Category Archives: Life

How is this good news?

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Pharaoh murders innocent babies, but Moses escapes in a basket.
Herod murders innocent babies, but Jesus escapes into Egypt.
Rival factions in South Sudan have killed more than a thousand, but over 100,000 have escaped into neighboring countries until the conflict can be resolved.

How, exactly,  is this good news?

Biblical scholars say, “You have to keep the Big Picture of God’s story in mind.” I get that. I understand that God does not desire for anyone to perish, but for all to believe and to have eternal life. I know that Bad Things Happening to Good People has more to do with our sinful human condition than God’s will for us. If I want to blame someone for atrocities, I might as well go all the way back to Adam and Eve. There are times when I’d like nothing better than to pound their chests with my fists and yell, “What were you thinking!”

All that knowledge doesn’t help much when I sit next to a woman whose son died, and she asks me, “How could a loving God let this happen?” A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more (Matthew 2:18). How do you comfort a grieving parent who refuses to be consoled?

You don’t.

Just because I can’t explain it doesn’t mean I can shrug off the sorrow.  Just because I know God has a bigger plan in mind for eternity doesn’t diminish the pain of the here and now. It’s a dangerous thing to be human, to be vulnerable, to face the fact of our mortality. The Good News is not always sweetness and light. That pretty baby in the manger grows up to die on a cross. God has to watch his own Son, his only Son, die a horrible death. And God grieves.

God grieves all the Herods and the Pharaohs and the murderers of innocent children. God grieves us when we turn away from him. God grieves as only a bereft parent can grieve. How do you comfort a grieving parent who refuses to be consoled?
You don’t.
You weep, too.

 

No Thanks

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When did “No, thank you” become “No thanks” in our world? Somewhere along the way, we’ve stopped including the comma that makes this sentence a polite regret. Somewhere along the way, we’ve turned it into a denial of gratitude.

Did you even notice? Can you see the difference between the meaning of these two sentences?

Having no thanks is a lot different from “no, thanks.”  It’s like the difference between “I am completely without gratitude” and “Oh, I’m sorry, but no, thank you anyway.”  That little comma lets us keep a little “yes” in our “no.”  It implies a longing for yes, and a regret that the answer – for now, at least – must be no.  That little comma keeps the gratitude, instead of denying it.

So I urge you, this week, to pause for the gratitude.  When you turn down that second helping of potatoes or pie, stop for just a second between the “No” and the “Thanks” and let the comma be heard as an affirmation that you really are grateful.  See what it does to you, and get back to me on that, will you?

Burning out or burning up?

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I didn’t write a sermon this week.

We had a guest speaker from Operation Christmas Child this morning, so the story about the Sadducees trying to trap Jesus into admitting that resurrection was a ridiculous idea didn’t cause me to lose sleep or fret over how it could possibly apply to my congregation.

Instead, I caught up on paperwork and filing. I spent 8 hours in the car, driving to and from the nearest Genius Bar (twice) to resolve a computer issue, and rediscovered the healing peace of solitary driving.  When you’re on the road, there isn’t anything else you can be doing but think. The freedom from constant multi-tasking, the freedom from feeling guilty because I’m not doing more, the freedom to simply drive, think, and pray – these are blessings. I took time to really listen to some folks who needed to have someone listen to them. I read. I cooked dinner for my husband, who usually cooks dinner for me. I had a pretty good, relaxing week.

In the middle of it, my husband and I went to a restaurant for a late meal after an evening meeting at church. As we waited for our food to arrive, the conversation turned to that new hot-button topic in ministry circles: self-care. And Bruce said something that struck me as deeply profound.

There’s a difference between burning out and burning up, he said. Burn-out is when the flame dies within you, but burning up is when the flame consumes you, using up all your “fuel.” When the passion is gone, you’ve burned out.  When you still have passion for what you do, but you’ve exhausted your inner resources to do it, you’ve burned up.  Burning up requires gathering more fuel to keep the flame alive.  Burning out requires kindling a new flame.

Dear God, help me to keep the flame alive that you have kindled in me. Let me always be mindful of my complete dependence on you for the fuel needed to keep that flame burning brightly. Let me never burn out, growing cold to your grace. Keep me alert to the need to stop what I’m doing every once in a while, to gather more fuel for the fire. Amen.

firepit

Drive Time

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It’s been a rough couple of weeks – my computer got sick, and the process of getting it diagnosed, determining possible treatment, and coming to terms with its demise became … complicated. Living two hours away from the nearest Genius Bar can be frustrating.

