Shut Up and Speak Grace

Perennially, the story of Elijah in hiding is one of my favorites.  I’m not sure what it says about me that I derive a sense of peace from a narrative about a man who is running for his life—from isolation and wind and earthquake and fire:   

I Kings 19:11-12, “He said, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.’ Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.”

If I’m honest, of course, it is the “sound of sheer silence” and the journey that follows which actually draw me back to these words, time and time again.  Somehow, this underscores the point that it is neither the volume of words we speak nor the capacity for extensive dramatic flair that actually matter… quality over quantity…  but, what defines the quality of our speech?   

Ephesians 4:25 and 29 read, “So then, putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the truth to our neighbors, for we are members of one another… Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear” (NRSV).

“Speak truth,” is fairly common jargon (if not practice) in Christian circles, but I hate how this phrase is often conflated with the concept of passing judgment.  What if speaking truth was more about being honest about who we are than putting others in their places?  What if speaking truth was more confessional than confrontational?  What if truth offered the very grace our people (that’s everybody… “members of one another”) need—building up by sharing our humanity as opposed to tearing down by spreading lies… about ourselves?

 
L.

I Never Knew That

I’m trying pretty hard not to be a church calendar snob.  Honestly, I don’t even know how I got to be this way… how I began to care about the church calendar, at all (about which I knew nothing for the vast majority of my life).  I think, in some ways, it is a classic case of learning something new that resonates deeply and wanting everyone else in the world to have that excitement, as well.  But let’s return to…  I’m not too fond of being a snob (period), and it certainly doesn’t sit well with me to be a snob in the Christian/Church sense.  That just never ends well for anyone!  (But please take note of the fact that my seven year old is really upset about crosses popping up at nativity scenes.)

I did, however, have an exciting moment several weeks back, and I want to share it. 

I was sitting at a table, sharing a meal, and talking about the lectionary (because that’s totally normal, right) when a friend of mine who has been a part of the church community for a lifetime said, “I never knew that God’s people all over the world were studying the same Scriptures, week after week, until you started teaching us about that!” 

We’re talking a matter of days, here, friends!  She had been in church her whole life, and she had never heard anyone talk about the shared study of Scripture, across the board… across geographic and cultural and denominational boundaries… until a few days earlier!  And let’s be real, up until a few years ago, neither had I.

She was excited!  I was excited!  And it’s not because I have some legalistic need to dictate which Scripture should be used at all times by all people.  It’s because this is community!  This sharing of the same words (and the same Word) allows us to connect with people… globally… every single week (and dare I suggest every single day, if we also consume the daily office).

Someone else at the table chimed in…  “Just our denomination, right?”

Um… not quite…

“But not Catholics, right?”

Insert the part where I try not to die, because yes… definitely Catholics…

“Oh…”

Now let’s be clear…  I’m pretty sure the RCL (publically released in 1994, although preceded by others and tracing the history of reading common texts all the way back to the early church) is not synonymous with salvation (sigh of relief for all the people who were born and died before I was in high school), but I do want to underscore the significance of commonality in community, because we live in a culture steeped in individualism, and I think there’s something to the idea that God might actually be saying the same things to all of us. 

This helps to dispel the “us and them” myth.  It brings us together as one people.  It makes us a village as opposed to an island.  Maybe it even fosters compassion for the other, because it’s more difficult to turn away from our brothers and sisters when we’re looking at their faces, and we do that when we’re gathered in the same sacred space—physically present or not.  Maybe that’s (at least part of) why continuity matters…

 
L.

When Hanukkah Falls on Christmas Eve

It’s sunset, friends.  These words, spoken only on the first day of Hanukkah, probably mean more to me this year than ever:

"Praised are you Adonai our God, who rules the universe, granting us life, sustaining us, and enabling us to reach this day."

I am choked up at the implications, because there were times during the past 365 days when I wasn’t sure we would reach this day.  And yet… here we are…

And so, this reflection is short.  As the night goes on, I will stop to celebrate the birth of Jesus, and it is not lost on me... the irony of this year when Hanukkah and Christmas Eve collide.  May we have peace.  May we be here—truly present.  May we recognize the things that bring us together and the God who holds us close.

L.

Call for Stories

I Corinthians 1:27-28, "But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.  God chose the lowly things of the world and the despised things - and the things that are not - to nullify the things that are" (NIV).

Not too long ago, I found myself face to face with someone who I would have considered a casual acquaintance.  She said, "I'm really enjoying your blog."  I did a double-take, because the truth is I sometimes forget that I write a blog, and I often forget that people read it.  True story.  At any rate, I sort of awkwardly offered thanks, smiled, and tried to think of something to either end or continue the conversation, because when it comes right down to it, I am so much better with people when I either know them well or have them as a captive audience. 

Then she went on.  She went on to tell me of her life struggles.  And because I am a listener, I listened.  I stood there, absorbing her pain, so very thankful that God has somehow seen fit to put me in this position, even though I often cannot figure out how I got here. 

