Even Jesus Withdrew

"Jesus withdrew..." (see Mark 3:7).

I went to "building church" (that's what my kids call it) yesterday.  Actually, I even led worship and preached at "building church" yesterday.  It was exhausting.  At some point I realized that it had been a long time since I'd had a Sunday like that. 

You know, one of those typical pastor family kinds of Sundays when you wake up and desperately try to encourage the family to quickly "get ready for church," but you eventually give up and tell your fifteen year old son that he looks fine in his dress pants and Olivet t-shirt...

Or one of those typical pastor family kinds of Sundays when you show up to do pulpit supply and your husband is introduced as the one who is filling in for the pastor who is out of town, and you are introduced as his wife, and you just can't bring yourself to correct these sweet people, so you watch as they figure it out about halfway through the sermon... and then you laugh, later, when he has to sign the check that was written out to him...

Or one of those typical pastor family kinds of Sundays when your five year old decides she would rather sit on the platform with you, with her arms crossed and a pout on her face... and her dress tucked into her tights... and for a brief moment you consider whether a mother of a Kindergartner can actually be called into ministry or not... but just briefly... just... briefly...

Or one of those typical pastor family kinds of Sundays when you really thought you were hot when you left the house, but you actually hate the video...

So... yeah...

It had been a long time, but I guess I hadn't stopped to think too much about it.  In recent days, there has been pressure for us to return to the world of typical "building church".  My kids have been threatened with the possibility of losing their quiz eligibility at higher levels of competition if we don't get their butts in a Nazarene youth group soon.  Turns out it doesn't matter if your dad is an ordained elder.  There are rules for just how Nazarene you have to be, and we haven't met them well.  But we will.  Heaven forbid two of the five best quizzers in our area should lose their eligibility.  I guess people will only be patient with the healing process for so long.  As it turns out, six months is apparently all the time you get.

I'm really trying not to be bitter or angry or over the top about this.  In fact (and I hope you find this funny), I have just about had it with David, today.  Enough of the Psalms about enemies and adversaries, attacks and misery.  That stuff has taken its toll, but it has to end somewhere.

I do not feel ready for re-entry.  But sometimes... scratch that... often, it's not about me.

L.

Area 51

I started off with Psalm 40, today.  I got to Psalm 40:1a, before the irony was so thick I laughed out loud, "I waited patiently for the Lord..." (NIV).  Patience is not a strong point for me.  I'm not even sure it's a weak point for me.  I am not patient.  In addition, I am distracted today.  I mean really distracted.  If you're familiar with Disney/Pixar's "Up," it is a squirrel kind of day, today.  I don't even know why.  Yes, that's how my lectionary reading began...

Eventually I worked my way through Psalm 40, which I would highly suggest to... well... everyone...  And I smiled again at the end, "You are my God, do not delay" (v.17).  See...  still not patient...

However, by the time I got to this point I was focused enough to actually dwell on the rest of the readings.  I looked at the list to see what was next.  Psalm 51.  My initial thought was, "Oh, no.  What have I done, now."

Do you know anything about Area 51?  OK, let's be real.  No one really knows anything about Area 51.  But the whole experimental testing, secrecy, security clearance, conspiracy theory mindset (see wiki), that's sort of how I feel about Psalm 51.  It's this heartbreaking lament, really, after everything that David tried to hide is exposed.  After David is exposed.  I spent a lot of time in Psalm 51 last winter.  Honestly, I spent a lot of time feeling grateful that there was no Nathan the prophet to get all up in my face, to expose my sin.  What happens in Area 51.  Well, it could just stay in Area 51.  Except, as it turned out, Psalm 51 sort of became Nathan to me. 

Sin is awful.  Confession is necessary.

Now, here's the thing.  Very few of us have ever been so turned on by our neighbor's spouse's bathing habits that we call him or her to come on over for some recreation and procreation, only to realize that we are seriously going to get caught, so we make sure our neighbor is murdered.  And let's just be clear, by "us", I do not mean "me", here.  Often I do, but truly friends...  I didn't do that, just in case anyone was speculating.  The story of David and Bathsheba?  It takes the cake. 

Or does it?

All sin is awful.  Confession is necessary.  And healing takes time.  Oh, with the patience again...  

Well, winter turned to spring, and my own story started spewing out of my mouth.  Psalm 51:17 became pretty important in my life, "My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise" (NIV).  I was broken.  I was so, so broken.  And contrite.  I was contrite, too.  But mostly I was broken.  And it seemed like there was going to be no end to this.

Spring turned to summer which turned to fall, and there were reminders at every corner.  To be honest, there were moments when I just wondered why God didn't get on with it and do whatever God needed to do for this to be behind me.  I was just done.

And then slowly, mercifully, I realized that it was winter again. 

