God Who Tastes

There’s a reason I saved this one for last.  I have never, ever heard anyone preach, teach, or even speak about the God who tastes.  In some way, I think it’s too difficult around which to wrap our minds.  We can wax metaphorical about sight, sound, and touch.  Admittedly, smell was a little more difficult.  But taste is so completely human.  It’s hard to create a sense of spirituality around something so common…

Interestingly, though, if we’re going to embrace the trinity, where Jesus is certainly one of the three; we might have more evidence of a tasting God than any other sense.  How often do we find Jesus around the table?  A lot…

Jesus eats with tax collectors and sinners (see Mark 2).

Jesus presumably eats with his good friends: Martha, Mary, and Lazarus (see Luke 10) and a random guy he finds in a tree (see Luke 19).

Jesus feeds hoards of people with almost nothing… twice… (see Matthew 14 and 15).

The last thing Jesus does with his twelve disciples is to share the first Eucharistic meal (see Matthew 26), and then he becomes the Eucharistic meal… which is fascinating, since he also teaches that we are something of a food additive… salt of the earth (see Matthew 5).

Peter writes that we can actually taste the goodness of the Lord (see I Peter 2).

Jeremiah suggests that we can eat God’s words (see Jeremiah 15), and the author of Hebrews backs it up (see Hebrews 6).  Ezekiel takes it literally (see Ezekiel 3).

Why don’t we ever speak plainly about the God who tastes and… related… the God we can eat?  I’m not sure.  Maybe it’s because we’re afraid of the same repercussions that Jesus faced in John 6 or that the Catholic Church faced in light of a misunderstanding regarding cannibalism!  Seriously… I have no idea!

But clearly, in this search for holistic spirituality that encompasses physical sense as well as mind and spirit, taste is not to be excluded.

Gathering to eat together is one of the most vulnerable, intimate things we can do.  This past week, I learned that there has been a recent study regarding the impact that eating the same foods, with others, has on our relationship and interactions.  One observation from this study was, “Food is about bringing something into the body. And to eat the same food suggests that we are both willing to bring the same thing into our bodies. People just feel closer to people who are eating the same food as they do. And then trust, cooperation, these are just consequences of feeling close to someone” (read the whole article, here).  It’s incredible!  I wonder how we might cooperate more quickly, efficiently, and effectively if we were all eating Jesus!

L.

I’m Not Trying to Proof-text, But…

I have to be honest.  I woke up, this morning, upset about immigration reform.  Before I had even made my cup of coffee (and this is a big deal, because I haven’t had coffee in weeks), I was already thinking about what could be done to bring some compassion, mercy, and reason to this process that seems to have imploded overnight.  I knew, when I sat down to read through the daily office, that I might project my feelings about this onto the Scriptures.  Maybe I’ve done just that.  If you think so, go ahead and call me out.

Last night I saw something that indicated that the vast majority of people (I think a study showed 92% or so) don’t actually care what clergy have to say about social justice.  This falls squarely on us.  This is a failure of clergy and the Church at large.  I apologize.

I read Psalm 55.  The whole Psalm is certainly worth your time, but here are a few verses that stood out to me:

“Lord, confuse the wicked, confound their words, for I see violence and strife in the city.  Day and night they prowl about on its walls; malice and abuse are within it.  Destructive forces are at work in the city; threats and lies never leave its streets” (v. 9-11, NIV).

Then, Mark 7:1-23.  Again, I would highly suggest reading all of it, but for the purposes of this post:

“‘These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.  They worship me in vain; their teachings are merely human rules’” (v. 7, NIV).

“Thus you nullify the word of God by your tradition that you have handed down. And you do many things like that” (v. 13, NIV).

“Are you so dull?” he asked. “Don’t you see that nothing that enters a person from the outside can defile them?” (v. 18, NIV).

“He went on: ‘What comes out of a person is what defiles them.  For it is from within, out of a person’s heart, that evil thoughts come—sexual immorality, theft, murder,  adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and folly.  All these evils come from inside and defile a person’” (v. 20-23, NIV).   

May God help us, we seem to have forgotten that the problems we have are internal ones.  In Scripture, this is almost always the way it goes down.  Jesus confronts those who are on the inside—those who live in comfort and prosperity.  Far too often, the response is, “Oh, it’s not me.  It’s not us.  Look at all of those dirty outsiders.  Heck, Jesus.  It’s you.  You are the problem!  Leave us alone so we might build our walls of protection and exclusion in order to be safe!”

