December 31, 2011
Lessons from A Little Princess
One of my favorite books as a child was A Little Princess by Francis Hodgson Burnett. The story is about Sarah Crewe a little girl living at a boarding school who acts like a princess not matter what her circumstances. At first she lives like a princess; she is the richest girl at the school. However, when her father loses all of his money and dies the jealous Miss Minchin banishes her to the attic and makes her work as a servant at the school. Even in poverty, working long, hard day and barely getting enough food to survive, Sarah still acts like and thinks of herself as a princess. She never lets go of this vision, and it helps her survive. She makes herself a princess by her belief and her action.
As a child of God, adopted in Jesus family, we are all princes and princesses. No matter where we come from or how much money we have, we are children of the king. What does it mean to be a princess?
A princess knows that she is special. She isn’t willing to settle for less than what she deserves, she isn’t willing to kiss all the frogs she can find in hopes of making a prince. A princess knows she has value and requires the world to respect that value. She won’t sell herself short.
A princess has responsibility. She takes responsibility for her own actions and she takes responsibility for those around her. She knows that she has a duty to share what she has, to take care of others and serve them before herself. A princess must be gracious, forgiving others and giving grace wherever she goes.
I wish that I could have Sarah Crewe’s attitude. Every little girl wishes she was a princess, but few are capable of believing it despite all odds. Yet every woman is a princess, no matter who she is, no matter where she lives, not matter what she does, she is a princess. Every man is a prince. We are all sons and daughters of the king, it’s just that sometimes we forget.
December 10, 2011
Circle of Submission
Bath day took on a whole new meaning when I started to work as a home care aide. Instead of settling into a nice hot tub to soak and wash away my worries, I pull on a pair of rubber gloves. Once a week I go into somone's home and give someone a bath because this person can no longer do it for herself. I serve the elderly, and it goes way beyond foot washing.
Doesn't sound like a very fun job?
It has been an amazing experience, and I have learned more about life in the shower than I have most other place. I have learned to love, learned to put my needs behind another's, and learned to lead in submission.
Lead with submission. Doesn't that sound weird? Yet it is a simple circle of submission that occurs every bath day. I must submit to the one who needs a bath. I must look out for her every need. I must make sure that the water does not get too hot, that soap does not get in her eyes, that I don't stub any of her toes. I must do my job quickly, carefully, and gently. I have to listen to everything my client says above the sound of running water, and try to make sure the bath is as painless as possible. Sitting on a hard plastic bench can be painful for someone so old, and sit up just for half an hour can be exhausting.
No matter who I am bathing, it is an act of service. I must completely submit to what that person needs. Yet I must also be the leader. I cannot always give the person what they want, because they may not be able to judge what is in their own best interest anymore. They may not be able to follow the bathing process to know when to close their eyes for shampoo, to raise their foot so I can get between the toes, or to rinse out the rag now that everything is sudsy. I have to direct the entire process, guiding my client, to whom I must also submit. Yet the client also leads me, tells me what she needs, helps me do my job better. The circle continues.
So we submit to each other. I am both under and over the person I am trying to serve. She is both under and over me, directing and submitting. It is a strange circle, but it is one that I play out on a regular basis.
Many people think of submission as a dirty word, and something to be avoided, as something bad. Yet it does mean at all that we surrender our rights, our abilities, or our leadership. When we submit to others, we look to their needs, we see what it best for them, and we take action accordingly. We put our self need in the backseat, but we don't leave the driver seat. We just drive with a different purpose, guide our actions by a different standard, look to a different end goal.
When I think of Jesus washing the disciples feet, I cannot help but think of bath day, and the action takes on a whole new meaning. Jesus submitted to our needs in every way, yet he is also our great leader. He is trying to take care of us, to guide us to a better life, a better way. He is trying to wash us clean, and we just can't remember how to take a bath or our hands are too weak to hold the rag, to inflexible to reach down to our toes or shampoo our own hair. We tel Jesus what we want, hope for, desire, think we need, and Jesus takes our desires into account but also tries to determine what is in our best interest.
Bath day is important. If my clients didn't have some to help them in the shower, they would become soiled, become ill, and probably die. Yet so many dread bath day. It is hard, uncomfortable, exhausting.
But it is necessary. How much has Jesus given me that is necessary that I have resented? What has He done to help cleanse me from the inside out and grow me into a better person that I have complained about? Help me to be a better servant. Help me to be a better leader. Help me to submit.
If we could just submit to each other without fear, and retain the integrity of our leadership, how might we change the world? If I could live out the circle outside of bath day, how might my life change?
Doesn't sound like a very fun job?
It has been an amazing experience, and I have learned more about life in the shower than I have most other place. I have learned to love, learned to put my needs behind another's, and learned to lead in submission.
Lead with submission. Doesn't that sound weird? Yet it is a simple circle of submission that occurs every bath day. I must submit to the one who needs a bath. I must look out for her every need. I must make sure that the water does not get too hot, that soap does not get in her eyes, that I don't stub any of her toes. I must do my job quickly, carefully, and gently. I have to listen to everything my client says above the sound of running water, and try to make sure the bath is as painless as possible. Sitting on a hard plastic bench can be painful for someone so old, and sit up just for half an hour can be exhausting.
No matter who I am bathing, it is an act of service. I must completely submit to what that person needs. Yet I must also be the leader. I cannot always give the person what they want, because they may not be able to judge what is in their own best interest anymore. They may not be able to follow the bathing process to know when to close their eyes for shampoo, to raise their foot so I can get between the toes, or to rinse out the rag now that everything is sudsy. I have to direct the entire process, guiding my client, to whom I must also submit. Yet the client also leads me, tells me what she needs, helps me do my job better. The circle continues.
So we submit to each other. I am both under and over the person I am trying to serve. She is both under and over me, directing and submitting. It is a strange circle, but it is one that I play out on a regular basis.
Many people think of submission as a dirty word, and something to be avoided, as something bad. Yet it does mean at all that we surrender our rights, our abilities, or our leadership. When we submit to others, we look to their needs, we see what it best for them, and we take action accordingly. We put our self need in the backseat, but we don't leave the driver seat. We just drive with a different purpose, guide our actions by a different standard, look to a different end goal.
When I think of Jesus washing the disciples feet, I cannot help but think of bath day, and the action takes on a whole new meaning. Jesus submitted to our needs in every way, yet he is also our great leader. He is trying to take care of us, to guide us to a better life, a better way. He is trying to wash us clean, and we just can't remember how to take a bath or our hands are too weak to hold the rag, to inflexible to reach down to our toes or shampoo our own hair. We tel Jesus what we want, hope for, desire, think we need, and Jesus takes our desires into account but also tries to determine what is in our best interest.
Bath day is important. If my clients didn't have some to help them in the shower, they would become soiled, become ill, and probably die. Yet so many dread bath day. It is hard, uncomfortable, exhausting.
But it is necessary. How much has Jesus given me that is necessary that I have resented? What has He done to help cleanse me from the inside out and grow me into a better person that I have complained about? Help me to be a better servant. Help me to be a better leader. Help me to submit.
If we could just submit to each other without fear, and retain the integrity of our leadership, how might we change the world? If I could live out the circle outside of bath day, how might my life change?
October 15, 2011
My First Football Game
Last night, I attended my first football game EVER.
Yes, at age 27, I have never been to a live football game, nor done more than halfway glance at one my uncles or Dad had on TV.
But my sister is in marching band, so what can you do? She plays at halftime, so I went at halftime, bought a ticket, and took a seat for the sole purpose of watching the marching band.
I've never understood why people like watching sports. It never made much sense to me, what glued grown men to a TV screen where other grown men throw, catch, kick and dribble a little ball around.
At least five people asked me last night, why have I never been to a football game before?
My question was, why would I go?
I don't even like watching volleyball, which is a sport I understand. I played in junior high so I actually understand the rules and know when I have just seen a good play.
My knowledge of football (before last night) could be summed up in this:
Guys throw a ball across a long field and try to get to the end without getting knocked over. It's really just an excuse for guys to knock each other around, albeit with a lot of weird rules.
So imagine my surprise when, after the band left the field and the players came back on, I found the whole thing mildly entertaining. Especially when five guys mob the one player with the ball, and they all wind up in a huge pile on the ground. I was giggling so hard I nearly spilled my nachos, it was that funny.
Have you ever seen a two teenagers in football pads and helmets waltz across the grass? That was what a few of the tackle attempts looked like to me.
Of course, half of the entertainment wasn't on the field, it was in the stands. Everyone there seemed to have advice for the coach. They sit up high in the bleachers and shout instructions at the players, but you know nobody on the field can hear a word they say. Watching grown men jump up and down, bounce on the edge of their seats and hang their heads in their hands all because of a few kids and a lemon-shaped ball. There's nothing quite like it.
It's infectious. I think I cheered at one point. Me. Cheered. Because a kid caught a ball and then got a face full of grass.
Ah, the weird ways of the world.
I actually stayed for the end of the game.
We lost. :(
But it was fun. Football. Fun.
In my wildest dreams, I never would have imagined that.
Yes, at age 27, I have never been to a live football game, nor done more than halfway glance at one my uncles or Dad had on TV.
But my sister is in marching band, so what can you do? She plays at halftime, so I went at halftime, bought a ticket, and took a seat for the sole purpose of watching the marching band.
I've never understood why people like watching sports. It never made much sense to me, what glued grown men to a TV screen where other grown men throw, catch, kick and dribble a little ball around.
At least five people asked me last night, why have I never been to a football game before?
My question was, why would I go?
I don't even like watching volleyball, which is a sport I understand. I played in junior high so I actually understand the rules and know when I have just seen a good play.
My knowledge of football (before last night) could be summed up in this:
Guys throw a ball across a long field and try to get to the end without getting knocked over. It's really just an excuse for guys to knock each other around, albeit with a lot of weird rules.
So imagine my surprise when, after the band left the field and the players came back on, I found the whole thing mildly entertaining. Especially when five guys mob the one player with the ball, and they all wind up in a huge pile on the ground. I was giggling so hard I nearly spilled my nachos, it was that funny.
Have you ever seen a two teenagers in football pads and helmets waltz across the grass? That was what a few of the tackle attempts looked like to me.
Of course, half of the entertainment wasn't on the field, it was in the stands. Everyone there seemed to have advice for the coach. They sit up high in the bleachers and shout instructions at the players, but you know nobody on the field can hear a word they say. Watching grown men jump up and down, bounce on the edge of their seats and hang their heads in their hands all because of a few kids and a lemon-shaped ball. There's nothing quite like it.
It's infectious. I think I cheered at one point. Me. Cheered. Because a kid caught a ball and then got a face full of grass.
Ah, the weird ways of the world.
I actually stayed for the end of the game.
We lost. :(
But it was fun. Football. Fun.
In my wildest dreams, I never would have imagined that.
October 11, 2011
Tall Tales
Have you ever noticed how unrealistic so many movies are? I'm not just talking about fantasy movies, with magic and wizards and such, or sci-fi with spaceships and aliens. These stories acknodlege that they aren't realistic, even though they are as relevant to the real world as any general fiction or non-fiction. Yet even a lot of the stories that seem more 'plausible' and don't have many fantasy elements are very unrealistic.
We like to tell stories about big events, about things that are earth-shattering and require heroes to save the future for us. There is something in big stories, in tall tales, that speaks to our humanity and grabs our attention. We know our lives are small and have little significance in the grand scheme of things. Few of us get an opportinuty to shape the world. Yet the stories we tell are often about the big events that few of us have real contact with rather than the every-day reality of our lives. The blockbuster movies are not about the neighborhood but about the nation or the planet.
Doesn't it make sense, then, that God should speak to us through tall tales? There is much debate about the actual historicty of events such as the Exodus. Did they take place exactly as described in the Bible? Does it matter?
What matters is the story. Big stories get our attention and help us see beyond the small reality of every-day life that we live in. Tall tales ignite our minds and fuel our imaginations and inspire us to reach further than we could without them. Stories that wrap us up into something bigger than we can see make us want to be better than we are.
How often to children play out the events of a story they just heard? When I was in junior high, my friends and I divided the playground into the map of our favotire fantasy series, and replayed stories from the books or created our own. We learn through stories, through playing and participating in the landscape and characters.
God gave us a story and has invited us to come play in it like children (let the little children come to me). We don't need to analyze the story, we need to participate in it. We don't need to pick it apart to figure out what it means, we need to find our place in it.
How often did you want to open a story book and be able to dive straight into the pages, leave this world behind and stand beside your favorite characters in the flesh? We can do that, because the Bible story is playing out all around us every day. We just need to jump in and live the tall tale.
We like to tell stories about big events, about things that are earth-shattering and require heroes to save the future for us. There is something in big stories, in tall tales, that speaks to our humanity and grabs our attention. We know our lives are small and have little significance in the grand scheme of things. Few of us get an opportinuty to shape the world. Yet the stories we tell are often about the big events that few of us have real contact with rather than the every-day reality of our lives. The blockbuster movies are not about the neighborhood but about the nation or the planet.
