Houses Made by Human Hands

How about a Ministry Friday?  No alliteration—I know, I know.  But, the past two weeks have been a nightmare for routine.  Not that I love routines, anyway.  Seriously, though, I have slept in so many different places and driven so many miles on various routes that I have often forgotten which house I am in… and sometimes even which state, although I might be able to reasonably claim it is always a state of confusion.

On Monday, I walked into a new office, in a new town, and officially began my new job as Director of Family Ministries, at a new church, in a new denomination.  That’s a lot of ‘new.’  Less than a month ago, I was blogging about marking time.  Today, I am deep in the throes of transition, and things have been so busy I have struggled to read the daily office, let alone write about it.  If you want me to be real; I actually forgot to eat one day.  True story.

And then I found myself, this afternoon, with just enough time and space to crack open my Sacred Ordinary Days planner to consider that God might be trying to tell me something through these daily office readings that keep coming back.

Let’s begin with this one, used not long ago on another day, for another post:       

Genesis 29:9, “…for she was a shepherd…”

Although the original intent of this piece of information seems to have been to relay a literal fact, we often use this kind of language metaphorically in Christian circles.  I have come to love these five little words so deeply in recent days that I think I would have difficulty communicating the intensity of emotion attached to them.  This is incredibly frustrating for someone who loves to vomit feelings in print. 

What I can say is that one facet of my affection for this phrase comes simply from the word, “she.” 

I brought my family to work with me on Tuesday, and we had this moment when I was giving them a tour of the building and Miah (age 7) marched right up to the center of the platform in the sanctuary, turned around to face the (non-existent except for the other six of us) congregation, and shouted, “Teach me how to preach, Mommy!” 

The simplicity of this struck me with awe.  I have no idea if she will ever be called to vocational ministry, but I know for sure, if she is, she will never doubt the validity of that call because of her gender.  Thank you, God, for denominations that recognize your call to men and women, alike.  The moment was short, as Miah continued on her exploration adventure.  She thinks this building is a castle.  She is rather upset that she couldn’t find any unicorns.  I might have told her they are of the invisible variety…  So, thank you, also, for granting the necessary grace to raise imaginative, strong, non-conformist, passionate, compassionate, social action minded, inclusive kids (my girls and my boys) who love you and love people (and mythological creatures).

Then, there was Psalm 105 today.  I actually had a pretty good laugh over the selected verses.  This Psalm begins with praise, wonder, and covenant.  After that, we skip over the history of Israel, exile, and plagues.  We come back with:   

Psalm 105:45b, “Praise the Lord.”

I’m mostly thinking out loud on this, but I do question whether or not there is something to be said for occasionally leaving the pain out of the stories we spin.  Not always.  Not even often.  But maybe today.

The last Scripture that came into play for the purposes of the title of this post can be found in Acts 7, where Stephen speaks, introducing the recitation of Old Testament prophecy, by saying, “the Most High does not live in houses made by human hands.”

And this part is probably intensely personal in nature, but I’ve been more than a little stressed out about where we might live here, and it was something of a wake-up call to remember both that the things we sometimes think we need might only be wants and that God has never failed us yet, even though God’s provision has often not looked the way we expected it to.

As if I needed this particular line of thought underscored (in bold, italicized print), there’s also this quote from Common Prayer: “Give me neither poverty nor riches, Lord: but bread for today, hope for tomorrow.”  Well, OK then.

Since we’re avoiding the suffering, let’s not stop to consider the continuing narratives of Jacob, Rachel, and Leah… of Israel… of Stephen.  These will come soon enough.  Six weeks ago, if anyone had told me what today would be like, I never would have believed it.  I’m fairly confident that’s consistent with my entire life and the history of the world, even for strategic planners.  I wonder what might happen next… 

L.

