Season Finales

I have a confession to make.  I didn’t watch popular TV for a couple of decades, but then I did again.

Why do we invest our time in fictional narratives?  Perhaps the reasons are as diverse as the number of us who exist and continue to circle around the sun.  My honest answer is that there was this moment when I said to myself, “I need to sit down and binge watch something that has characters with more complicated lives than mine.” 

I chose Grey’s Anatomy.  If I legitimately wanted characters with ridiculously complex lives, I struck gold.  I watched 12 seasons in three months.  That’s 269 episodes.  I have yet to decide if I am proud of this or irrevocably ashamed.  After years upon years of being an entertainment media purist, I felt like I was flipping off the world, rebel me, watching all that off screen sex… and blood related to medical procedures… and bad language…   I was angry.  But this was three years ago.

Most days, I don’t wake up angry anymore.  Honestly, most days I wake up super exhausted and hope somebody has hit the power button on the Keurig, as I grapple for my glasses and consider how I can best balance the writing of children’s sermons and academic papers… being mom in sweatpants and jet-setting in business suits… being who I am and who I hope to be… and most days, I’m fairly amazed that I have the opportunity.

But I’m thinking a lot about season finales, right now, because it’s that time of year (and one does not surrender thirteen full days of one’s life to follow characters and then fail to turn the final page…  it can’t go on forever, right?).  I’m thinking about how season finales have the power to bring us to tears or even make us throw things (that might just be me).  I’m thinking about how they are almost always cliffhangers, keeping us on the edge of our seats, causing us to set the DVR for fall… watching… waiting…  And, I’m thinking about how I am living a season finale, right now.

Some finales are more epic than others.  Undoubtedly, the most difficult ones are those in which we say good-bye to beloved characters.  If you know anything at all about living in Shondaland, you also know she is more than willing to kill off major characters… like… all of them, without apology…   Equally tragic, however, are the characters that choose to leave, and it really plays with our emotions when these characters make guest appearances, showing up on the scene again… 

Honestly, this can feel a lot like real life…  “Oh crap, there you are…  I forgot you weren’t dead…”

It sounds brutal, but I think it hurts more when people decide we aren’t worth their time or walk away to protect their own interests, leaving ours in a heap of disarray that can, at best, be gathered and sorted and sobbed over, but that, at worst, is so damaged it can never be fixed… or even properly dealt with or grieved.

I mean, come on…  How can you actually grieve something to its end when there are constant (or even intermittent, see: I’m really not angry every day) reminders that it could still exist, if every star aligned just right?  Even if you don’t want that to be the case, there can still be too many “what ifs” and “if onlys” to permanently put it to rest.

There have occasionally been times in my life when I have uttered the words, “I would give anything for…”

It’s actually a really dumb thing to say, because there are few things in the world that any of us would actually give anything… let alone everything… for.  But stay with me.  This is all going to connect.  The mending of broken relationship might come closest, with just not hurting over broken relationship taking a tight second.

As I’ve processed (and, admittedly, maybe even over-processed) some things along these lines, I have run across a couple of well-meaning friends who have suggested the potential for reframing the stories and changing the narratives we tell.  Apparently, this works well for many people… alleviates anxiety… minimizes triggers… results in a happy ending…  But I just can’t buy it!

Proverbs 4: 7, 13, 25-27a, “The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get understanding…  Hold on to instruction, do not let it go; guard it well, for it is your life. Let your eyes look straight ahead; fix your gaze directly before you… Give careful thought to the paths for your feet and be steadfast in all your ways. Do not turn to the right or the left…”

I think I’d rather feel it.  I think someday it will hurt less, because it already hurts less often, but I do not want to forget (I’ve heard that might be my problem).  I think I’d rather cry forever, but I also know I’m not crying nearly as much.   I think revisionist history is dangerous, because although it may allow us to forget the tragedy, it also causes us to forget the joy. 

And… see Psalm 6:8-9, “for the Lord has heard my weeping. The Lord has heard my cry for mercy; the Lord accepts my prayer.” 

I’m just not willing to wipe that out.

Is it easy?  Yeah.  Some days it is.  Is it difficult?  Ditto.  Is it unbearable?  Yep, at times, that too.  Welcome back to ordinary days...  Welcome back to what it is to be human.  And just in case you didn’t catch it, this is also a cliff hanger…  Stay tuned in to find out which characters make this cut…

L.

PS Don’t even get me started on series finales...

To No Fanfare

I have too many potential ideas for posts running around in my head, today, and I also have an incredibly quiet office…  This is either going to end well or not…

I woke up to a pageview ticker that informed me Flip Flops, Glitter, and Theology had flipped 50,000 pageviews, while I slept.  I thought I would watch this happen (like I did as I neared the 10,000 mark), but life is incredibly different now than it was then… and it hasn’t really been that long. 