Doesn't it make sense, then, that God should speak to us through tall tales? There is much debate about the actual historicty of events such as the Exodus. Did they take place exactly as described in the Bible? Does it matter?
What matters is the story. Big stories get our attention and help us see beyond the small reality of every-day life that we live in. Tall tales ignite our minds and fuel our imaginations and inspire us to reach further than we could without them. Stories that wrap us up into something bigger than we can see make us want to be better than we are.
How often to children play out the events of a story they just heard? When I was in junior high, my friends and I divided the playground into the map of our favotire fantasy series, and replayed stories from the books or created our own. We learn through stories, through playing and participating in the landscape and characters.
God gave us a story and has invited us to come play in it like children (let the little children come to me). We don't need to analyze the story, we need to participate in it. We don't need to pick it apart to figure out what it means, we need to find our place in it.
How often did you want to open a story book and be able to dive straight into the pages, leave this world behind and stand beside your favorite characters in the flesh? We can do that, because the Bible story is playing out all around us every day. We just need to jump in and live the tall tale.
August 31, 2011
Did God want a Temple?
How often have you heard lately that it's not about church, it's about the body. It's not the building, it's the people who love and serve God. You don't have to listen to a sermon every Sunday morning to be a good Christian, you have you live it out in your life.
We have built cathedrals and mega churches, tiny church buildings and cross-shaped momuments. We have lifted up in art and architecture the basic symbols of our faith and created not just a palce for corporate gatherings but a whole set of rules, expectations, social mores and ideologies to go with it. We have created beaureaucratic churches with councils and elders and secretaries and boards for every topic imaginable. We have shaped the church according to our culture, and that is to be expected. As long as we remember that the true church is not the building, the elders, the name on the sign or the docritnal regulations, it is the body of believers living together, loving the world, and serving God.
So why was the Temple so important to Ancient Israel? Why did it become so central to the Jews? The first ten books of the Bible don't have a temple in them at all. After the Exodus there was a tent and a place to keep the ark, which represented the presence of God, but not temple.
Isn't it funny that God never asked his people to build a temple? He didn't say a word about it. It was David who wanted to build a temple, but God said that wasn't to be his job. Solomon did it, with the resources David set aside. God blessed the temple and indicated that is presence was there, but did he really want it? Was the temple something God desired and looked forward to, or was it a concession he made, like giving Israel a king?
The temple is in some ways a political thing. It makes sense that there was no desire for a temple before there was a king. The king needed to show people that he was powerful and rich enough to build something like that. Building projects were expected of good rulers--they still are!! They are a symbol of the power and wealth of the people who build them. The temple also brought religion to the capital, the seat of politics. It brought the priests closer to the king. Once the twelve tribes were unified into one nation, they had to have something tangible to stay unified around. The answer--a temple.
The prophets warned over and over again that Jerusalem could not trust in the presence of the temple to protect them. God was perfectly willing to smash their symbol of power and unity, to smash the symbol of his presence among them (one that they had desired, designed and created). God has awalys been first and foremost about the heart, about right living, grace and justice.
Many prophets made a huge deal, after the return from exile, about rebuilding the temple. If they could restore this building their fortunes would be restored. But I wonder if that was the real message. People had to turn their hearts to God first, before they could care enough to lay aside the money and resources, to give up their time and energy to do the work, before the temple could be rebuilt. So does the temple really reflect the people's hearts? Should they have stopped worrying about the temple altogether and started building God-centered lives instead? Yet they felt they could not worship God without the temple. But Abraham, Isaac and Jacob did just that. They followed God and were blessed by him without a tabernacle or a temple.
So does God want temples, cathedrals, and churches? Or does he merely tolerate them, knowing that we need them?
We have built cathedrals and mega churches, tiny church buildings and cross-shaped momuments. We have lifted up in art and architecture the basic symbols of our faith and created not just a palce for corporate gatherings but a whole set of rules, expectations, social mores and ideologies to go with it. We have created beaureaucratic churches with councils and elders and secretaries and boards for every topic imaginable. We have shaped the church according to our culture, and that is to be expected. As long as we remember that the true church is not the building, the elders, the name on the sign or the docritnal regulations, it is the body of believers living together, loving the world, and serving God.
So why was the Temple so important to Ancient Israel? Why did it become so central to the Jews? The first ten books of the Bible don't have a temple in them at all. After the Exodus there was a tent and a place to keep the ark, which represented the presence of God, but not temple.
Isn't it funny that God never asked his people to build a temple? He didn't say a word about it. It was David who wanted to build a temple, but God said that wasn't to be his job. Solomon did it, with the resources David set aside. God blessed the temple and indicated that is presence was there, but did he really want it? Was the temple something God desired and looked forward to, or was it a concession he made, like giving Israel a king?
The temple is in some ways a political thing. It makes sense that there was no desire for a temple before there was a king. The king needed to show people that he was powerful and rich enough to build something like that. Building projects were expected of good rulers--they still are!! They are a symbol of the power and wealth of the people who build them. The temple also brought religion to the capital, the seat of politics. It brought the priests closer to the king. Once the twelve tribes were unified into one nation, they had to have something tangible to stay unified around. The answer--a temple.
The prophets warned over and over again that Jerusalem could not trust in the presence of the temple to protect them. God was perfectly willing to smash their symbol of power and unity, to smash the symbol of his presence among them (one that they had desired, designed and created). God has awalys been first and foremost about the heart, about right living, grace and justice.
Many prophets made a huge deal, after the return from exile, about rebuilding the temple. If they could restore this building their fortunes would be restored. But I wonder if that was the real message. People had to turn their hearts to God first, before they could care enough to lay aside the money and resources, to give up their time and energy to do the work, before the temple could be rebuilt. So does the temple really reflect the people's hearts? Should they have stopped worrying about the temple altogether and started building God-centered lives instead? Yet they felt they could not worship God without the temple. But Abraham, Isaac and Jacob did just that. They followed God and were blessed by him without a tabernacle or a temple.
So does God want temples, cathedrals, and churches? Or does he merely tolerate them, knowing that we need them?
August 22, 2011
Fuzzy Babies
It amazes me how many people have a 'baby.' Their baby is not a soft, pink infant wrapped up in blankets fresh from the hospital. It's not a drooling toddler wandering around the house and chewing on everything with two teeth. Their babies have fur and whiskers, or scales and fins.
I work with the elderly, and although many of them live alone, they have pets. Every single person over the age of sixty that I have met refers to their pet as their 'baby' their 'child' their 'boy' or 'girl.' They love that pet, small dog or cat usually, as much as they love children. They give it attention all day, they talk to it and believe that it talks back. They listen to every bark, growl, meow, hiss or whimper.
A bit over the top? Maybe, maybe not.
Some people are just animal crazy. They love their pets, sleep with their pets, eat with their pets, (I've seen people share cups and plates with their pets). There are even commercials on TV now that point to the fact that the family pet isn't just an animal, it's a member of the family just like any of the children. Some people definitely take it too far. I mean, I love my cat, but a cat is still just a cat.
Why do people lavish attention on their pets? Why do they become especially important as people age, their families die or stop visiting, they find themselves living alone. Of course the pet is company, a way to make the house feel less empty, someone to sit in your lap and pet and purr.
It's more than that, though.
We don't just need company. We don't just need a friendly purr machine, the knowledge that we are not alone. We, people, humanity, need to be useful. We need to be needed. We need to be able to take care of each other, to help each other, to feel beneficial. I think that, even more than companionship, this is why people who live alone often need pets, why they lavish them with such attention and care. They don't have enough other people in their life to receive that attention, and they need to give it. We need to be able to reach out and take care of someone, to give something of value to another.
One hard part of my job is not being able to take any gifts, tips, etc. I understand the reason for the rule, and it's a good reason. The people I work with can't afford to give much away. People that age can get senile and not remember they gave something away. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen. But nearly every client I see wants to offer me something, a small Christmas present or a bottle of pop on a hot day. I am there to serve them, but they want to get me a glass of water or a snack. I think that some of it goes beyond hospitality and general politeness. They want to give. They want to be useful. It is hard, so hard, to reach that point where you are dependent on everyone around you, and you can give nothing back, especially if you have spent your life unencumbered by disability, taking care of yourself and everyone else. It is a hard change to face, a hard reality to accept, and it can be thoroughly depressing.
We teach children to give. To help each other. To open doors for people and help Mom carry in the groceries. We are taught to help, to give, to serve from a very early age. What happens when we can't do that anymore? We can't remember the time before that when we were babies, when we had nothing to give and were completely dependent for everything.
I like to help people. I have always been taught to help people. But I have also been taught to be independent and take care of myself. Everyone in my family has a hard time accepting help. We don't want it, we don't want to appear weak, to be a burden. And yet we help others. We contradict ourselves with our actions. If we want to help, we need to let ourselves be helped. We need to accept it graciously and realize there is no embarrassment. But it is hard, so hard. There is pride in helping, in doing for others, but there is none in receiving it, only humility.
I wonder what I will do when I am on the other side?
I work with the elderly, and although many of them live alone, they have pets. Every single person over the age of sixty that I have met refers to their pet as their 'baby' their 'child' their 'boy' or 'girl.' They love that pet, small dog or cat usually, as much as they love children. They give it attention all day, they talk to it and believe that it talks back. They listen to every bark, growl, meow, hiss or whimper.
A bit over the top? Maybe, maybe not.
Some people are just animal crazy. They love their pets, sleep with their pets, eat with their pets, (I've seen people share cups and plates with their pets). There are even commercials on TV now that point to the fact that the family pet isn't just an animal, it's a member of the family just like any of the children. Some people definitely take it too far. I mean, I love my cat, but a cat is still just a cat.
Why do people lavish attention on their pets? Why do they become especially important as people age, their families die or stop visiting, they find themselves living alone. Of course the pet is company, a way to make the house feel less empty, someone to sit in your lap and pet and purr.
It's more than that, though.
We don't just need company. We don't just need a friendly purr machine, the knowledge that we are not alone. We, people, humanity, need to be useful. We need to be needed. We need to be able to take care of each other, to help each other, to feel beneficial. I think that, even more than companionship, this is why people who live alone often need pets, why they lavish them with such attention and care. They don't have enough other people in their life to receive that attention, and they need to give it. We need to be able to reach out and take care of someone, to give something of value to another.
One hard part of my job is not being able to take any gifts, tips, etc. I understand the reason for the rule, and it's a good reason. The people I work with can't afford to give much away. People that age can get senile and not remember they gave something away. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen. But nearly every client I see wants to offer me something, a small Christmas present or a bottle of pop on a hot day. I am there to serve them, but they want to get me a glass of water or a snack. I think that some of it goes beyond hospitality and general politeness. They want to give. They want to be useful. It is hard, so hard, to reach that point where you are dependent on everyone around you, and you can give nothing back, especially if you have spent your life unencumbered by disability, taking care of yourself and everyone else. It is a hard change to face, a hard reality to accept, and it can be thoroughly depressing.
We teach children to give. To help each other. To open doors for people and help Mom carry in the groceries. We are taught to help, to give, to serve from a very early age. What happens when we can't do that anymore? We can't remember the time before that when we were babies, when we had nothing to give and were completely dependent for everything.
I like to help people. I have always been taught to help people. But I have also been taught to be independent and take care of myself. Everyone in my family has a hard time accepting help. We don't want it, we don't want to appear weak, to be a burden. And yet we help others. We contradict ourselves with our actions. If we want to help, we need to let ourselves be helped. We need to accept it graciously and realize there is no embarrassment. But it is hard, so hard. There is pride in helping, in doing for others, but there is none in receiving it, only humility.
I wonder what I will do when I am on the other side?
August 13, 2011
Handshakes and Name Tags
Okay, you know why I hate church and am ready to give up on the institution all together. Here are two big reasons why I feel the church is so empty. Both are examples of ways the church formally tries to connect people and build community, yet they all fall flat on their faces and leave me feeling more abandoned and alone than before.
First, handshakes. Just about every church has a time during the worship when they say to go around and greet everyone. You smile, shake hands, and say Hi to a bunch of people whose names you don't know and who don't expect any other response to 'how are you?" than 'Fine.' Granted, I've always hated that question because no one ever really wants to know the answer. But people at church ought to. If they ask 'how are you' they ought to have half an hour set aside to talk about how things aren't fine, or why they are so wonderfully fine for once.
Instead, people shake hands. Some people try to shake as many as possible, nod, smile, and mumble a greeting you can barely understand because they're moving on the to next before you can say Hi back. I know the faces of the people who sit around my normal space in the pew, but I don't know half of their names, I don't know what anyone does for a living, and I don't have any idea if they are actually 'fine' or not. They shake my hand and move on, and I am left wondering if anyone would ever take even an extra five minutes to talk to me. Because they all rush for the door when service is over, and I don't get a chance to follow up the handshake with an introduction later.