The Cyclical Nature of Everything

I thought I might post something new, today, but as it turns out, I feel the exact same way about Ascension Sunday that I felt last year.  With that in mind, this throwback post works well:

Abandoned (Original Post May 9, 2016)

I also wrote the commentary for today's Psalm at A Plain Account, which I never would have imagined a year ago, so there's that.  You can find that post here:

A Plain Account - Psalm 68

Oh, may the days between Ascension and Pentecost pass quickly, because we sure need the Holy Spirit...

L.

All That Stuff God Does

I was recently talking with someone about the lack of biblical literacy that is sometimes prevalent in our current culture.  I'm somewhat hesitant to admit this, because it sounds more critical than I intend it to be.  The truth is, in addition to lacking biblical knowledge, most kids entering school are also unfamiliar with nursery rhymes and campy songs and fairy tales (of the not made into movies variety).  So, to be fair, we have a literacy problem that spans many genres, but since it's Thursday Theology time I am going to focus on biblical illiteracy for the moment.

It was not that long ago that I first recognized this as a problem.  I was leading a group of Bible quizzers through the book of Acts, and when we came to Stephen's speech to the Sanhedrin (see Acts 7), I went into practice with a renewed sense of excitement, because I just knew that even the kids who never studied were going to have a successful evening.  The vast majority of them were kids who had grown up in the church, in Sunday School, walking through those doors every time they opened for any event at all... heck... walking through those doors more frequently than my kids who have the distinct privilege (or curse... or whatever) of having two theologian parents!  It's the history of Israel.  Every church kid has seen it on flannel graph, ad nauseam, right? 

Yeah...  they didn't know the stories.

For whatever reason, I am in a battle with the daily office this week.  As I scanned the references, this morning, I thought to myself, "Oh...  it's going to be one of those days when I re-read about Israel and the stories and the covenants... again... sigh..."  I'm honestly not completely sure what my problem is, but I know it has something to do with forgetting all of the incredible things God has done when I should be remembering.

I should be remembering that God keeps promises.  I should be remembering that God draws near.  I should be remembering that my own identity is rooted in being the beloved, created Imago Dei.  I should be remembering who God is.                    

Psalm 105:4, "Look to the Lord and his strength; seek his face always" (NIV).

I am embarrassed to admit that I have often looked the wrong way, lately.  And so here I am, confidence shaken like it has rarely been, desperately trying to lift my head and find God's face, taking a step back to remember that the story is real and somehow... mercifully... I am still a part of it.

L.

That Time When I Got so Angry with God that I Stormed Out of the Room (AKA: This Morning)

The thoughts are coming fast enough that I don't know if this is going to be one of those ugly posts or one of the profound ones.  I don't know how it ends.

I like it when things are wrapped up all neatly in even units of time.  Yesterday, I was comparing two pictures of myself.  One was from last September and the other was from last week.  I was planning to use them in a post on my personal blog, probably on my birthday.  I was planning to talk about how much year #37 of my life has changed me.  It was going to be orderly.  Well, that plan just got blown out of the water, and the irony runs deep, because the pictures are a side by side of me standing on each coast (the Pacific Ocean, last fall, on a trip to Oregon... the Atlantic Ocean just days ago in Florida).  The past 11 months have been transformative.  They haven't been too fun, and I didn't see it coming.  

In that first picture, I had just come through what was a pretty awful year.  Astoundingly, as I drove by myself to a piece of the Earth that I had never seen before, as I hiked down the pier and immersed myself in the winds and the waves on a very cold day, on a day when I had much of the shoreline to myself; I was feeling about as confident as I ever have in my life.  I'm not sure it fit the circumstances.  Let me reiterate that it had been a rough year.  Let me be clear that I am terrified of water.  And yet, I had enough confidence to snap some makeup-less selfies with all of my hair pulled back, and I can see the fire in my eyes.  Was it weird timing for such a fabulous day?  Admittedly, it was.  But, although I am careful to avoid the pride of thinking that I have it all together (because I never do), on that day I felt close.  I thought I knew how the next steps of life were going to play out, and I liked the plan.  For most of my life, my discernment skills have been pretty awesome.  I hate surprises, and I have trained myself well to avoid them at almost any cost.  I still play the following weeks over and over again in my mind, sometimes, trying to figure out where I made the tactical error that left me shell-shocked.  There are moments when I'd like to have that afternoon on the beach back.  Maybe I would make different choices, altogether.  But mostly I think I'd like to have that me on the beach back.  You're not supposed to say that after a transformational 11 months.