Safe from whom?

Quite frankly, I have experienced more backstabbing from within the walls than from outside of them.  This is always… always… where I get myself into trouble with people who identify as religious.  Many years ago, when our family started saying things like, “Everyone is welcome here,” we found out rather quickly that this was a sore spot for the religious elite.  Interestingly, we have suffered abuses at the hands of those who hold themselves in high esteem, but I know quite a few drug dealers, prostitutes, widows, orphans, inmates, and people riddled with disease who would give me the shirt off their backs if I needed it.  Something is wrong with this picture.  Really, really wrong.

Now, I want to be extremely clear that I am not comparing refugees to any of those listed in the categories above.  If there is any comparison to be made, it is simply that we have marginalized them as people.  That’s my point here.  We have decided that they are somehow worth less than we are, because they are unlike us.  Even though they are fleeing in fear for the sake of their lives and their families, we are the ones who are afraid of them.  But I can’t figure it out, because it’s backwards.   We should have no fear of what is outside of ‘the wall.’  The evil comes from within.

My heart is so broken, today.  As I have indicated before, one of the biggest dangers in this is that I will think I have done something to help just by being sad.  Please, let’s not fall into that trap.  I have a friend who is an immigration attorney, and I am anxiously awaiting her suggestion for how to move forward with some practical steps to make a difference.  In the meantime, I have an online friend (who is friends in real life with people I know personally) who offers great insight into what is happening with Syrian refuges in Hungary, where she lives.  Her blog can be found here.  It both touches and breaks my heart every time I read it.

I certainly don’t know everything about every organization that is reputable, but I know that if you donate to Nazarene Compassionate Ministries at this link, the funds actually go to help Syrian refugees, in Hungary, right now.

I hope to have word on an action plan that will make a difference locally, in the near future.  For me, it’s a both/and proposal.  Help now, where you can.  Keep helping as new opportunities arise.  And then, when you’ve done something practical, it’s OK to break down in tears for awhile over our brothers and sisters, over their babies, over the sad state of a world in which the people on the inside don’t understand that we are the problem.

 
L.

Boys are Gross

Wednesday Weekly Via Illuminate Update: Downtown Peru, Episode 1

Earlier this week, I read, "When we reject that with which we cannot become intimate, our lives are diminished" (Parker J. Palmer, The Courage to Teach, Page 91).  I think this is true, but I'm struggling with the word cannot.  I tend to be fairly adamant about pushing back when anyone tells me that something is impossible.  I think our ability to intimately relate with others is only limited by how far we are willing to go.  If we're willing to give up everything we have to live like the poor and experience poverty, then we can, indeed, relate intimately to the impoverished.  I recognize that this is not a popular thought or way of living, but that doesn't make it any less true.  As an example from Scripture, Christians tend to be pretty hard on the rich young ruler when Jesus instructs him to, "go and sell all you possess and give to the poor," (see Mark 10:21, NASB) and he doesn't do it (at least according to the general consensus of people who have studied this passage—I might beg to differ).  And yet, how many of us are willing to do just that?  If I'm honest, I'm not.  I'm willing to give up a lot, but I have never been asked to sell every possession, to leave everything familiar, in order to follow.  Sometimes we talk big, and although our family is very serious about the need to live in solidarity with the least of these, the truth is that we have been spoiled...  rotten...

Every once in awhile, I like to stop to take stock of our material blessings.  Honestly, we have so much stuff at this point that it feels like something of a curse.  I think I started to feel this way when we downsized our living space by half almost three years ago.  But this week marked a new adventure for us that is sort of blowing my mind.

As we transition to more time in Peru, we needed somewhere to stay, several days every week, until we close on the church building and make the necessary remediation to call it "livable."  We're not being picky.  It's just that we have a family that suffers from severe allergies and asthma, so there are some things that simply must be done before we can survive in the building... literally. 

There have been delays leading up to the closing.  I am so thankful that the delays have not been on our part, but I'm ready to close.  Go ahead and imagine me repeating over and over, to myself, "Patience is a virtue..."  Occasionally, I think being virtuous is overrated...

But even without our building, my job in Peru started this week, so we had to go...