I hate handshakes. I'd rather have a conversation. Skip the meet and greet time, that's what the half-hour donuts (ew! please bring something besides donuts. I can't even stand the smell) and coffee (also ick) session between services is for. When people can sit around at their usual tables with their usual cliques and ignore the rest of the church around them.
Second, I hate name tags. I suppose this is trying to remedy part of the handshake problem. Every once in a while churches will get a bunch of name tags and ask everyone to wear one. Some like to plaster name tags on visitors, just to mark them for extra handshaking and empty how-are-yous.
I am from the non-name tag generation. No one my age ever wears one on the shirt, next to the face. I goes on the shirt hem or my thigh. If I even put one on. There is a problem with name tags, a huge one.
Knowing my name doesn't mean you know me. Memorizing the symbols that make up your name tell me nothing about who you are. There are hundreds, even thousands of people with the same name. A name means nothing. I couldn't care less if you know my name. The entire name tag thing merely generates a fake sense of community. Oh them, yeah the people I shook hands with last week, I know their names now, but I still don't know squat about them.
Take time to get to know me. Have a conversation. Learn what I like and dislike, why I am at church and what I need. Learn what makes me laugh and cry. Spend some time with me and look for the edges of the Spirit shinning through my human flesh. I'll do the same for you. I want to know what makes you tick, what brings you peace, what made you cry during worship last week. I might not be able to remember your name, but I know your face and the soul that goes along with it. The name will follow, if we get to know each other.
I'm not just another line in the church address book. I don't care what you call me. I care that you bother to call me at all, after church, during the week, to see how I am and talk about something that matters.
I hate name tags. They serve no purpose in church. High school reunions, sure. Church, no. Because if you need a name tag to learn my name, you've missed out on me, and you've missed the point.
First, handshakes. Just about every church has a time during the worship when they say to go around and greet everyone. You smile, shake hands, and say Hi to a bunch of people whose names you don't know and who don't expect any other response to 'how are you?" than 'Fine.' Granted, I've always hated that question because no one ever really wants to know the answer. But people at church ought to. If they ask 'how are you' they ought to have half an hour set aside to talk about how things aren't fine, or why they are so wonderfully fine for once.
Instead, people shake hands. Some people try to shake as many as possible, nod, smile, and mumble a greeting you can barely understand because they're moving on the to next before you can say Hi back. I know the faces of the people who sit around my normal space in the pew, but I don't know half of their names, I don't know what anyone does for a living, and I don't have any idea if they are actually 'fine' or not. They shake my hand and move on, and I am left wondering if anyone would ever take even an extra five minutes to talk to me. Because they all rush for the door when service is over, and I don't get a chance to follow up the handshake with an introduction later.
I hate handshakes. I'd rather have a conversation. Skip the meet and greet time, that's what the half-hour donuts (ew! please bring something besides donuts. I can't even stand the smell) and coffee (also ick) session between services is for. When people can sit around at their usual tables with their usual cliques and ignore the rest of the church around them.
Second, I hate name tags. I suppose this is trying to remedy part of the handshake problem. Every once in a while churches will get a bunch of name tags and ask everyone to wear one. Some like to plaster name tags on visitors, just to mark them for extra handshaking and empty how-are-yous.
I am from the non-name tag generation. No one my age ever wears one on the shirt, next to the face. I goes on the shirt hem or my thigh. If I even put one on. There is a problem with name tags, a huge one.
Knowing my name doesn't mean you know me. Memorizing the symbols that make up your name tell me nothing about who you are. There are hundreds, even thousands of people with the same name. A name means nothing. I couldn't care less if you know my name. The entire name tag thing merely generates a fake sense of community. Oh them, yeah the people I shook hands with last week, I know their names now, but I still don't know squat about them.
Take time to get to know me. Have a conversation. Learn what I like and dislike, why I am at church and what I need. Learn what makes me laugh and cry. Spend some time with me and look for the edges of the Spirit shinning through my human flesh. I'll do the same for you. I want to know what makes you tick, what brings you peace, what made you cry during worship last week. I might not be able to remember your name, but I know your face and the soul that goes along with it. The name will follow, if we get to know each other.
I'm not just another line in the church address book. I don't care what you call me. I care that you bother to call me at all, after church, during the week, to see how I am and talk about something that matters.
I hate name tags. They serve no purpose in church. High school reunions, sure. Church, no. Because if you need a name tag to learn my name, you've missed out on me, and you've missed the point.
August 2, 2011
Nature, Humankind, and God
“Oh God my God, when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the worlds they hands have made,
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.”
Some of my favorite hymns are about nature. They describe the beauty of the world as a window to God. The splendor of the mountains, the fury of a thunderstorm, the beauty of a flower, are all a reflection of God, his power and glory. We can see the Lord through his creation.
Yet isn’t humankind the best part of that creation? We are made in God’s image, according to Genesis. We bear the fingerprint of God within our very being. Not nature, us. We were made last, on the sixth day, to rule the earth and take care of it. Shouldn’t we be able to see the power, majesty and beauty of God within humanity?
There are so many songs about the natural world that help point us in worship toward God. But there aren’t many that seek for the essence of God within humankind. One of my favorite paintings is a series of faces which all merge, like an optical illusion, into one face, Jesus’ face. We see Jesus, we find God, in ourselves and in every good gift that God gave humanity.
I love songs about nature and I think that a bright summer day, a beautiful flower, a mighty mountain can really put his glory in perspective. These are indeed windows to God and I would never say otherwise. But I would like to see a few songs about the good things in humans. About compassion and love, grace and mercy, lived through people, as powerful images that point to God, as powerful as purple mountains‘ majesty.
So look around you, at the blue sky and green grass, at the rainbow that shines after the storm. Then look at the person next to you, the people you work with, your circle of friends and the role models you admire from afar.
Oh God my God, when I in humble wonder,
Consider all the souls thy hands have made,
I see their hearts, I hear the sound of laughter,
Thy power throughout the lives of friends displayed.”
Consider all the worlds they hands have made,
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.”
Some of my favorite hymns are about nature. They describe the beauty of the world as a window to God. The splendor of the mountains, the fury of a thunderstorm, the beauty of a flower, are all a reflection of God, his power and glory. We can see the Lord through his creation.
Yet isn’t humankind the best part of that creation? We are made in God’s image, according to Genesis. We bear the fingerprint of God within our very being. Not nature, us. We were made last, on the sixth day, to rule the earth and take care of it. Shouldn’t we be able to see the power, majesty and beauty of God within humanity?
There are so many songs about the natural world that help point us in worship toward God. But there aren’t many that seek for the essence of God within humankind. One of my favorite paintings is a series of faces which all merge, like an optical illusion, into one face, Jesus’ face. We see Jesus, we find God, in ourselves and in every good gift that God gave humanity.
I love songs about nature and I think that a bright summer day, a beautiful flower, a mighty mountain can really put his glory in perspective. These are indeed windows to God and I would never say otherwise. But I would like to see a few songs about the good things in humans. About compassion and love, grace and mercy, lived through people, as powerful images that point to God, as powerful as purple mountains‘ majesty.
So look around you, at the blue sky and green grass, at the rainbow that shines after the storm. Then look at the person next to you, the people you work with, your circle of friends and the role models you admire from afar.
Oh God my God, when I in humble wonder,
Consider all the souls thy hands have made,
I see their hearts, I hear the sound of laughter,
Thy power throughout the lives of friends displayed.”
July 26, 2011
Wrestle
What is the heart of the Bible? What is the passage, verse or story that sums up the whole? There are several iconic passages, sayings that almost everyone knows, Christian or not. “Do unto others…” “For God so loved the world…”
I think the one story that sums up the Bible, that tells us what the whole book is about and what God wants from his people, is in Genesis. Genesis 32:22-32. It is a strange story, and one that doesn’t often make the Sunday school list. Jacob wrestles at Peniel. This is the story that tells us what the Bible is all about.
A man on the run from one family member and trying make peace with another, sleeps alone at night. Alone and afraid of what will happen the next day. Completely unsure if this night will be his last. A stranger appears, and they wrestle. The opponent wins, he wounds Jacob, but Jacob just won’t let go until the stranger blesses him. So the stranger changes Jacob’s name.
I always thought that this story was weird, and I finally began to understand it when I read another near-eastern piece of literature called Gilgamesh. In this story, a man from the wilds comes to meet the king, Gilgamesh. They take one look at each other and start wrestling. They wrestle around the entire city until they are exhausted, and at the end of the fight, they are best friends.
How often do we make friends of the people we fight with? It is a constant theme in romance stories, two people sniping and bickering, sparring verbally or physically, until they decide they actually like each other. A relationship always beings with a time of testing, a wrestling match. When we fight we show our true colors, and we learn about each other.
The Bible is about humankind wrestling with God. Wrestling for understanding. Wrestling for truth. Wrestling for hope and grace and justice. We strive against God and strive to find God, we stretch and strain to understand who God is and what God wants. We try to figure out how we should live, even if it’s not how we want to live. We reach up and try to keep hold of the divine, and if we can hang on and refuse to let go, like Jacob, we will be changed.
God wants us to wrestle with him. God wants us to ask the tough questions, even if we can’t find straightforward answers. He wants us to take risks, get mad, strive to find the truth of who he is and what this world is all about. God wants to wrestle with us because that is how we draw close to him. We can’t grow if we avoid situations that teach. We can’t understand someone if we only look at the things we like at first glance. We need to dig deeper, go past the surface, get down and dirty and personal. The search to understand and love the creator is a fight that we can’t stop pursuing, can never let go of.
And if we can hang on, if we are willing to get into the ring and give it our all, we might come out with a limp. We’ll probably get hurt in the process, and we’ll be tired, very tired before the end. But we’ll be different. Changed.
Better?
I hope so. Because I think God is worth the effort. So I’m hanging on.
I think the one story that sums up the Bible, that tells us what the whole book is about and what God wants from his people, is in Genesis. Genesis 32:22-32. It is a strange story, and one that doesn’t often make the Sunday school list. Jacob wrestles at Peniel. This is the story that tells us what the Bible is all about.
A man on the run from one family member and trying make peace with another, sleeps alone at night. Alone and afraid of what will happen the next day. Completely unsure if this night will be his last. A stranger appears, and they wrestle. The opponent wins, he wounds Jacob, but Jacob just won’t let go until the stranger blesses him. So the stranger changes Jacob’s name.
I always thought that this story was weird, and I finally began to understand it when I read another near-eastern piece of literature called Gilgamesh. In this story, a man from the wilds comes to meet the king, Gilgamesh. They take one look at each other and start wrestling. They wrestle around the entire city until they are exhausted, and at the end of the fight, they are best friends.
How often do we make friends of the people we fight with? It is a constant theme in romance stories, two people sniping and bickering, sparring verbally or physically, until they decide they actually like each other. A relationship always beings with a time of testing, a wrestling match. When we fight we show our true colors, and we learn about each other.
The Bible is about humankind wrestling with God. Wrestling for understanding. Wrestling for truth. Wrestling for hope and grace and justice. We strive against God and strive to find God, we stretch and strain to understand who God is and what God wants. We try to figure out how we should live, even if it’s not how we want to live. We reach up and try to keep hold of the divine, and if we can hang on and refuse to let go, like Jacob, we will be changed.
God wants us to wrestle with him. God wants us to ask the tough questions, even if we can’t find straightforward answers. He wants us to take risks, get mad, strive to find the truth of who he is and what this world is all about. God wants to wrestle with us because that is how we draw close to him. We can’t grow if we avoid situations that teach. We can’t understand someone if we only look at the things we like at first glance. We need to dig deeper, go past the surface, get down and dirty and personal. The search to understand and love the creator is a fight that we can’t stop pursuing, can never let go of.
And if we can hang on, if we are willing to get into the ring and give it our all, we might come out with a limp. We’ll probably get hurt in the process, and we’ll be tired, very tired before the end. But we’ll be different. Changed.
Better?
I hope so. Because I think God is worth the effort. So I’m hanging on.
July 23, 2011
Wasteland
This is a short story that I found when cleaning out my computer files. I wrote it over a decade ago. I hope my writing style has improved since then, but when re-reading it I was drawn in by the symbology, although my teenage analysis of some of the issues surroundingd Eden are too simplistic. It is interesting to see how my thought processes and values have evolved since high school, and what has remained the same. I hope you will find this story to be food for thought.
The circle in the sky burns, sending light and heat to the cold ground below. But more often than not, it finds the people first. They gather the sunlight as it touches their skin, needing it’s warmth to live, using the light to see what they can through the dark, heavy cold of the air. They need it, and yet it withers their skin, every touch shortening their existence even as it keeps them alive. The people of the wasteland know no different. The light, the withering, the heat and the cold were there, have always been there, and always will be. That is reality, and they cling to it as they would a precious jewel. That is life.