And then there's the next picture.  Don't misunderstand, I like it, too.  It's reflective, contemplative, quiet.  In many ways, it is all of the things I have always been, but sometimes I am sick of being all of the things I have always been.  There is no fire in this shot, but don't mistake that for lack of resolve.  The resolve is there.  Remember, I'm not a quitter.  But the wind is whipping, and I'm hiding my face.  If the first picture is fierce, ready to take the world by storm; the second is steadfast... exhausted... still slow and steady, but the emphasis is on slow.  Honestly, my heart hurts.

I read these words, today:

"I am poor and needy, and my heart is wounded within me" (Psalm 109:22, NIV). 

My reaction was, "I am so sick of that!"  And we're not even close to the point when I got mad, yet.  But, friends, I do not do poor and needy and wounded well.  If something doesn't give pretty soon, the next picture is going to be of me with my head in the sand.

I read on:

"Turn to me and have mercy on me, as you always do to those who love your name.  Direct my footsteps according to your word; let no sin rule over me.  Redeem me from human oppression, that I may obey your precepts.  Make your face shine on your servant and teach me your decrees.  Streams of tears flow from my eyes..." (Psalm 119:132-136a, NIV). 

I liked that, immediately.  It resonated... especially the part about loving the name of the Lord.  But then there was more:

  

"Why do you ask my name? It is beyond understanding" (Judges 13:18, NIV).

Oh.  Ouch.  I do that.  I ask for the name.  I ask for the plan.  Sometimes I think I know what's coming, but more often than not, lately, I am blindsided.  I do love the name of the Lord, but can I love what is beyond understanding?  The silent answer to the rhetorical question is supposed to be yes, but I am so wired to need details that I don't know if I can say yes to that with any sort of integrity.

And then, I felt as if God slapped me in the face, this morning.  I cannot remember ever getting up in the middle of reading Scripture, pushing my laptop away (I was reading online), and saying, "You've got to be kidding me..."  The part where I left the room was pretty funny, as if God isn't in the bathroom...

"In those days when the number of disciples was increasing, the Hellenistic Jews among them complained against the Hebraic Jews because their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food.  So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, 'It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables. Brothers and sisters, choose seven men from among you who are known to be full of the Spirit and wisdom. We will turn this responsibility over to them and will give our attention to prayer and the ministry of the word.' This proposal pleased the whole group. They chose Stephen, a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit; also Philip, Procorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolas from Antioch, a convert to Judaism. They presented these men to the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them.  So the word of God spread. The number of disciples in Jerusalem increased rapidly, and a large number of priests became obedient to the faith" (Acts 6:1-7, NIV).

Confession - On the tail end of all of this pain and heartbreak and suffering, someone looked me in the face, yesterday, and questioned whether or not I am a minister (this person never would have said "pastor," because in her eyes women can't be that); and I'm pretty sure, after I stopped crying, I felt like one of the twelve who just couldn't waste any more time waiting on tables!  I mean, has she not taken notice of the entire body of work of my adult life?  How about the years I've poured myself into theological education at the expense of... well... a lot? 

But there's a serious issue with all of that.  The serious issue is me.  I talk a big game in regard to loving and serving the least of these, but it occurred to me that I am still fighting for a title of some sort, and I have to stop.  I spent a lot of time exegeting this passage of Acts, last summer, and I was really, really hard on the Twelve, and my goodness; I have become them.  That's not what I want.  That's not who I am.  I have to feed the people that no one else has time for, even if that means no one "important" recognizes the value of what I'm doing.  Oh my gosh...  how have I come to even categorize some people as more important than others?  That's... not... me.

There's no good way to wrap this up.  It's not going to be neat.  It was an ugly one, after all.

L.