Hebrews 10:17-18 says, "'Their sins and lawless acts I will remember no more.'  And where these have been forgiven, sacrifice for sin is no longer necessary" (NIV).

Today I realized that I feel slightly less broken.  I have no idea if that seems hopeful to anyone else or not.  It feels pretty good to me.

There are still hard days.  There are still moments when something will remind me of some piece of the madness that became last year.  I will see something... or hear something... or even smell something, and I go quiet.  I have to remember that I'm not living that narrative anymore.  I have to remember to breathe in and breathe out and refrain from throwing something across the room, because it won't make any sense, and you should only throw things if it makes sense... or something...  But it's so much better.

I know it's not that God is taking an extraordinary amount of time with this.  It's just that some things take an extraordinary amount of time.  But there is hope.  There is always hope.

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful" (Hebrews 10:23, NIV).

L.

Why I Am Pro-Life

And I mean really, really pro-life... pro-life from conception to natural death, a pacifist (or at least really close to it), and anti capital punishment.  There.  I've said it.  Is everybody sufficiently offended? 

Psalm 49:7-8, "No one can redeem the life of another or give to God a ransom for them - the ransom for a life is costly, no payment is ever enough" (NIV).

Life is costly.  Life is precious.  Life is an enormous risk.  Always.

I get it that there are unspeakable tragedies that occur which cause people from every side of every situation to question whether life is the best choice, perhaps even whether life is the most compassionate choice.  We could get into all kinds of greater good arguments.  The biggest problem with greater good arguments is that we will always come to a point where we are choosing which lives matter most.  We don't get to choose that, and it's not because of some cliché that leads to God choosing which lives matter most.  All lives matter most.  All of them.  All of us.  Together.  As a community.  We have been created imago Dei (in the image of God).  Any "greater good" that results in the loss of life is not greater.  I mean, seriously, greater than what?  The loss of more life?  The loss of more important lives?  No.  We have to stop thinking like this.

But what do we do about lives that have been devalued?

Even as I wrote the paragraph above, I started to worry, will people think I am self identifying with the "all lives matter" hashtag people?  You know, the people who were offended by the "black lives matter" hashtag?  Because I do not identify with bigots.  Just sayin'.  In thinking about this, though, it seems that we have pushed the envelope of bigotry so far that the concept of all life being important has become, in itself, a sarcastic way to look as if we care about all life while actually screaming that our own lives are most important. 

How about the lives of the elderly?  I have recently seen many posts regarding how unethical it is to continue to resuscitate the dying and to keep them breathing, artificially, in a vegetative state, because we can't let go.  Is that really pro-life, is it really pro-all-life, or is it us, screaming, that our own comfort is most important?

What about the nineteen year old girl who is raped and pregnant and kicked out of her home and terrified.  When we shame her and declare that she deserves to live on the street, with nothing, are we creating a pro-life environment?  Do we actually care about the life of the unborn child?  What about the life of the already born child who cannot meet her own basic needs let alone the needs of another person?  When we have no empathy and shout words from across the street (or halfway across the world), are we not screaming that our own privileged lives are more important?

When we're willing to kill people because of their religious beliefs or because they happen to live down the street from someone whose religious beliefs are different than our own, making them an unfortunate, accidental casualty; when we do this and cover it by calling it our responsibility, are we not screaming that our Christian, American lives are more important?

Even when people seemingly bring death on themselves by committing atrocious acts against others, do we somehow think that killing them will right the wrong, bring justice, heal the wounds?  It won't, but are we not screaming that our need for blood is more important than their need for redemption?  That our more righteous lives, and our vengeance, are more important?

Oh friends...  We need to stop screaming and start loving... start looking beyond... start letting go... start giving... start listening...

How did we ever get to the point where the "Christian" answer is hate and death?  God, forgive us.  Help us fix this.

L.

That's All She Wrote

And she wrote a lot.

It's astounding to me that I have blogged 26 straight days.  It's a record.  It's sure not what I set out to do.  It's probably killing my "regular reader" numbers, because people don't generally read the same blog every... single... day.  That's not why I'm doing it.

It's Ministry Monday, friends, and today that comes with a reminder to feed your soul.  Consistently.  It's something that I haven't always been very good at.  In fact, it's something that I have mostly not been very good at.  #Confession 

Interestingly, at the beginning of many new years, I have set out to take much better care of my physical body without thinking much about the rest of me.  This doesn't work all that well when we recognize that people must live holistically.  I actually like to use "wholistically," even though it isn't really a word.  The point is, we are connected - physically, mentally, emotionally, socially, spiritually connected.  Taking care of one part of ourselves often provides benefits for the rest of us.  Neglecting one part of ourselves?  Well, it's the same principle.  Sometimes it's all we can do to care for one piece of the puzzle, but it's better when the whole picture comes together.