I was deep in thought about small things and big things and how sometimes small things seem big (either in positive or negative ways), but then you live a little bit more, and perspective is so fluid. 

I spent last week thinking a lot about big fish in small ponds and how the ponds I once thought were lakes now look more like puddles to me, and also about how I have absolutely no desire to flop around in them like an oxygen deprived fish.  I was thinking about how I used to be so desperate to be seen and heard in circles that no longer matter to me, because I am being seen and heard in bigger bodies of water… like the ocean.  I really like the ocean.  And I had a brief moment of panic when someone suggested I might be gaining enough traction to become a big fish there, and I don’t want that!  I mean, I honestly don’t!  I have this new, bigger dream than I ever imagined was possible, and I’m OK if it continues to change and grow, but I legitimately don’t want to be blown out of the water.  I’m getting kind of old for that!

Interestingly, the daily office related well to the stuff I was already thinking, which continues to blow my mind, year after year after year… 

So, shout out to the minor prophet Zechariah who was brave enough to pen these words,  “For whoever has despised the day of small things shall rejoice” (4:10a, NRSV).

I sure have lived that—the despising of the day of small things.  The Psalmist also writes about days, “When they were of little account” (see Psalm 105), and it’s interesting how it doesn’t stay that way, even when it seems the small stuff is never-ending. 

Every once in awhile, I actually wish I could return to a simpler time.  But then I remember how much I love what God is doing in the world, and I’m not willing to miss out on my part, whatever it may be!

L.

Blessed Are... Blessed Are... Blessed Are...

Sometimes it takes a couple of days to sink in…

As we move toward ascension, I have a lot of feelings, but the most prominent one, year after year, is that of the abandonment that comes from grief.  I have blogged about it in the past and was honored to flesh it out a little more in a commentary for this week at A Plain Account, found here. 

The daily office, however, keeps leading me back to passages of comfort and blessing, and although the beatitudes do not make an appearance, I could not help but think of them.  But you know who’s comforted?  Those who mourn.  And let’s be real.  I don’t want that part.  You don’t want that part.  We don’t want that part.

Most of this is coming in fits and starts for me.

Matthew 5:

“Blessed are… blessed are… blessed are…”

Numbers 6:24-26, “The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.”

Psalm 80:18-19, “We will never turn back from you; give us life and we will call on your name.  Restore us, O Lord God of hosts; let your face shine, that we may be saved.”

Matthew 13:16, “But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear.”

Those two men in white in the ascension story want the apostles to stop looking up into the sky.  We always assume they are helpful to the narrative (and I suppose they probably are), but this has me thinking about something I say to my children when I want to know they are definitely listening to me, that they really hear me.  I say, “Look at my face.”

Ascension is difficult, because we mourn and grieve as we lose sight of Jesus’ face.  Blessing generally comes with his face toward ours and our faces fixed on his, and we understand that kind of blessing.  As I write about it, today, I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.  It is the kind of blessing that makes us forget about everything that surrounds us, because our eyes are fixed on just one thing.  Our ears are fixed on just one thing, and it is so good.

But that other kind of blessing…  the one that only comes when we have mourned, when comfort becomes valuable to us…  it’s harder to swallow.  Could we not just skip the part that hurts?  And what of the heartrending moments in which we cannot see Jesus, at all? 

Perhaps we might pray:

II Timothy 2:2b, “… that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity.”

Sometimes blessings are hard earned and the furthest thing from what we ever wanted.  That’s probably when we need to be blessed the very most.

L.

Stop Being Sorry

A month ago, just as I took a temporary, unplanned break from blogging, I scribbled down this question: “Must we be sorry forever?”

Psalm 38:20 was part of my reading, that day:

“Those who render me evil for good are my adversaries because I follow after good…” (NRSV).

Friends, this is not a claim that I have it all together.  Have you read me? But in fairness, I do think we need to come to pivotal moments in life when enough is enough.  What do we think redemption is, anyway?

Fast forward to today…

God doesn’t stay angry. 

This seems like a strange thing to say, in more ways than one.  I struggle with the image of an angry God, and I think even our Scriptures paint God in a certain light precisely because of antiquated theology that was appropriate for the cultural context of the time and place in which Scripture was penned.  This doesn’t make it any less true, but it does cause me to pause and seek the point of the words more sincerely than the words, themselves. 

Psalm 30:5 seemed helpful to me, today:

“For his anger is but for a moment; his favor is for a lifetime.  Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning” (NRSV).

OK.  I can live with that.  We all can literally live with that.  These words are God breathing fresh life into broken stuff… into broken us.  I don’t really know how angry God gets, but I suppose if there is anyone who has a right to be angry, it’s God.  And I guess I have to think that God does get angry about injustices and suffering and evil in the world that brings pain, but I also have to be careful not to make God into me.  I have to be so careful.