Friends, my life is really funny.  I cannot even begin to tell you how many messages I receive in a week asking my advice on things like what devotional Bible an eleven year old should use, whether or not divorce is ethical in specific situations, how to contact local churches in various states in which I do not live, and what I think their baby's rash might be (pictures included).  I love every single message, because... somehow... these people think I might have reasonable answers!  And I love my people. 

I've come to learn some things...

First, people will come to you if they believe you are real.  I don't spill my story because I like doing it.  I spill my story, because it might help someone else to know they are not alone.

Second, I do not know everything.  I have not experienced everything.  And, quite frankly, even though I love new experiences, I don't particularly want to!  This is a huge part of why we have community.  The truth is, you can add something that I cannot. 

Over the past several months, I have occasionally asked someone specific to share a piece of their narrative.  Sometimes they say yes.  More often than not, they say no.  I think there are several reasons for this.  They include things like, "I don't write well," or, "People have judged me, before, when I share this," or, "I don't have time," or, "I don't want others to know my story," or, "I'm scared".  All of these (and more) are legitimate reasons to reject the offer to share.  I have honored, and will always continue to honor, the requests of others who do not wish to share their stories in a public forum.  However, if you're out there in cyberspace reading this post and you have a compelling story that you would be willing to contribute to this community; I would like to share my space with you.

I think we can overcome just about any of the reasons for staying silent, above.  I can edit your story to make it read well, if you want me to.  I can change names and places to protect your identity, if you choose.  We can work around anything, here.  Send me a message.

And... go...

L.

What's This All About?

Forgiveness...

I've recently heard or read several statements on forgiveness that have given me pause.  It seems that the popular opinion, at least for today, is that forgiveness is more about finding peace than anything else.  I think I can roll with that... mostly.  This is probably easiest (not to be confused with "easy") when the person (people, organization, community, etc.) who caused the hurt is legitimately sorry.  Undoubtedly, the best thing that can happen is restoration.  I love that!  I love it, because I think it is enormously important in the redemptive work in which we join God. 

"If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone" (Romans 12:18, NIV).

I would venture to say that it is more possible than we would imagine and depends greatly on us! 

I definitely think this even works when we find ourselves in situations in which we have somehow been wronged and the offending party couldn't care less.  We forgive.  We forget.  Over time, things start to hurt less.  Life starts to hurt less.  At some point, in the vast majority of situations, we come to a moment when it's "over".  Most things don't hurt forever (although there are some - I am not minimizing those, at all), so one day we might wake up and find that it doesn't hurt at all.  We have peace.  Time moves on.  I love that, too.

But sometimes it's neither clear cut nor cleanly cut off.

The notion, "forgive and forget," is so much easier when there is either a sincere apology (confession, repentance) or when the offending person (people, organization, community, etc.) is no longer a part of our regular lives.  There really is something to, "out of sight, out of mind".  I'm not saying it doesn't still take ages, sometimes, to get to that point where you legitimately don't struggle with anger or tears or just being generally incapable of not replaying events over and over again in your mind.  But... when there are not constant reminders, healing does come.

I read these words, today:

"But when I stumbled, they gathered in glee; assailants gathered against me without my knowledge.  They slandered me without ceasing.  Like the ungodly they maliciously mocked..." (Psalm 35:15-16, NIV).

At the expense of sounding overdramatic, I have occasionally felt like this!  Not often, mind you, thank goodness!  I think it is situations like this, though, that cause us to fall back, doing everything in our power to avoid the reminders.  Quite frankly, I do not want to see, hear, smell, or taste anything that might trigger a memory that makes me feel like that all over again!  There are honestly things I avoid because of the sensory reactions they might cause, even if they are completely unrelated to whatever is happening in the real, present time.  True story.  But it's always worst when the pain is fresh.

So, I had this moment several weeks ago when I knew that actual healing was taking place in my life.  It was a little humorous, really.  As it turns out, even if you set your privacy settings relatively high on social media sites, there are some things that will always be public.  At some point I changed my FB cover photo, and someone I really like a lot, but whom I also associate with a community that caused some significant pain in my life, made a nice comment.  I immediately responded with a one-liner that included the words, "miss you".  I hit "enter".  And then I sat there for a few moments, stunned.  For many months, I had not been able to engage anyone from this era of life, even in something incredibly insignificant.  And yet, here I was, honestly responding... positively... without hesitation.  It might sound ridiculous, but it was a much bigger change in me than it appears on the outside.  Right then and there, I had an, "it's over" moment.  That hurt is done.

When I hurt most deeply, I tend to go silent about it.

When I hurt, but it's not absolutely killing me anymore, I tend to type.

And then, when I reach the endgame, I file it away as one of those things I'll probably just talk about, again, if it would be helpful to someone else.

"And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 4:7, NIV).

Well, goodness...  That feels good.

L.