The land is teeming with life, mostly human life. They go about their business, hardly bothering to pay attention to these matters except in passing, or as entertainment. Those that do any more than that have been nearly wiped out by natural selection and survival of the fittest. Humans can mostly be seen in packs, traveling together not because there are animals lurking in the wilderness but because loneliness is lurking in solitude. Strangely, as they love company so, very often they will gather in small, closed groups opening to none but their own. They have many other odd habits, though they have not always been so. But that is not something that most of them know about. Not until a certain meeting, a certain challenge, takes place. The challenge: know truth and accept it. The prize: Life.
It may happen like this.
The small group huddled in a circle, talking about this and that. Little things that had no real meaning. The point was companionship. And then, someone new joined the group. Her difference was easy to see. The skin was what most people noticed first. It was soft and almost smooth, unlike the wrinkled, dry, sun beaten skin the others wore; as if she hardly ever stood under the sun. Her eyes, though, caught their attention next. They were open and alert and did not absorb the light. But she saw better than any of them.
“Good evening, friends.” She greeted, hovering at the edge, waiting.
The two girls in front of her parted, making room in the circle for the newcomer. “Thank you.” She said, and smiled. “It is always nice to find an opening in such a long journey.”
“”A journey?” The man across from her asked. “Then you must have some good stories to tell. We have worn ours out with too much use.”
“I have a story that I think none of you have ever heard.” The newcomer said. “The middle is where I will start, in a beautiful garden full of life and happiness.”
“I want a true story, not a fairy tale!” The girl next to her whined, and shoved the new one roughly.
“But this is true, as true as any story and much truer than most.” Her lightless eyes looked around the circle, and all knew that although she gathered no light to see by, she was far from blind. “We were in the middle, yes? In the garden, where two people lived quite happily. Do not ask me for how long, I do not know. I do not think that time mattered in this garden, or if it even existed there.”
“What is a garden?”
“A place with growing things, and water and rain and a different sun. It was a place of happiness. No fear, no pain, just love and goodness. The sun was warm and gave life. The ground was carpeted by soft grass.” The stranger answered.
Her audience was paying close attention. This was like no story they had ever heard. But as she continued to tell it, some quickly lost interest. Others leaned forward in fascination.
All of the creatures of the earth, not just people, lived there together and they got along without any trouble. And they all got along with the maker. Everything was as it should be. The people lived together and ruled the garden well, tending it and keeping it healthy. The maker of the garden and everything in it gave them only one rule to live by. There was only one thing they could not do. They were not allowed to eat the fruit of a certain tree.
What happens when you do the forbidden?
“Why?” The other little girl asked. “If the garden was healthy, why was some fruit bad?” Her mother shushed her quietly.
They did it because they wanted to be better than him, to be more than they were. They did it out of greed. And they were sent from the garden into a wasteland. Because of what they did, no one can ever go back to the garden. No one, never. All have been banished to the wasteland.
“What is a wasteland?”
“This is a wasteland.” The storyteller gestured around them. “We are in it now, because we make the same choice made by the first two every day, and we cannot escape it. Not without help. We could get out of the wasteland, if we wanted to.”
“How?” The question filled the air, and the heart and mind of all but one present. The one who knew the answer.
The storyteller took a small, cylindrical container from her pocket and opened it. Putting it to her lips, she drank. With a steady hand, she held it out to the astonished people in front of her. “Drink.” Was her answer.
But the maker loved his people still, and so he gave them a second chance, another choice. The wasteland is ruled by the destroyer, the maker’s opposite. He perches on high in the sun and from there makes sure that the land lies forever in ruin. He whispers in the ears of the people, making them believe what he wishes them to. When they ate the fruit and entered the wasteland, they became his by their own choice. But the maker wanted them to choose again. So he wept over the land, shedding tears and putting a part of himself into this place. He pointed the way to a few who were willing to listen, and they have passed it on to us. Take a bit of him into yourself, let him undo what the destroyer has done, and we can escape the wasteland. Drink.
In the wasteland there is no water, there is no wine, there is no liquid except for the pools of it scattered everywhere. No one notices them. The sun that beats down on them through the sky by day and the earth by night tells them with each particle of light that touched their skin that they must not drink. It is forbidden. Everyone knows what will happen if they drink. They will be cast out. Cast out of the group, cast out of the wastelands to wander them and yet not be in them. And one day, they will be taken away and never be able to return to this, the only thing they have ever known.
Drink? What happens when someone is asked to do the forbidden?
The little girl by her side looked up with wide eyes. “Drink? What is that? Isn’t that bad?” Her father puts his arms around her, pulling her away from the dangerous flask.
“There is nothing bad about drinking, only good things.” The strange told her gently. “Look at me. I drink and I am happy and my skin is not withered. Look at the other people, who do not. It tastes good. Wouldn’t you like to drink? Are you thirsty?”
“We are always thirsty.” The girl says. “Does drinking make you not thirsty?” The woman nods. Her father holds her tight, but the girls reaches her head forward and opens her mouth. Water touches her lips, and she smiles. “That is good! Can I have some more?”
The woman smiles. “Of course, there is always plenty. Come with me and I will show you how to find it.” She turns to the group. “Won’t anyone else drink?”
“Why should we? You know as well as we do that it is dangerous! Besides, what you have told us is just a story. Nothing like a garden exists, ever, and you say that the people could not go back! Even if it was real..”
“And why should we believe you?”
The woman closed her eyes for a moment and answered, “Because belief is better than doubt. Can you not see my skin? Here.” She poured a few drops onto the hard, dry ground, forming a pool that reflected the scene above on its surface. “Watch the water.” Many leaned forward some eager, some just mildly curious. Some held back, afraid or defiant. These saw nothing, but those that looked saw something their eyes had never seen before, something never found in the wasteland.
The maker will not let us back into the garden. He is making a new one, without a tree. The choice represented by the tree has already been made. When we get to this garden, we will be there to stay. No more sun and painful light. Water and life will surround us. And love will continue unending.
A few turned away, a few look up, considering. And some of these reached forward for the flask. The woman held it firmly in her hand and looked each one steadily in the eye. “It is addictive. Do not drink lightly, because if you do, you will never be the same again. You know.”
They knew. “But you have drunk, and we can see that what you have, what you have shown us, is better than what we have known.” She nodded and loosened her hold. They drank. Their skin softened slightly. Eyes dimmed. The circle divided in two.
“It is wonderful!” A woman said, licking her lips to get the last drop of moisture. “Where can we get more? How can we find out more?”
“Come, I will show you.” The woman turned and pointed to a small spot on the ground. The people looked at what their eyes had before so readily avoided. Water, fresh and clear and good. They each found a flask, and filled it to keep at their side always. But they could always find another pool, easily.
The little girl looked up at the woman, her friend, and said “But what do we do now?”
“We take a journey. Some people call it life. It is a long journey, and hard. Through the wasteland, which is no longer your home. But it is worth it, because of where we are going.”
“Are we going back to the garden?”
“No, we are going to a better one. This one has no forbidden tree.”
“When will we get there? Will it be soon?”
“We will be there when the maker decides that it is time.”
The same story is happening now, every day. The details are always different. The truth is always the same. The outcome can only go one of two ways.
There is a wasteland where there once was a garden. In it is a pool of water, but all know that the pool is forbidden. It is as the garden was, with forbidden fruit at the center. Why do we not drink of the pool as eagerly as we bit into the fruit?
The circle in the sky burns, sending light and heat to the cold ground below. But more often than not, it finds the people first. They gather the sunlight as it touches their skin, needing it’s warmth to live, using the light to see what they can through the dark, heavy cold of the air. They need it, and yet it withers their skin, every touch shortening their existence even as it keeps them alive. The people of the wasteland know no different. The light, the withering, the heat and the cold were there, have always been there, and always will be. That is reality, and they cling to it as they would a precious jewel. That is life.
The land is teeming with life, mostly human life. They go about their business, hardly bothering to pay attention to these matters except in passing, or as entertainment. Those that do any more than that have been nearly wiped out by natural selection and survival of the fittest. Humans can mostly be seen in packs, traveling together not because there are animals lurking in the wilderness but because loneliness is lurking in solitude. Strangely, as they love company so, very often they will gather in small, closed groups opening to none but their own. They have many other odd habits, though they have not always been so. But that is not something that most of them know about. Not until a certain meeting, a certain challenge, takes place. The challenge: know truth and accept it. The prize: Life.
It may happen like this.
The small group huddled in a circle, talking about this and that. Little things that had no real meaning. The point was companionship. And then, someone new joined the group. Her difference was easy to see. The skin was what most people noticed first. It was soft and almost smooth, unlike the wrinkled, dry, sun beaten skin the others wore; as if she hardly ever stood under the sun. Her eyes, though, caught their attention next. They were open and alert and did not absorb the light. But she saw better than any of them.
“Good evening, friends.” She greeted, hovering at the edge, waiting.
The two girls in front of her parted, making room in the circle for the newcomer. “Thank you.” She said, and smiled. “It is always nice to find an opening in such a long journey.”
“”A journey?” The man across from her asked. “Then you must have some good stories to tell. We have worn ours out with too much use.”
“I have a story that I think none of you have ever heard.” The newcomer said. “The middle is where I will start, in a beautiful garden full of life and happiness.”
“I want a true story, not a fairy tale!” The girl next to her whined, and shoved the new one roughly.
“But this is true, as true as any story and much truer than most.” Her lightless eyes looked around the circle, and all knew that although she gathered no light to see by, she was far from blind. “We were in the middle, yes? In the garden, where two people lived quite happily. Do not ask me for how long, I do not know. I do not think that time mattered in this garden, or if it even existed there.”
“What is a garden?”
“A place with growing things, and water and rain and a different sun. It was a place of happiness. No fear, no pain, just love and goodness. The sun was warm and gave life. The ground was carpeted by soft grass.” The stranger answered.
Her audience was paying close attention. This was like no story they had ever heard. But as she continued to tell it, some quickly lost interest. Others leaned forward in fascination.
All of the creatures of the earth, not just people, lived there together and they got along without any trouble. And they all got along with the maker. Everything was as it should be. The people lived together and ruled the garden well, tending it and keeping it healthy. The maker of the garden and everything in it gave them only one rule to live by. There was only one thing they could not do. They were not allowed to eat the fruit of a certain tree.
What happens when you do the forbidden?
“Why?” The other little girl asked. “If the garden was healthy, why was some fruit bad?” Her mother shushed her quietly.
They did it because they wanted to be better than him, to be more than they were. They did it out of greed. And they were sent from the garden into a wasteland. Because of what they did, no one can ever go back to the garden. No one, never. All have been banished to the wasteland.
“What is a wasteland?”
“This is a wasteland.” The storyteller gestured around them. “We are in it now, because we make the same choice made by the first two every day, and we cannot escape it. Not without help. We could get out of the wasteland, if we wanted to.”
“How?” The question filled the air, and the heart and mind of all but one present. The one who knew the answer.
The storyteller took a small, cylindrical container from her pocket and opened it. Putting it to her lips, she drank. With a steady hand, she held it out to the astonished people in front of her. “Drink.” Was her answer.
But the maker loved his people still, and so he gave them a second chance, another choice. The wasteland is ruled by the destroyer, the maker’s opposite. He perches on high in the sun and from there makes sure that the land lies forever in ruin. He whispers in the ears of the people, making them believe what he wishes them to. When they ate the fruit and entered the wasteland, they became his by their own choice. But the maker wanted them to choose again. So he wept over the land, shedding tears and putting a part of himself into this place. He pointed the way to a few who were willing to listen, and they have passed it on to us. Take a bit of him into yourself, let him undo what the destroyer has done, and we can escape the wasteland. Drink.
In the wasteland there is no water, there is no wine, there is no liquid except for the pools of it scattered everywhere. No one notices them. The sun that beats down on them through the sky by day and the earth by night tells them with each particle of light that touched their skin that they must not drink. It is forbidden. Everyone knows what will happen if they drink. They will be cast out. Cast out of the group, cast out of the wastelands to wander them and yet not be in them. And one day, they will be taken away and never be able to return to this, the only thing they have ever known.
Drink? What happens when someone is asked to do the forbidden?
The little girl by her side looked up with wide eyes. “Drink? What is that? Isn’t that bad?” Her father puts his arms around her, pulling her away from the dangerous flask.
“There is nothing bad about drinking, only good things.” The strange told her gently. “Look at me. I drink and I am happy and my skin is not withered. Look at the other people, who do not. It tastes good. Wouldn’t you like to drink? Are you thirsty?”
“We are always thirsty.” The girl says. “Does drinking make you not thirsty?” The woman nods. Her father holds her tight, but the girls reaches her head forward and opens her mouth. Water touches her lips, and she smiles. “That is good! Can I have some more?”