So, I’m behind on posting sermons and other computer-dependent tasks. The good news is that this week, my church has a guest speaker, so I didn’t need to write a sermon. And the other good news is that I have had eight hours of quiet drive time (two round trips – one to drop off my laptop, and the other to pick it up) to contemplate God’s goodness, marvel at the beauty of freshly tilled soil that has been dusted with the season’s first snow, and pray for some people who could use an extra prayer or two.

I’m one of those people, I confess.

So, how was your week?  What woe turned out to be a blessing, or vice versa? I’ll be posting last Sunday’s sermon tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll talk more about that blessing/woe thing then. Meanwhile, I have a date with my husband tonight, and our church’s Fall Bazaar to attend in the morning. Coffee’s on at 8:30, I hear. Be there, or be square.

Sacred Pace

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One morning, a few years ago, I followed a young couple through a college campus on my way to an appointment. These two, walking with their arms around each other’s waists, walked in perfect step, steadily and rhythmically. Their pace was not hurried, but neither were they strolling slowly. I could keep up with them, but I felt no urgency to move past them as we walked the same path through the campus. As I watched them, I realized they were not consciously working at staying in step with each other. The rhythm of their walk was perfectly timed, and very natural. They were at peace.

I thought about walking with Jesus that way. Keeping a sacred pace that was neither too fast nor too slow, a pace that came naturally, allowing me to talk with Jesus while staying in perfect step with the Master. The young couple reminded me that in order to maintain ‘sacred pace’ we must keep in step with Jesus, and let him keep his arm around us as we embrace him in return.  We must also keep our arms around each other as we walk together. Sometimes it is slow, so slow, in contrast to our daily frenzy.

As I shared these thoughts with a friend, he said, “Yes, but sometimes it means gearing up.” Sometimes, we need to add some energy to our steps, lengthen our stride, and work to keep up with Jesus as he leads us along the pathway. Sometimes, sacred pace may even mean gearing up into a full, exhilarating run. Keeping in step with Jesus could make us break a sweat.

Finding that sacred pace is not so much about speeding up or forcing myself to slow down. It isn’t about speed. It has more to do with staying aware of the pace set by the One who moves beside us, and maintaining a rhythm. It’s about being in step and keeping your arms around each other’s waists, walking in an embrace with Christ. Early Pietists asked one another a question that we might do well to repeat to one another, too: “How goes your walk with the Lord?” Are you keeping sacred pace?

This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. If we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin. – I John 1:5-7

Getting rid of all the things

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The good news: we sold our house, just in the nick of time to go forward with the purchase of our new house. The bad news: we have two weeks to get everything packed and ready to move. And I have limited time to be present in this process, because my new ministry is two hours away from this house that needs to be … purged.garagesalesign

I tried to find a better word, because purge always brings eating disorders to my mind, and this process – unlike eating disorders – is a healthy one. It’s a chance to clear out all the stuff that no longer has a place in our lives, the clutter that has accumulated over the years, the things that get in our way and distract our thinking.

Clutter makes me uneasy, guilty that I’m not doing something about it but not guilty enough to clear it out of my life. When I have no choice but to dig in and “get rid of all the things,” I’m always surprised by the sense of calm that comes with an uncluttered home. The nagging guilt goes away, and I can sit in peace, enjoying the space that is now empty and clean.

But beware the warning Jesus gave about the demons coming back (Matthew 12:43-45). Cleaning out the clutter is not enough; that empty space needs to be claimed before it becomes seven times more cluttered than it was before. Once the house is clean, the boxes labeled, and the moving truck is pulling away, it’s time to hand over the keys to the new owner.

sold house keysPurging a house of accumulated things is similar to the purging of our souls as we prepare for God to move in us. Handing over the keys (the control) of our lives to Jesus, we need to really let him take over ownership of all that we are.  Releasing our lives into God’s control ensures that the cleared spaces stay open, giving room to the Holy Spirit to work in us, transforming us into the people we were always meant to be.

On the Cusp

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This is the hour of grace, this sliver of time between two times:
the time that has been, and the time that will be.
This is the moment of lightness, this moment between
the sadness of departing, and the joy of arrival.