This moment, though, has me considering what it is to accept that God might get angry but to also allow for a scenario in which God’s anger dissipates.  It is most difficult when I think God is angry with me.  It is most difficult when I think God has reason to be angry with me.  It is helpful to know that even if that line of thinking pans out (and I actually don’t know whether or not it does), it’s not permanent. 

Ezekiel 39:28-29 is telling.  After the author details the ways in which God has been angry with Israel… with God’s own people…  After the author details the ways in which God has abandoned God’s people…  We get these words:

“…I will leave none of them behind; I will never again hide my face from them, when I pour out my spirit…” (NRSV).

This…  Oh, friends… this…

It’s the answer to my question.

Must we be sorry?

Yes—personally, communally, systemically; we must be sorry.

Must we be sorry forever?

Well, maybe still yes, but that doesn’t mean we must be overwhelmed with guilt or shame.  God is done with that!  We, also, need to be done with it.

Today, as people greatly forgiven, may we offer mercy.  May we choose not to hide our faces, but to accept forgiveness and to launch ourselves into the center of the hurting in order to bring healing, not because we need to be continually apologetic but because we have chosen now to follow good… to be the examples of love in our homes, in our communities, and around the globe. 

Let’s stop just being sorry and start being salvific.  This is what confession looks like.

L.

Humility for Jedi

“This is not going to go the way you think…” –Luke Skywalker

It’s possible that these words are fresh in my mind, because I have now seen “The Last Jedi” three times.  I don’t even love the movie, but we are intergenerationally a Star Wars family for life, so you have to see it with everyone.  That’s just how the force works. 

I feel relatively confident that I am the only one left (in my family… maybe in the world…) who is still holding out hope for the redemption of Kylo Ren.  As it turns out, there are a few things in life that are truly unforgiveable, and apparently killing Han Solo… your father… is one of them.  But this Luke Skywalker line… it’s bothering me…

What does this have to do with the flip flops, glitter, or theology?  Let’s hope I can make a connection, or this post is going to be a bust!

Humility is a funny thing (not humorous, just funny).  I should probably admit, at this point, that it was my intention to write a post about success, today.  I’m now saving it for tomorrow… or next week… or someday… or never… we’ll see.  This change in direction all started with a sermon quote from yesterday’s worship gathering:

“Sometimes the price to be paid for freedom is loneliness…  Change always comes with loss.”[i]

Then I ran across a quote from Martin Luther King Jr., which is at least equally true:

“It’s always the right time to do what is right.”

Dr. King said so many important things, and this is not ordinarily the one I might quote on this day of remembrance and celebration of his life and work, but it somehow seems fitting. 

So, what is right?

Psalm 25 underscores the concepts of loneliness and humility and confession and systemic change, all around.  I have included most of it here, with some parts that stood out to me, specifically, highlighted in red:

⁶ Be mindful of your mercy, O Lord, and of your steadfast love,
    for they have been from of old.
⁷ Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
    according to your steadfast love remember me,
    for your goodness’ sake, O Lord!

⁸ Good and upright is the Lord;
    therefore he instructs sinners in the way.
⁹ He leads the humble in what is right,
    and teaches the humble his way.
¹⁰ All the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness,
    for those who keep his covenant and his decrees.

¹¹ For your name’s sake, O Lord,
    pardon my guilt, for it is great.
¹² Who are they that fear the Lord?
    He will teach them the way that they should choose.

¹³ They will abide in prosperity,
    and their children shall possess the land.
¹⁴ The friendship of the Lord is for those who fear him,
    and he makes his covenant known to them.
¹⁵ My eyes are ever toward the Lord,
    for he will pluck my feet out of the net.

¹⁶ Turn to me and be gracious to me,
    for I am lonely and afflicted.
¹⁷ Relieve the troubles of my heart,
    and bring me out of my distress.
¹⁸ Consider my affliction and my trouble,
    and forgive all my sins.

¹⁹ Consider how many are my foes,
    and with what violent hatred they hate me.
²⁰ O guard my life, and deliver me;
    do not let me be put to shame, for I take refuge in you.
²¹ May integrity and uprightness preserve me,
    for I wait for you.

The daily office continued to push me hard, this morning, as I leaned in to Hebrews 4 and considered the tested yet sinless Jesus and my own need to, “approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that [I] may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (4:16).

Accusing others of guilt is tempting, but as confession so often does; it must begin with me… with you… with those in leadership who have an opportunity to deal gently with others… with those called by God, offering sacrifices first for our own sins: personal, communal, and systemic (see Hebrews 5:3-5).

Well, that’s humiliating.  It’s lonely.  And, it’s not how I thought this was going to go.  Following Jesus rarely does.

L.    

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[i] I don’t know who originally said this, but she was right.