The woman smiles. “Of course, there is always plenty. Come with me and I will show you how to find it.” She turns to the group. “Won’t anyone else drink?”
“Why should we? You know as well as we do that it is dangerous! Besides, what you have told us is just a story. Nothing like a garden exists, ever, and you say that the people could not go back! Even if it was real..”
“And why should we believe you?”
The woman closed her eyes for a moment and answered, “Because belief is better than doubt. Can you not see my skin? Here.” She poured a few drops onto the hard, dry ground, forming a pool that reflected the scene above on its surface. “Watch the water.” Many leaned forward some eager, some just mildly curious. Some held back, afraid or defiant. These saw nothing, but those that looked saw something their eyes had never seen before, something never found in the wasteland.
The maker will not let us back into the garden. He is making a new one, without a tree. The choice represented by the tree has already been made. When we get to this garden, we will be there to stay. No more sun and painful light. Water and life will surround us. And love will continue unending.
A few turned away, a few look up, considering. And some of these reached forward for the flask. The woman held it firmly in her hand and looked each one steadily in the eye. “It is addictive. Do not drink lightly, because if you do, you will never be the same again. You know.”
They knew. “But you have drunk, and we can see that what you have, what you have shown us, is better than what we have known.” She nodded and loosened her hold. They drank. Their skin softened slightly. Eyes dimmed. The circle divided in two.
“It is wonderful!” A woman said, licking her lips to get the last drop of moisture. “Where can we get more? How can we find out more?”
“Come, I will show you.” The woman turned and pointed to a small spot on the ground. The people looked at what their eyes had before so readily avoided. Water, fresh and clear and good. They each found a flask, and filled it to keep at their side always. But they could always find another pool, easily.
The little girl looked up at the woman, her friend, and said “But what do we do now?”
“We take a journey. Some people call it life. It is a long journey, and hard. Through the wasteland, which is no longer your home. But it is worth it, because of where we are going.”
“Are we going back to the garden?”
“No, we are going to a better one. This one has no forbidden tree.”
“When will we get there? Will it be soon?”
“We will be there when the maker decides that it is time.”
The same story is happening now, every day. The details are always different. The truth is always the same. The outcome can only go one of two ways.
There is a wasteland where there once was a garden. In it is a pool of water, but all know that the pool is forbidden. It is as the garden was, with forbidden fruit at the center. Why do we not drink of the pool as eagerly as we bit into the fruit?
July 20, 2011
Prophet's Call
We are his mouth, we are his hands,
Now we must go where he commands.
We are the fire, hope’s burning brand,
Now we must do all he demands.
As Moses walked up to the king
With fearless hearts now we sing.
As Joshua rounded Jericho
There is no place we fear to go.
As Daniel slept in the lion’s den
We rest in peace in a prison pen.
As Abraham went far from home
We do not shrink from the long road.
As Isaiah spoke to the crowd
So we will shout the news out loud.
As Paul sailed through the stormy sea
We do not fear the enemy.
We are his mouth, we are his hands,
Now we must go where he commands.
We are the fire, hope’s burning brand,
Now we must do all he demands.
Now we must go where he commands.
We are the fire, hope’s burning brand,
Now we must do all he demands.
As Moses walked up to the king
With fearless hearts now we sing.
As Joshua rounded Jericho
There is no place we fear to go.
As Daniel slept in the lion’s den
We rest in peace in a prison pen.
As Abraham went far from home
We do not shrink from the long road.
As Isaiah spoke to the crowd
So we will shout the news out loud.
As Paul sailed through the stormy sea
We do not fear the enemy.
We are his mouth, we are his hands,
Now we must go where he commands.
We are the fire, hope’s burning brand,
Now we must do all he demands.
July 13, 2011
How do I swear?
I have always thought it especially strange that Jesus Christ and God became swear words right along with damn and hell, since they are supposed to be polar opposites. Really, even people who don't 'swear' use these words. Isn't Jeeze and Jeesh just an abbreviated Jesus and Gosh a nicified God? How did the name of everything holy turn into something bad? Why is it such a big deal not to use these names as explicatives?
Some people trace this word fetish back to the Ten Commandments found in Exodus 20. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” Or, according to the NRSV, “You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not acquit anyone who misused his name.”
Does this mean that God gets really mad when someone spits out a, “Oh my God!” or “Jesus Christ” when they are mad, upset, excited, startled, etc.? After all, we call using obscene language ‘swearing.’ It’s a term I never really understood. After all, ‘swearing’ means to make an oath. When you swear in court you swear by God that you will tell the truth. It gives more weight to what you say, because you do it in God’s name and He will punish if you go back on that word.
So what does that have to do with the use of dirty language? Nothing, as far as I can tell. The third commandment doesn’t have anything to do with that.
And does using OMG or JC as a ‘swear’ word really mean anything? I think that more people profane the name of God and his Son every day who use the name in worship than as a dirty word. They dirty the name of God when they call themselves ‘Christian’ and act with greed, lust or pride. They sully the word of Jesus when they claim to belong to him, yet read without mercy on the poor and destitute. They obscure the name and vilify it when they withhold forgiveness and grace in order to hold onto their hate and revenge.
A name is more than a label, more than a word. A name is who and what you are. I have come to the point where it no longer bothers me to hear swear words. The people who use them throw them around as empty syllables, nothing more. They don’t mean anything against God specifically, they are simply expressing frustration, fear, pain, and anger.
I heard on a Christian radio station once, in response to a debate about taking "Under God" out of the pledge of allegiance, one of the announcers claimed she wouldn't stand up if her own rights were being violated, but when God's name is vilated, that's different. I say it's the exact opposite. God stands for truth and justice and our rights are part of that. If I am experiencing injustice, chances are someone else is, too, and I need to fight that injustice for me and for them in the name of God. What we say in the pledge of allegiance...well, we're hardly a Christian nation, so what does it matter if we use the name or not? It's our actions, not our pledge, that tells who and what we are as a country.
It’s something to think about, another one of the strange ironies of our culture clashing with our Christian history and conservative mores. Don’t put the fish bumper sticker on your car or wear a cross necklace or WWJD bracelet unless you mean it. Unless you are ready to represent God and Jesus’ name by all that you do. Because that is far more important than the expressions of discontent and annoyance that you choose.
Some people trace this word fetish back to the Ten Commandments found in Exodus 20. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” Or, according to the NRSV, “You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not acquit anyone who misused his name.”
Does this mean that God gets really mad when someone spits out a, “Oh my God!” or “Jesus Christ” when they are mad, upset, excited, startled, etc.? After all, we call using obscene language ‘swearing.’ It’s a term I never really understood. After all, ‘swearing’ means to make an oath. When you swear in court you swear by God that you will tell the truth. It gives more weight to what you say, because you do it in God’s name and He will punish if you go back on that word.
So what does that have to do with the use of dirty language? Nothing, as far as I can tell. The third commandment doesn’t have anything to do with that.
And does using OMG or JC as a ‘swear’ word really mean anything? I think that more people profane the name of God and his Son every day who use the name in worship than as a dirty word. They dirty the name of God when they call themselves ‘Christian’ and act with greed, lust or pride. They sully the word of Jesus when they claim to belong to him, yet read without mercy on the poor and destitute. They obscure the name and vilify it when they withhold forgiveness and grace in order to hold onto their hate and revenge.
A name is more than a label, more than a word. A name is who and what you are. I have come to the point where it no longer bothers me to hear swear words. The people who use them throw them around as empty syllables, nothing more. They don’t mean anything against God specifically, they are simply expressing frustration, fear, pain, and anger.
I heard on a Christian radio station once, in response to a debate about taking "Under God" out of the pledge of allegiance, one of the announcers claimed she wouldn't stand up if her own rights were being violated, but when God's name is vilated, that's different. I say it's the exact opposite. God stands for truth and justice and our rights are part of that. If I am experiencing injustice, chances are someone else is, too, and I need to fight that injustice for me and for them in the name of God. What we say in the pledge of allegiance...well, we're hardly a Christian nation, so what does it matter if we use the name or not? It's our actions, not our pledge, that tells who and what we are as a country.
It’s something to think about, another one of the strange ironies of our culture clashing with our Christian history and conservative mores. Don’t put the fish bumper sticker on your car or wear a cross necklace or WWJD bracelet unless you mean it. Unless you are ready to represent God and Jesus’ name by all that you do. Because that is far more important than the expressions of discontent and annoyance that you choose.
July 9, 2011
Bad Words
Words are funny things. They mean something different depending on how they are used. They can be polite and harsh at the same time, or crude and affectionate at once. The way we use language is a reflection on us.
All of us are familiar with the mythical image of an old granny washing out a vile mouth with soap and water. In our culture, some words are acceptable in polite company, around little children, and on formal occasions. Other are not. They are considered crude, rude, and vile enough to pollute the mouth. We focus so much on the words that we forget what they really mean.
Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I learned to watch my tongue. I still probably haven’t heard half of the good swear words out there. When I was ten we were even allowed to say ’stupid.’ Yet for each of those bad words I was never allowed to say, there is a corresponding ‘clean’ word.
Is it better to say fudge, drat or dang? When we let out a forbidden explicative or a cleaner version, does our word choice really matter? Because what we mean is the same. Christians are supposed to worry about the heart, about the state of a persons life, not the state of their mouth. If I say darn and you say damn, what difference does it really make? We have ostracized a group of words from ’appropriate’ language, but not the feelings behind them.
I'm not trying to give a directive here, or even a concrete opinion, because my vote is still out. But does it matter if I use 'bad' words? What difference does it really make? Is it okay to use the toned-down, aceptable versions? Is that really any different? Should I try not to make any exclamation at all when I am angry or upset or surprised? Does that exclamantion reflect an un-christian mentality? Or is it ok? And if the sentiment is the same, does it matter which words I use?
All of us are familiar with the mythical image of an old granny washing out a vile mouth with soap and water. In our culture, some words are acceptable in polite company, around little children, and on formal occasions. Other are not. They are considered crude, rude, and vile enough to pollute the mouth. We focus so much on the words that we forget what they really mean.
Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I learned to watch my tongue. I still probably haven’t heard half of the good swear words out there. When I was ten we were even allowed to say ’stupid.’ Yet for each of those bad words I was never allowed to say, there is a corresponding ‘clean’ word.
Is it better to say fudge, drat or dang? When we let out a forbidden explicative or a cleaner version, does our word choice really matter? Because what we mean is the same. Christians are supposed to worry about the heart, about the state of a persons life, not the state of their mouth. If I say darn and you say damn, what difference does it really make? We have ostracized a group of words from ’appropriate’ language, but not the feelings behind them.
I'm not trying to give a directive here, or even a concrete opinion, because my vote is still out. But does it matter if I use 'bad' words? What difference does it really make? Is it okay to use the toned-down, aceptable versions? Is that really any different? Should I try not to make any exclamation at all when I am angry or upset or surprised? Does that exclamantion reflect an un-christian mentality? Or is it ok? And if the sentiment is the same, does it matter which words I use?
July 6, 2011
Declaration Day
The United States just celebrated the Fourth of July two days ago. Cookouts and squirt-gun wars, sparklers and fireworks are all traditions that cannot be missed. Yet as with the Christmas tree and the Thanksgiving turkey, it is the meaning behind the celebration and the traditions that we strive to keep in mind always.
So what did we celebrate on the Fourth of July? What we carry with us through the rest of the year, once the fireworks are gone and the grills put away, is different for each person. I want to suggest that what we didn’t celebrate is every bit as important as what we did.
Liberty. Revolution. The Bill of Rights. Patriotism. The United States of America. These are all big Fourth-of-July words. Yet if you look at the date we chose to mark our national holiday, it is curious that not all of these words fit. Especially not the last.
We celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence, not the Constitution or even the unity of the United States. This date has nothing to do with the Bill of Rights or our current form of government. In fact, when the Declaration was signed, no one knew if the 13 colonies would become 13 independent nations, or one unified nation. We celebrate the day that the colonies said, ‘We will rule ourselves. We will make our own rules. The government serves us. We do not serve the government.”
It is a wonderfully ironic twist in history that the Declaration we celebrate on the Fourth of July was penned by a man whose political ideas lost out. In the subsequent political struggle that determined how our nation would be run, from Articles of Confederation to the Constitution to the Bill of Rights and deciding how those should be interpreted and put into practice, Thomas Jefferson’s ideals of a limited federal government and laborer ownership of business and land can hardly be seen today. We celebrate this man’s elegant prose, but do not come close to understanding his ideals.
Yet through the corruption and bickering, pride and bigotry, power-mongering and oppression that have riddle our history, one thing remains. We have the power to shape our government. It serves the people, we do not serve it. We can, if we want to, rip the Constitution to shreds and write a new one. We can make new laws and abolish old ones. We can overturn Supreme Court rulings and impeach presidents. We the people have this power, if only we choose to use it.
