children and adults in my congregation for years. OK. This year, I'll give up jealousy. 

If you figure out how to do that…let me know. Maybe that's why we give up chocolate instead. It's easier for one. And we get it back when Lent is over. 

Lent!…Lent?…lent (sigh)….

This is the one season with which I struggle. Love the idea of Lent. Understand the bits and pieces that swirl around the season. But really, I don't get it. I am still searching for images and practice that coalesces many ideas and perspectives…AND that make sense.

So that's the Lenten journey you can expect from this blog this year. It's a pretty personal quest, but perhaps it might address some of your questions and confusions as well. Comments are really welcome. I'd be interested in your insights, inspirations, and questions as well…

I keep pushing my pastor/colleague on this issue. He restrains eye-rolling remarkably well. Yesterday, when I pushed again, admitting my total lack of engagement (and therefore, inability to do the job I had agreed to do to put a lenten resource in the bulletin), he remarked offhand that perhaps Lent is a time of "Defining who we are."

It's the first phrase that has made sense.

What you quickly learn as you read about the origins of Lent is that there's little consensus. From "preparing new Christians for baptism on Easter" to "fasting and prayer for disciples," from three days to forty…it's a grab bag. Check out  Wikipedia and there is also a great summary out of Christianity Today. 

Perhaps the first lesson of practicing Christian discipleship during Lent is finding what deepens and develops discipleship, corporate and individual.

And for me, that is not giving up chocolate.