I'm spending an exorbitant amount of time focusing on my physical body lately, but it is nothing like other eras of life.  I am focusing on things like, "If I bend over to put my shoes on, will I still be able to walk out the door?" This has really thrown a wrench in how I originally planned to start this year.  Early mornings and late nights at the gym?  Are you kidding?  If I get there once a week... in the afternoon... it's like winning a championship game!  I am trying not to feel pathetic.

Interestingly, this has forced me to slow down (which I hate), and has also allowed me to consider what things really make or break a day (which I love).  I have spent more time consuming Scripture than I have in years, and this new rhythm is good for my soul... at least right now.  The funny thing about rhythms is that they change over time, and that's OK.  I did not expect to be living a ballad at this point, but whatever.  It won't last forever.

Much of what I have written over the past few weeks has been a reflection of the liturgical readings I have been using.  Unfortunately, my journal is blank, today.  It's not that there wasn't anything important upon which to reflect.  It's just that nothing struck me as particularly profound.  And my planner is void of activity.  That just never happens.

And yet, there is something to be said even on a day like today.  Here it is.  I think empty days might be the days on which it is most important to remember that rhythm and consistency matter.  I think this is the kind of day that would usually end the blog streak for me.  And the biggest problem with that is that once a streak is broken, who knows how long it might take to restart.  Loss of momentum can be devastating. 

And so, let me issue a challenge to you, today, especially to those of you who are "in the trenches", ministering to others on a regular basis.  Take a few moments to stop, today, and make a list (I like paper, but you can do this in your head, too) of ways in which you can begin to take care of each part of who you are on a regular basis.  Make a list of things you can do, every day, even when there are no profound revelations or fancy words.  Consider what little steps you might make toward being the healthiest you can be.  And then start doing these things!  Even on the days when progress looks invisible.

 
L.

I Didn't Mean to Be So Angsty...

...this year... or, you know, my whole life...

I ran across two Scriptures, this morning, that stand in contrast to one another and resonate so deeply it hurts.

Psalm 30:6, "When I felt secure, I said, 'I will never be shaken'" (NIV).

And...

Psalm 42:3, "My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, 'Where is your God?'" (NIV).

I choose my words very carefully.  Go ahead.  Laugh.  Get it all out.  But, actually, it's true.  The people who are closest to me often re-read what I write multiple times before drawing a conclusion, because they know my words are chosen in such a way that a quick read-through will probably impart some sort of truth, but what I really mean is hidden beneath layers upon layers upon layers.  And somewhere, buried deeply, you can likely find the unshaken core of who I am under the desperate cry, "Where are you, God?"

To remain unshaken, when shaken, is in many ways the proverbial story of my life.

Personal Reflection is an important spiritual discipline.  It is, essentially, paying close attention to what is going on inside of ourselves in order to be transformed into more loving people: people who love God more, people who love people more, people who love ourselves more.  It can be very difficult to become this kind of person in the midst of insecurity. 

On the surface, quite honestly, all I can see is uncertainty, lately.  But the surface doesn't really matter that much.  I was just thinking about cells (weird, right), and how our skin replenishes itself approximately every 27 days.  Whatever you're looking at, today...  it's going to be gone in less than a month.  Taking this a step further, borrowing from Donald Miller, again, "The human body essentially recreates itself every six months.  Nearly every cell of hair and skin and bone dies and another is directed to its former place" (A Million Miles in a Thousand Years).  I'll take some creative license and amend his next statement.  We're not the same people we were last summer.  At least, not mostly.  Reflection matters, because it transforms the parts of us that last.

Over the past few weeks I have made and amended some commitments.  They include things like:

If there is something that I feel God would be pleased with, I will do it without worrying about the details.  I may have already mentioned this.  Huge step for a compulsive planner.  I have reservations for six flights sitting on my printer, and I am considering eating only cupcakes for three straight days in March.  Wait.  Let's not think too hard about whether or not God put that particular plan in my heart...

I will continue to help people, even if I don't know where the resources will come from.  Huge step for someone who is terrified of letting people down.  It's hard to say, "I will help you," without knowing if I can actually do anything practical, but interestingly enough I am finding that other people are sometimes willing to kick in the resources if I just ask.

I will continue to raise funny kids.  Huge step for a mom who used to think it was important for socks to match and children to refrain from sharing embarrassing family secrets in public.  I added this one, last night, after a dear friend sent a message thanking our family for the gift of laughter.  So, even though Miah says things like, "Oh no!  Why do you have to post that," I will continue to leave this family vulnerable if it brings joy to others.

I sat down and started making a list of all the things I have seen God do either for or through me/us (because much of it has been a community effort), just since I began adopting these unconventional life rules.  The list is longer than I thought it would be.  Oh look.  There's my God.

Whatever you're looking at, right now...  It matters, but in the end it won't last.  Dig deeper.  Dig deep.

L.