I don’t trust my government, and I don’t think that anyone should. To do so betrays the American ideals embedded in the Declaration of Independence, which we celebrated on the Fourth of July. If we sit back and let the government do whatever it wants, be betray everything our freedoms were built on. I do not celebrate the formation of a nation, but the spirit of a people and the power of a (as of yet not fully realized) ideal. I do not celebrate our government or our country, but the ideals that started it.
I think that Jesus would do the same. He did not give His allegiance to any government but rather to a set of ideals and values, a way of living that benefited all around him. When the government was wrong, He did what was right. He taught us to think about what is best for others and how we would want to be treated. He helped us find our independence on a personal level. I think He would agree with the principals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness: to know your life is secure from harm, freedom to live with dignity, and the ability to own the means to provide for yourself and your family.
Life, liberty and property were the original core values written about by John Locke. The Declaration edited them because the rich guys didn’t want all their poor workers thinking they should own land, too. Our nation has been messed up from the start, and it is still full of problems. But on the Declaration of Independence Day and through the year I hope you will join me in remembering that we have a right and responsibility to change government and make it better.
So what did we celebrate on the Fourth of July? What we carry with us through the rest of the year, once the fireworks are gone and the grills put away, is different for each person. I want to suggest that what we didn’t celebrate is every bit as important as what we did.
Liberty. Revolution. The Bill of Rights. Patriotism. The United States of America. These are all big Fourth-of-July words. Yet if you look at the date we chose to mark our national holiday, it is curious that not all of these words fit. Especially not the last.
We celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence, not the Constitution or even the unity of the United States. This date has nothing to do with the Bill of Rights or our current form of government. In fact, when the Declaration was signed, no one knew if the 13 colonies would become 13 independent nations, or one unified nation. We celebrate the day that the colonies said, ‘We will rule ourselves. We will make our own rules. The government serves us. We do not serve the government.”
It is a wonderfully ironic twist in history that the Declaration we celebrate on the Fourth of July was penned by a man whose political ideas lost out. In the subsequent political struggle that determined how our nation would be run, from Articles of Confederation to the Constitution to the Bill of Rights and deciding how those should be interpreted and put into practice, Thomas Jefferson’s ideals of a limited federal government and laborer ownership of business and land can hardly be seen today. We celebrate this man’s elegant prose, but do not come close to understanding his ideals.
Yet through the corruption and bickering, pride and bigotry, power-mongering and oppression that have riddle our history, one thing remains. We have the power to shape our government. It serves the people, we do not serve it. We can, if we want to, rip the Constitution to shreds and write a new one. We can make new laws and abolish old ones. We can overturn Supreme Court rulings and impeach presidents. We the people have this power, if only we choose to use it.
I don’t trust my government, and I don’t think that anyone should. To do so betrays the American ideals embedded in the Declaration of Independence, which we celebrated on the Fourth of July. If we sit back and let the government do whatever it wants, be betray everything our freedoms were built on. I do not celebrate the formation of a nation, but the spirit of a people and the power of a (as of yet not fully realized) ideal. I do not celebrate our government or our country, but the ideals that started it.
I think that Jesus would do the same. He did not give His allegiance to any government but rather to a set of ideals and values, a way of living that benefited all around him. When the government was wrong, He did what was right. He taught us to think about what is best for others and how we would want to be treated. He helped us find our independence on a personal level. I think He would agree with the principals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness: to know your life is secure from harm, freedom to live with dignity, and the ability to own the means to provide for yourself and your family.
Life, liberty and property were the original core values written about by John Locke. The Declaration edited them because the rich guys didn’t want all their poor workers thinking they should own land, too. Our nation has been messed up from the start, and it is still full of problems. But on the Declaration of Independence Day and through the year I hope you will join me in remembering that we have a right and responsibility to change government and make it better.
July 2, 2011
Anything Helps?
It was a hot, sunny day and I was sitting at a red light near the interstate exit ramp when a man walked out of the weeds with a cardboard sign. It read, “Out of Work. Hungry. Anything Helps.”
In an age of debit cards and online bill-pay, I don’t actually carry any cash that I could give him. He wasn’t the first I had seen at that interstate exit, and he certainly won’t be the last. There is always someone in battered clothes with a dirty beard and a cardboard sign in that area as long as the weather is warm enough.
It is always a wrench to pass them by. I want to do something. But I can’t.
Because I don’t think that the words on the sign are true. Anything helps? No, not really. Because things aren’t the answer. A few dollars or an offering of canned or boxed food will help fill an empty stomach for a day, but the problem will remain tomorrow and the next day. In fact, giving out food and money only enhances the true problem; that a man has no home and no means of working to earn his food.
Why are we so content to tackle the surface symptoms of a problem, but refuse to make real progress on the cause? We can give away as much food as we want, but the hungry will only come back and ask for more tomorrow. The problem of poverty is not that the poor lack things. These days, there is usually someone willing to give enough to keep them from starving. The true problem is that they lack the ability to sustain themselves. No work, no resources, and no hope.
When Helping Hurts by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert is an excellent book that speaks to the heart of this problem. It talks about all the things that we do to try to help the poor, and how these things actually make the problem worse.
I can’t help anyone by tossing a few dollars out of my car window. Not really. We can only help the poor by building a relationship with them. We can only alleviate poverty by providing access to jobs and resources, and helping to change attitudes of dependence. We live in a broken system, and that system is only made worse by simply giving, giving, giving things. Anything doesn‘t help at all. Things only make the problem worse.
When I look at the Bible, I see that Jesus never once gave a poor person anything. He didn’t hand out money, didn’t pass out free dinner except when the crowd had come out to hear him--people who could earn their own dinner on a normal day. When Jesus met a poor person, he only ever gave one thing. Healing. Peter does the same thing in Acts. A beggar asks for money, and Peter heals his legs.
Of course, in that day and age, beggars were usually cripples some how. That is why they were begging; they couldn’t work. Jesus healed them and gave them the means to begin to earn their own living. He didn’t feed them, he empowered them. It is no different today. In some way, everyone who is begging, who needs money or food, needs healing. Something in their life and in their heart is malfunctioning. They do not need a few dollars tossed out a car window. They need a relationship that can heal their soul and incentive and opportunity to get out and work for their own living. In a day and age of reasonable accommodations, very few people are truly too disabled to do some sort of meaningful work.
So do you hand out a few dollars to the beggar on the street, or let them starve? I’m not sure. But I know there is such a thing as a professional beggar, one who has rags he puts on ever day as he goes to work on the curb, and takes off when he comes home to a nice house, three-car garage. True story. This guy begs for his living, and it is a good one. Yes, I know most beggars aren’t like that. Most homeless have more of a psychological problem then a physical one, a brokenness of spirit that doesn’t allow them to stay in one place, at one job, in one home for long. But do we feed the problem, or reach out the hand of friendship?
So if I do have change to give to a beggar so he can get through the next day with a full belly, I don’t kid myself. I’m not helping him in the long run. Not at all.
In an age of debit cards and online bill-pay, I don’t actually carry any cash that I could give him. He wasn’t the first I had seen at that interstate exit, and he certainly won’t be the last. There is always someone in battered clothes with a dirty beard and a cardboard sign in that area as long as the weather is warm enough.
It is always a wrench to pass them by. I want to do something. But I can’t.
Because I don’t think that the words on the sign are true. Anything helps? No, not really. Because things aren’t the answer. A few dollars or an offering of canned or boxed food will help fill an empty stomach for a day, but the problem will remain tomorrow and the next day. In fact, giving out food and money only enhances the true problem; that a man has no home and no means of working to earn his food.
Why are we so content to tackle the surface symptoms of a problem, but refuse to make real progress on the cause? We can give away as much food as we want, but the hungry will only come back and ask for more tomorrow. The problem of poverty is not that the poor lack things. These days, there is usually someone willing to give enough to keep them from starving. The true problem is that they lack the ability to sustain themselves. No work, no resources, and no hope.
When Helping Hurts by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert is an excellent book that speaks to the heart of this problem. It talks about all the things that we do to try to help the poor, and how these things actually make the problem worse.
I can’t help anyone by tossing a few dollars out of my car window. Not really. We can only help the poor by building a relationship with them. We can only alleviate poverty by providing access to jobs and resources, and helping to change attitudes of dependence. We live in a broken system, and that system is only made worse by simply giving, giving, giving things. Anything doesn‘t help at all. Things only make the problem worse.
When I look at the Bible, I see that Jesus never once gave a poor person anything. He didn’t hand out money, didn’t pass out free dinner except when the crowd had come out to hear him--people who could earn their own dinner on a normal day. When Jesus met a poor person, he only ever gave one thing. Healing. Peter does the same thing in Acts. A beggar asks for money, and Peter heals his legs.
Of course, in that day and age, beggars were usually cripples some how. That is why they were begging; they couldn’t work. Jesus healed them and gave them the means to begin to earn their own living. He didn’t feed them, he empowered them. It is no different today. In some way, everyone who is begging, who needs money or food, needs healing. Something in their life and in their heart is malfunctioning. They do not need a few dollars tossed out a car window. They need a relationship that can heal their soul and incentive and opportunity to get out and work for their own living. In a day and age of reasonable accommodations, very few people are truly too disabled to do some sort of meaningful work.
So do you hand out a few dollars to the beggar on the street, or let them starve? I’m not sure. But I know there is such a thing as a professional beggar, one who has rags he puts on ever day as he goes to work on the curb, and takes off when he comes home to a nice house, three-car garage. True story. This guy begs for his living, and it is a good one. Yes, I know most beggars aren’t like that. Most homeless have more of a psychological problem then a physical one, a brokenness of spirit that doesn’t allow them to stay in one place, at one job, in one home for long. But do we feed the problem, or reach out the hand of friendship?
So if I do have change to give to a beggar so he can get through the next day with a full belly, I don’t kid myself. I’m not helping him in the long run. Not at all.
June 28, 2011
Sisters
My sister is a bully, my sister is a pest,
My sister is the one friend I will always love the best.
My sister cheers me up when I am looking down
My sister tries to steal my favorite prom gown.
My sister can push all my buttons, drive me up the wall.
When I need an ear to hear me, she’s the one I call.
My sister is my heart, my sister is my soul
My sister will still be there, when I am gray and old.
Sisters are God’s greatest gift,
The curse He blessed me with.
My sister is the one friend I will always love the best.
My sister cheers me up when I am looking down
My sister tries to steal my favorite prom gown.
My sister can push all my buttons, drive me up the wall.
When I need an ear to hear me, she’s the one I call.
My sister is my heart, my sister is my soul
My sister will still be there, when I am gray and old.
Sisters are God’s greatest gift,
The curse He blessed me with.
June 25, 2011
Secondhand
All my life I have given things away to charity. Old clothes go into a big bag for the local mission store. Used backpacks get put in the donation bin. Books are put in a box headed for Africa. Out-grown bikes and roller skates are passed down to the next generation. I have always lived in and around a culture of giving away instead of throwing away.
Did you catch that last part? Throw away stuff. Yeah. All of that stuff that I have ‘given’ away I didn’t want or need anymore anyway. It had no value to me, and I needed the space, so I got rid of it. Sure, I recycled instead of filling the trash bin, and someone else can benefit from my castoffs.
But have you ever thought about what the people who receive secondhand things feel like? How depressing would it be to live your life only getting other people’s leftovers. What value would you place on your life if the clothes on your back and the shoes on your feet were things that someone else no longer wanted or needed. In other words, the things they could have just thrown away.
Don’t read this wrong, re-using stuff, and using secondhand stuff, isn’t a bad thing. I donate to thrift stores, and then turn around and shop there just for a change in my wardrobe. But I can also go and buy new things when I want to. I get gifts and Christmas and my birthday of shiny new presents. Things that were bought for a higher prices, things of value.
We need to make sure that no one lives a completely secondhand life. There is no reason to be proud of our generosity when we merely donate used items. Taking an extra five minutes to detour to the donation center is nothing. It’s what we should do, but it doesn’t count as going that extra mile. And while it might help someone get the physical items they need, it can’t help their self esteem.
There is a movie called Freedom Writers where a teacher saw that her students (who were all expected to fail and drop out) only got the used, beat-up old books and the A students got the shiny new ones, she was infuriated. She went out and bought her students new books, and the simple act of receiving something new made a difference in their self-esteem and their attitude toward class.
When we give things away, what value do we place on those objects? How does that reflect the value we assign the people who receive our donations? I’m not saying you should stop donating old clothes and stuff. But couldn’t you be doing something more?
How often do we really give away something of value? I have donated loads of items, clothes, books, pots and pans and furniture, but I have rarely bought something valuable just to give it away. What if I changed tactics? What if, instead of buying myself a new shirt and donating the old one, I kept the old one a little longer and bought the new shirt for someone in need? What if I actually went to meet the person who received the donation, made a friend, built a relationship? Because we can’t help people by just giving stuff away, new or used. We help people by becoming involved in their lives.