I am on the cusp, at the very edge,
lingering at the point of turning.
The line between the work I leave behind
and the work I am about to do is a fragile one.

Treasure this moment, this sliver of time.
Love well.
Hope constantly.
Be at peace.

On the Cusp

Photo by Helen Van Wyck, used with permission.

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu

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Goodbye started out as “God be with ye” and Farewell was once “Fare thee well.” They all mean the same thing: I hope everything goes well with you until I see you again. Such fond wishes take the finality out of leaving. When Arnold Schwarzenegger uttered his famous “I’ll be back,” it might not have had that same desire for another’s well-being that you get from a simple “Goodbye,” but he did give voice to the second part of the farewell wish – until we meet again.

I’ve been wondering why I’m not more upset about saying goodbye to people and places that have grown very dear to me over the past fifteen years.  Part of my reaction is certainly due to the expectation of what is about to happen. The appeal of the destination in front of me overshadows the sadness of leaving what is behind. But I also think there’s something to be said for recognizing that, as I wrote last week, walking through a door doesn’t necessarily mean you have to lock it behind you. I’m not burning any bridges here.

I’ll be back.

God be with you until we meet again.

Now, please excuse me while I go pack another box.

And so it begins

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The reality finally hit me yesterday, as we drove away from the moving company’s warehouse with a carload of boxes and packing materials.

We are leaving.

It seems like we just got here. I walk through this house that it took me years to like, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. It has finally become “home” to me, and now I’m getting ready to pack up everything and move away. I mourn the kitchen redo I never redid, and the sewing projects waiting in bins down in my sewing corner, projects that will never be completed now. Won’t have time. (Never did, apparently.)

I check the buds on the rosebush out front, the one my music teaching colleagues gave me last summer to celebrate my MDiv, the one called “Music Box” (get it?). Will we see any blooms before we leave it behind?

And everyone wants to get together with me for coffee, or dinner, or time to connect before we leave. But there simply isn’t time to see everyone we’d like to see, and time for coffee seems like a luxury I cannot afford. The panic starts to rise, as I add three things to my list, and only cross off one. How will we get it all done?

There are those other deadlines, too. The ones that have nothing to do with moving, but everything to do with ongoing responsibilities, with plans that were set in motion a couple of years ago, before we knew we had five short weeks to sell one house, buy another, move to a new town, get acquainted with new people, and start this thing called full time vocational ministry.

We are arriving.

Whatever happens, I know that God put us here, in this particular place at this particular time, to serve him and the people he calls his own. Every step that has brought us to this point has been a miracle, and I have full confidence in the God who saves me that he will get us through the next few weeks of craziness.

But I wouldn’t mind a bit if you kept us in your prayers.

Seriously.

Lying Fallow

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Our little suburb is putting in new streets. It’s been a five-year project, and our street is part of the final phase. Before they can start digging up the old roadbed and begin actual construction, however, there’s a lot of prep work that has to happen. Giant holes appeared in our lawn last week, surrounded by yellow tape and barriers with lights that flash into our bedroom window all night.  They have replaced all the sewer connections, and are now working on laying new water and gas lines.  When all the utility work is done, they will start tearing out the old asphalt. New curbs and concrete driveway aprons will go in. Several lucky homeowners will find a runoff basin “rain garden” in their front lawns (my husband likes to call these “mosquito farms”).  Finally, after six to eight weeks of noise and dust, we will have a beautiful new street.

We decided to go with the flow on this one. We aren’t planting a garden this year. Tomatoes, peppers, and lettuce have given way to marigolds and whatever else was dirt cheap at the garden center. The flowers will hold the soil in place while the dust flies, and I hope they will brighten the otherwise gloomy prospect of a year without fresh basil and tomatoes.basilinabasket

We are giving the garden – and ourselves – a sabbath rest. Lying fallow lets the earth replenish itself, and we don’t have to worry about synchronizing our canning schedule with the other events of our lives. We don’t have to worry about weeding and fertilizing, or pest control. Just letting the ground be ground for a season frees us to do things we may not have had time to do otherwise. Like sit by the firepit in the evening, or read a book that has been gathering dust on the “to read later” shelf. Or just be.

How do you allow yourself some time to lie fallow, to listen for God’s still, small voice, and to sit at the feet of Jesus?