Now, let me be very clear that my sweet friend and mentor has us set up in a downtown apartment, and... seriously friends... I have always wanted to live in a downtown apartment!  In my younger years, I was thinking maybe NYC, but Peru will have to do!  Our family knows what it is to be briefly homeless, because we have been there... twice... over the past fifteen years.  Our current living arrangement does not, in any way, begin to compare to the desperate housing (or lack thereof) conditions that the least of these here in the United States (or certainly around the world) are subjected to, often for their entire lives.  But let me return just a moment to the spoiled rotten thing...

I've had a master bathroom for years.  The last time I did not have a master bathroom, it was 2005 and I had three really little people who needed help in the bathroom most of the time, anyway!  Sharing made sense. 

But yesterday?  Oh friends, yesterday I both stepped in and sat in pee!  Are you kidding me?  But it gets worse...  Upon washing my hands, I turned to dry them on my own personal hand towel and found that it was covered in snot!  Boys are gross!  Is it shameful that I am questioning whether or not I can scale back and live even a touch closer to the least of these, because I don't want to share my bathroom with my children?  Yes.  It's shameful.  True, but shameful.

We had a lovely two days in Peru.  I taught five early childhood music classes and was incredibly blessed to meet new people and to reconnect with old friends.  There was so much hugging and catching up and talking about my new love of coffee.  And singing.  And dancing.  And helping a college student with a research paper.  And thinking about how I should probably pack pots and pans for next week.  And picking kids up.  And dropping kids off.  And working.  And reading.  And sleeping.  And praying.  And driving.  And stuff.

We have needs.  I took one of those silly FB tests that analyzes your profile, the other day, and it told me that my greatest needs included a massage, a vacation, Sara C. (well, duh... always), lots of sleep, and 24 hours with nothing to do. While all of those would be fabulous, I think my number one need, right now, is to recognize how very blessed we are and to give more.

However, if you're looking for a tangible way to help us get started in Peru, we do, indeed, have a Via Illuminate wish list at Amazon (linked here).  Did you know you can purchase a urinal for $140...  Oh wait, that's not on the list...

L. 

I Refuse to Quit

But seriously, friends...  There are days when I really want to quit.

Psalm 22:11, 14, 22a, "Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is no one to help... I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint.  My heart has turned to wax; it has melted within me... (Yet) I will declare your name to my people..." (NIV).

Psalm 143: 7-8, "Answer me quickly, Lord; my spirit fails.  Do not hide your face from me or I will be like those who go down to the pit.  Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.  Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life" (NIV).

I worked with wax, yesterday.  It granted a completely new meaning to the phrase "hot mess".  Just FYI, if you melt wax in the oven... on canvas... and it drips... it will stink, and create smoke, and not turn out the way you planned.  But it's OK...

These words about a heart of melted wax resonated deeply, today.  I feel sort of expended and like my heart lacks form... it's dripping... pouring over the edge... messy...

But, this life isn't really about my heart.  I'm not going to lie.  I'm exhausted.  But I'm not called to tell you about myself, not really.  What I want to emphasize... what I need to declare... is the name of God.  What is God doing in all of this?

II Corinthians 4:5, 7-12, "For what we preach is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake... But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.  For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you" (NIV).

We're nearing Holy Week.  If there was ever a time when we remember to focus on Jesus' death, this is it.  I'll speak... soon... about the importance of not jumping ahead to the resurrection too quickly, but of course we're looking forward to Easter!  Easter doesn't happen, though, without death.  We get it all wrong, sometimes.  We think that life ends in death (and it does... to a degree), but actually, death gives birth to life...  Huh...  How great would it be for Jesus' life to be revealed in this mortal body...

If anyone misunderstood this, it was the disciples.  Again, as Jesus foretells his death, as he prepares his closest friends for what is to come; they don't get it.  They are still struggling for power.

Mark 10:35-38, 43-44, "Then James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to him. “Teacher,” they said, “we want you to do for us whatever we ask.” “What do you want me to do for you?” he asked.  They replied, “Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory.” “You don’t know what you are asking,” Jesus said. “Can you drink the cup I drink or be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with... whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all. " (NIV).

Do... for... us...

No.  That's not it at all.

Do... for... others...

Continue to serve...

Even if you melt...

Sometimes messes are beautiful...
 
L.