Did you catch that last part? Throw away stuff. Yeah. All of that stuff that I have ‘given’ away I didn’t want or need anymore anyway. It had no value to me, and I needed the space, so I got rid of it. Sure, I recycled instead of filling the trash bin, and someone else can benefit from my castoffs.
But have you ever thought about what the people who receive secondhand things feel like? How depressing would it be to live your life only getting other people’s leftovers. What value would you place on your life if the clothes on your back and the shoes on your feet were things that someone else no longer wanted or needed. In other words, the things they could have just thrown away.
Don’t read this wrong, re-using stuff, and using secondhand stuff, isn’t a bad thing. I donate to thrift stores, and then turn around and shop there just for a change in my wardrobe. But I can also go and buy new things when I want to. I get gifts and Christmas and my birthday of shiny new presents. Things that were bought for a higher prices, things of value.
We need to make sure that no one lives a completely secondhand life. There is no reason to be proud of our generosity when we merely donate used items. Taking an extra five minutes to detour to the donation center is nothing. It’s what we should do, but it doesn’t count as going that extra mile. And while it might help someone get the physical items they need, it can’t help their self esteem.
There is a movie called Freedom Writers where a teacher saw that her students (who were all expected to fail and drop out) only got the used, beat-up old books and the A students got the shiny new ones, she was infuriated. She went out and bought her students new books, and the simple act of receiving something new made a difference in their self-esteem and their attitude toward class.
When we give things away, what value do we place on those objects? How does that reflect the value we assign the people who receive our donations? I’m not saying you should stop donating old clothes and stuff. But couldn’t you be doing something more?
How often do we really give away something of value? I have donated loads of items, clothes, books, pots and pans and furniture, but I have rarely bought something valuable just to give it away. What if I changed tactics? What if, instead of buying myself a new shirt and donating the old one, I kept the old one a little longer and bought the new shirt for someone in need? What if I actually went to meet the person who received the donation, made a friend, built a relationship? Because we can’t help people by just giving stuff away, new or used. We help people by becoming involved in their lives.
June 22, 2011
Baggage
Just get over it.
Let it go.
Don't hold onto it anymore.
Leave it behind, move on.
There are about a million different variations on the same sentiment, the helpful idea we pass along to people coming out of a rough patch. At least, we hope it is helpful. But I think that the exact opposite is true.
We all have baggage, things that happened to us, things that we did, unpleasant places in our life that drag us down even though they are long over and done with. We carry that baggage with us always, it is attached to our backs like a lead weight. Some have heavier loads than others. I have seen people whose souls are nearly bent double carrying the load, and others who barely notice the weight.
Yet by and large our advice, our approach, our desire is to shed that baggage, to get over it, to move on, to let it go. As if we could forget that the bad time never happened. As if we could live without the after affects reverberating through our very being like ripples in a lake.
The only way to truly let it go, leave it behind, and 'get over it' is to get amnesia and forget it ever happened.
Our baggage is part of who we are. Our memories make us, the good and the bad. Every experience we have ever had affects us, and we cannot simply drop it by the wayside like a heavy backpack and move on without it. That just isn't possible. Our baggage comes with us where ever we go, no matter how long it has been, no matter how much we have recovered, that baggage is part of us, and we will always, always carry the load.
Our choice does not rest in leaving the baggage behind or taking it with us. Our choice rests in how we choose to carry the load, and who we choose to carry it with. Our choice about how to recover from the bad stuff is in our attitude coming out of it. Do you drag it behind you, an unwanted weight wearing down your arms, or do you strap it to your back, take possession of the pain, and set out anyway?
Jesus said, "Come to me, all you who are weary, for I will give you rest. My yoke is easy and my burden is light."
Did you notice that he didn't say there isn't a burden? Did you notice he didn't set us free from the yoke? No, we have to carry the burden. There is no other way to be ourselves but to carry our experiences with us. But there is a better way to carry the load, a way to go forward that is easier, lighter.
Jesus helps us in two ways. First, he carries the load with us. When we trust in Jesus we know that we are not alone, there is someone here, and if we ask him he will take part in the burden. After all, Jesus carried the heaviest burden of all, the cross. He's got strong arms. He can handle it.
The second way Jesus helps us carry the load is he helps us grow stronger. When we seek Jesus we learn that we have value, that we are able, that we have a purpose and a gift to share with the world. That knowledge helps us to grow stronger, to shoulder the burdens we have and learn how to carry them better. We take the experiences and learn from them. We never forget, we never drop the load, but we carry it a different way. We do not let it drag us into pity and despair but use it to fuel wisdom and prevent a repeat occurence.
So the next time you meet with someone who is groaning under the weight of a heavy burden, don't try to tell them to get rid of it or let it go. They cannot do the impossible. Instead, try to help them learn how to carry the load.
Let it go.
Don't hold onto it anymore.
Leave it behind, move on.
There are about a million different variations on the same sentiment, the helpful idea we pass along to people coming out of a rough patch. At least, we hope it is helpful. But I think that the exact opposite is true.
We all have baggage, things that happened to us, things that we did, unpleasant places in our life that drag us down even though they are long over and done with. We carry that baggage with us always, it is attached to our backs like a lead weight. Some have heavier loads than others. I have seen people whose souls are nearly bent double carrying the load, and others who barely notice the weight.
Yet by and large our advice, our approach, our desire is to shed that baggage, to get over it, to move on, to let it go. As if we could forget that the bad time never happened. As if we could live without the after affects reverberating through our very being like ripples in a lake.
The only way to truly let it go, leave it behind, and 'get over it' is to get amnesia and forget it ever happened.
Our baggage is part of who we are. Our memories make us, the good and the bad. Every experience we have ever had affects us, and we cannot simply drop it by the wayside like a heavy backpack and move on without it. That just isn't possible. Our baggage comes with us where ever we go, no matter how long it has been, no matter how much we have recovered, that baggage is part of us, and we will always, always carry the load.
Our choice does not rest in leaving the baggage behind or taking it with us. Our choice rests in how we choose to carry the load, and who we choose to carry it with. Our choice about how to recover from the bad stuff is in our attitude coming out of it. Do you drag it behind you, an unwanted weight wearing down your arms, or do you strap it to your back, take possession of the pain, and set out anyway?
Jesus said, "Come to me, all you who are weary, for I will give you rest. My yoke is easy and my burden is light."
Did you notice that he didn't say there isn't a burden? Did you notice he didn't set us free from the yoke? No, we have to carry the burden. There is no other way to be ourselves but to carry our experiences with us. But there is a better way to carry the load, a way to go forward that is easier, lighter.
Jesus helps us in two ways. First, he carries the load with us. When we trust in Jesus we know that we are not alone, there is someone here, and if we ask him he will take part in the burden. After all, Jesus carried the heaviest burden of all, the cross. He's got strong arms. He can handle it.
The second way Jesus helps us carry the load is he helps us grow stronger. When we seek Jesus we learn that we have value, that we are able, that we have a purpose and a gift to share with the world. That knowledge helps us to grow stronger, to shoulder the burdens we have and learn how to carry them better. We take the experiences and learn from them. We never forget, we never drop the load, but we carry it a different way. We do not let it drag us into pity and despair but use it to fuel wisdom and prevent a repeat occurence.
So the next time you meet with someone who is groaning under the weight of a heavy burden, don't try to tell them to get rid of it or let it go. They cannot do the impossible. Instead, try to help them learn how to carry the load.
June 18, 2011
Grand Babies
Today, my family was watching a movie together, and my sister brought the three-month-old baby, up to join us. Freshly awake from his nap, my nephew was smiling and staring at everything around him. Soon, I had forgotten the movie entirely. I was too busy watching my Dad, now a grandpa, with his grandson on his knee.
Have you ever watched a parent or grandparent with their child? It is an amazing sight. I have never seen my mother or my father more relaxed, content, happy, than with the new grandbaby in their arms. He makes their faces light up, brings out the best in everyone who holds him. I think half an hour passed, and I've no idea what happened in the movie. Did Dad look like that when he held me as a baby? Was he so entranced by my presence? Did I bring him the same peace and joy?
Babies need to be held. If a baby doesn't get enough attention, it will die. We need warmth, comfort, human contact to survive. We must know that we are loved. That time spent on grandpa's knees in essential to our survival.
I cannot help but remember, with the baby in my arms, all of the times in the Bible when God is described as a Father tending His children. He is the doting parent, we are the babies held tenderly on his knees. I have never had a child of my own, but now I have glimpsed in a small part what it is like. I was entranced, pulled away from the flashy allure of Hollywood special effects, by the simple sight of my father holding his grandbaby.
We are that to God. We are the wonderful miracle he holds on his knees, makes silly faces at, gently caresses and balances as we bounce around on weak legs. He holds us with such care, paying attention to our every need, every squeak and squeal and grunt of displeasure or cry of joy. God watches us as closely as my sister watches her baby, knows the exact meaning of every sound and face we make, is entranced by our presence.
Wow. To be loved so gently, so tenderly, and so thoroughly is an amazing gift. It is, for me, proof of God. Evolution has no need of love, no interest in compassion or mercy or caring. Survival of the fittest cannot cater to emotions, cannot sympathize with pain. If we are nothing but a collection of cells, why do we care so much for each other? Why are we so entranced by the sight of a baby, why do we love to care for something that can give nothing in return?
It is not the most flattering of comparisons, to be called children. Children make messes, they cry and complain and have to be cleaned up after. They are simple, fragile creatures in need of much care, and much love. Most people want to be adults, want to rush ahead to the time when they can take care of themselves, make their own decisions, they want to be smarter, stronger, with no need of parents.
But God has told us to be like little children. Often preachers tell us that this means we need to be childlike in our faith, acknowledge that we are dependent on God, believe without questioning. Yet we also need to become like children so that we can remember what it was like to be a Grand Baby. Not everyone has had a happy family life, I know, but we all need that feeling of sitting on a parent's knees. We need to know that God is totally absorbed in us, watching our every move, amazed at the things that we do and loving every minute he spends with us. Just like my dad and his grandson.
You are loved. Compared to God's infinity, a hundred-year-old is still an infant. For God, we will never outgrow that cute baby stage. We are young and impetuous, we make mistakes and have a lot to learn. But we are loved. Loved more deeply than we can ever imagine. Remember that, know it deep down in the core of your soul. It is essential to your survival. God made you so he could love you.
Wow.
Have you ever watched a parent or grandparent with their child? It is an amazing sight. I have never seen my mother or my father more relaxed, content, happy, than with the new grandbaby in their arms. He makes their faces light up, brings out the best in everyone who holds him. I think half an hour passed, and I've no idea what happened in the movie. Did Dad look like that when he held me as a baby? Was he so entranced by my presence? Did I bring him the same peace and joy?
Babies need to be held. If a baby doesn't get enough attention, it will die. We need warmth, comfort, human contact to survive. We must know that we are loved. That time spent on grandpa's knees in essential to our survival.
I cannot help but remember, with the baby in my arms, all of the times in the Bible when God is described as a Father tending His children. He is the doting parent, we are the babies held tenderly on his knees. I have never had a child of my own, but now I have glimpsed in a small part what it is like. I was entranced, pulled away from the flashy allure of Hollywood special effects, by the simple sight of my father holding his grandbaby.
We are that to God. We are the wonderful miracle he holds on his knees, makes silly faces at, gently caresses and balances as we bounce around on weak legs. He holds us with such care, paying attention to our every need, every squeak and squeal and grunt of displeasure or cry of joy. God watches us as closely as my sister watches her baby, knows the exact meaning of every sound and face we make, is entranced by our presence.
Wow. To be loved so gently, so tenderly, and so thoroughly is an amazing gift. It is, for me, proof of God. Evolution has no need of love, no interest in compassion or mercy or caring. Survival of the fittest cannot cater to emotions, cannot sympathize with pain. If we are nothing but a collection of cells, why do we care so much for each other? Why are we so entranced by the sight of a baby, why do we love to care for something that can give nothing in return?
It is not the most flattering of comparisons, to be called children. Children make messes, they cry and complain and have to be cleaned up after. They are simple, fragile creatures in need of much care, and much love. Most people want to be adults, want to rush ahead to the time when they can take care of themselves, make their own decisions, they want to be smarter, stronger, with no need of parents.
But God has told us to be like little children. Often preachers tell us that this means we need to be childlike in our faith, acknowledge that we are dependent on God, believe without questioning. Yet we also need to become like children so that we can remember what it was like to be a Grand Baby. Not everyone has had a happy family life, I know, but we all need that feeling of sitting on a parent's knees. We need to know that God is totally absorbed in us, watching our every move, amazed at the things that we do and loving every minute he spends with us. Just like my dad and his grandson.
You are loved. Compared to God's infinity, a hundred-year-old is still an infant. For God, we will never outgrow that cute baby stage. We are young and impetuous, we make mistakes and have a lot to learn. But we are loved. Loved more deeply than we can ever imagine. Remember that, know it deep down in the core of your soul. It is essential to your survival. God made you so he could love you.
Wow.
June 15, 2011
Does God Snort When He Laughs?
Have you ever had one of those days? You know the type. You start by rolling out of the wrong side of the bed, step on the cats tail, and get long claw marks down your heel. Then you spill milk on yourself at breakfast, get to work late, nearly yell at someone just because they glanced at your milk stain, and you can't find any parking spot at the grocery store that is less than a mile walk from the door. Then, all of the sudden, the front-row spot opens up. You find a clean shirt you forgot in the back seat, along with an extra twenty you can spend on a few goodies. The bad day turned into the best day.
Yeah, one of those days. But have you ever had one of those weeks? One of those months? Take that day, the one where everything went wrong with such perfect timing you know something supernatural had to have coordinated it, and multiply it by seven, or thirty.
Yeah, it's been one of those months. Everything has gone up and down with such precise timing I can't help but wonder if God was up there pressing cosmic buttons that influence the stuff that happens to me. And as he sits back and watches the chaos get sticky, and then suddenly resolve itself at the last minute, I wonder. Is he holding his sides, laughing? Does he snort when he laughs?
I'm not trying to say God is playing mean and nasty tricks to thwart our every move like some sort of mischievous sprite in a fairy story. No, I think he's trying to teach me a lesson, and he's doing it with a good dose of humor.
Because every prayer I've prayed this last month hasn't been answered, not the way I asked. But the need has been met. Everything that went wrong and drove me up the wall suddenly resolved itself exactly the way I didn't think it would.
I can't help but sit back at the end of it all, reviewing the ups and downs, and giggle a bit. And I think God is sitting there with me, patting me on the back, saying, "Yeah, it's kind of funny, isn't i? But I told you I'd take care of you. I told you not to worry. Those gray hairs, those worry lines, they're your fault. I had it all sorted out."
Bad plumbing, a truck that won't sell, a floor that is slowly sagging, an air conditioner that works when it's sixty degrees but decides to break when it hits ninety. Yeah, it's been one of those months. But as soon as the bank account looked like it would dip below zero after all the repairs, the truck sold and an unexpected check arrived, too. Fixing the bathroom is now affordable. So why can't the solution arrive just one week earlier, before the problems start?
Because then we wouldn't appreciate the euphoria of the after-the-disaster laughter. Because if the check came last week and the truck sold before the plumbing sprang a leak, I'd never have to learn to trust. If I didn't have to sit back biting my nails, waiting to see if checks cleared, I would think that I could solve all of this myself. The reality is that I am completely dependent on God for all of it. He gives and he takes, and he has cosmic, comic timing.
So if you're worrying about something, God might just be laughing. He's laughing in anticipation of the look on your face when he drops the unexpected solution in your lap tomorrow or next week. Because God loves to bless his children.
Thank you, Lord, for taking care of me and teaching me to trust in you. And thanks for the laugh. :)
Yeah, one of those days. But have you ever had one of those weeks? One of those months? Take that day, the one where everything went wrong with such perfect timing you know something supernatural had to have coordinated it, and multiply it by seven, or thirty.
Yeah, it's been one of those months. Everything has gone up and down with such precise timing I can't help but wonder if God was up there pressing cosmic buttons that influence the stuff that happens to me. And as he sits back and watches the chaos get sticky, and then suddenly resolve itself at the last minute, I wonder. Is he holding his sides, laughing? Does he snort when he laughs?
I'm not trying to say God is playing mean and nasty tricks to thwart our every move like some sort of mischievous sprite in a fairy story. No, I think he's trying to teach me a lesson, and he's doing it with a good dose of humor.
Because every prayer I've prayed this last month hasn't been answered, not the way I asked. But the need has been met. Everything that went wrong and drove me up the wall suddenly resolved itself exactly the way I didn't think it would.
I can't help but sit back at the end of it all, reviewing the ups and downs, and giggle a bit. And I think God is sitting there with me, patting me on the back, saying, "Yeah, it's kind of funny, isn't i? But I told you I'd take care of you. I told you not to worry. Those gray hairs, those worry lines, they're your fault. I had it all sorted out."
Bad plumbing, a truck that won't sell, a floor that is slowly sagging, an air conditioner that works when it's sixty degrees but decides to break when it hits ninety. Yeah, it's been one of those months. But as soon as the bank account looked like it would dip below zero after all the repairs, the truck sold and an unexpected check arrived, too. Fixing the bathroom is now affordable. So why can't the solution arrive just one week earlier, before the problems start?
Because then we wouldn't appreciate the euphoria of the after-the-disaster laughter. Because if the check came last week and the truck sold before the plumbing sprang a leak, I'd never have to learn to trust. If I didn't have to sit back biting my nails, waiting to see if checks cleared, I would think that I could solve all of this myself. The reality is that I am completely dependent on God for all of it. He gives and he takes, and he has cosmic, comic timing.
So if you're worrying about something, God might just be laughing. He's laughing in anticipation of the look on your face when he drops the unexpected solution in your lap tomorrow or next week. Because God loves to bless his children.
Thank you, Lord, for taking care of me and teaching me to trust in you. And thanks for the laugh. :)
June 11, 2011
Be a Leaf
Trees are amazing things. In every season they are beautiful, whether full of green leaves that make fat pockets of shade in the summer, or a lacework of delicate branches against the pale winter sky. They provide us with so many things that we need; lumber for buildings, fruit for food, and oxygen to keep us alive. Just about every part of a tree can help sustain and improve life in some way.
Have you ever thought about what trees eat? They don’t have mouths or teeth or tongues, but they ingest vital nutrients just like any other living thing. Trees have two intake methods.
One is kind of icky if you actually think about it. I mean, trees eat dirt. They have to be planted in it, and a little fertilizer, such as manure, goes a long way to helping most plants. They eat the messy stuff, the stuff that we would never touch, don’t want to think about, stuff little boys dare each other to smell. Everything that dies turns to dirt, and the dirt nourishes plant life. So in a way trees feed on excrement and death.
Yet trees also feed on the sun. They have to have light in order to photosynthesize. If you want a nice, shady tree, you can’t plant it in a dark room. Light is essential. Trees thrive on light. They grow tall so they can be closer to it, high above all obstructions. Yet their roots remain in the dirty ground.
Trees use dirt and light to create oxygen, which gives life to everything that breathes. God has built into His creation a special metaphor for us.
When you encounter the dirty things in life, what do you do with them? Avoid them, throw them away, or allow them to fester and poison you? When you encounter bad things, do you in turn give the world more bad things?
Yet we are Christians. We are rooted in his world, stuck on this earth with all of the badness, the excrement and death around us. But we also bask in the light. We reach up high, striving to see God, to be more like Him, to take in the good. We want the light.
It takes both dirt and light for a tree to create oxygen, that stuff that we can’t live without. We can take a lesson from the trees that sustain us. We need to check our habits, check our attitude, check our actions. What do you make of the things that life throws at you, and the grace of God? How do you put them together, and what is the end result? What do you produce to give back to the world?
I challenge you to be a leaf. In everything that comes your way, take it and turn it to good. Make something beneficial, something necessary. Let the light of God turn the bad thoughts, the painful experiences, the hurt and the fear to love, the oxygen of the soul. Be a leaf.
Have you ever thought about what trees eat? They don’t have mouths or teeth or tongues, but they ingest vital nutrients just like any other living thing. Trees have two intake methods.
One is kind of icky if you actually think about it. I mean, trees eat dirt. They have to be planted in it, and a little fertilizer, such as manure, goes a long way to helping most plants. They eat the messy stuff, the stuff that we would never touch, don’t want to think about, stuff little boys dare each other to smell. Everything that dies turns to dirt, and the dirt nourishes plant life. So in a way trees feed on excrement and death.
Yet trees also feed on the sun. They have to have light in order to photosynthesize. If you want a nice, shady tree, you can’t plant it in a dark room. Light is essential. Trees thrive on light. They grow tall so they can be closer to it, high above all obstructions. Yet their roots remain in the dirty ground.
Trees use dirt and light to create oxygen, which gives life to everything that breathes. God has built into His creation a special metaphor for us.
When you encounter the dirty things in life, what do you do with them? Avoid them, throw them away, or allow them to fester and poison you? When you encounter bad things, do you in turn give the world more bad things?
Yet we are Christians. We are rooted in his world, stuck on this earth with all of the badness, the excrement and death around us. But we also bask in the light. We reach up high, striving to see God, to be more like Him, to take in the good. We want the light.
It takes both dirt and light for a tree to create oxygen, that stuff that we can’t live without. We can take a lesson from the trees that sustain us. We need to check our habits, check our attitude, check our actions. What do you make of the things that life throws at you, and the grace of God? How do you put them together, and what is the end result? What do you produce to give back to the world?
I challenge you to be a leaf. In everything that comes your way, take it and turn it to good. Make something beneficial, something necessary. Let the light of God turn the bad thoughts, the painful experiences, the hurt and the fear to love, the oxygen of the soul. Be a leaf.
June 8, 2011
Peter's Song
Every day in the temple I stood by his side
Watching as he scorned the priest and spoke the truth with pride.
Now he stands in silence with no answer for their lies.
Who is this man? Were you with this man?
Did you follow this man?
I do not know this man.
On the roads we walked surrounded by great crowds
I saw him cast out demons and humble the proud.
Now they stand over him, bloody, beaten, bound.
Who is this man? Were you with this man?
Did you follow this man?
I do not know this man.
Those are the hands I saw end a widow’s strife,
Halt a funeral march, return the dead to life.
Now steel pierces his palms, his side cut with a knife.
Who is this man? Were you with this man?
Did you follow this man?
I do not know this man.
Healing came from him, his word could raise the lame,
Loosen a mute tongue and purge leprosy’s stain.
Now I hear him scream in agony and pain.
The whip opens his back. These wounds won’t heal again.
Is this the man? I cannot understand.
Did I follow this man?
I never knew this man.
How can it be, this death I see, after the life he lived in front of me.
How can it be, this bloody cross, everything I thought I had is lost.
Hide away in an upstairs room, let the women visit the tomb.
How can it be, these crazy words, cannot be true, should not be heard.
How can it be, this empty rock, the shepherd comes to find his flock.
I see a man out on the beach, swim until he’s in arm’s reach.
I know this man, this dead man, alive and waiting on the sand.
Who is this man? Was I with this man?
Can I follow this man?
Do I know this man?
This is the man I do not understand.
Can I follow this man
Can I be part of his plan?
I may not always understand,
But I will always love this man.
I will strive to understand,
I will follow this man.
Watching as he scorned the priest and spoke the truth with pride.
Now he stands in silence with no answer for their lies.
Who is this man? Were you with this man?
Did you follow this man?
I do not know this man.
On the roads we walked surrounded by great crowds
I saw him cast out demons and humble the proud.
Now they stand over him, bloody, beaten, bound.
Who is this man? Were you with this man?
Did you follow this man?
I do not know this man.
Those are the hands I saw end a widow’s strife,
Halt a funeral march, return the dead to life.
Now steel pierces his palms, his side cut with a knife.
Who is this man? Were you with this man?
Did you follow this man?
I do not know this man.
Healing came from him, his word could raise the lame,
Loosen a mute tongue and purge leprosy’s stain.
Now I hear him scream in agony and pain.
The whip opens his back. These wounds won’t heal again.
Is this the man? I cannot understand.
Did I follow this man?
I never knew this man.
How can it be, this death I see, after the life he lived in front of me.
How can it be, this bloody cross, everything I thought I had is lost.
Hide away in an upstairs room, let the women visit the tomb.
How can it be, these crazy words, cannot be true, should not be heard.
How can it be, this empty rock, the shepherd comes to find his flock.
I see a man out on the beach, swim until he’s in arm’s reach.
I know this man, this dead man, alive and waiting on the sand.
Who is this man? Was I with this man?
Can I follow this man?
Do I know this man?
This is the man I do not understand.
Can I follow this man
Can I be part of his plan?
I may not always understand,
But I will always love this man.
I will strive to understand,
I will follow this man.
June 4, 2011
Expectations
Yesterday evening it was ninety degrees inside before I even turned the stove top on. With three hands of bright blue flame making water boil and fish fry, the temperature rose steadily. The cat was stretched out like roadkill on the floor. I was slicker than a greased pig from sweat.
Ick. Ugh. Blech. That's pretty much how I felt. But there was a solution. The weather thus far hadn't been so bad, so we'd just left the windows open and dealt with little heat waves. But ninety degrees is my limit. Ninety-degrees in front of a hot stove = not happening.
So I went to switch on the air conditioning. The machine gave a start-up rumble. The fan started cranking. Air started moving through vents. I quickly closed all of the windows and went back to my cooking, knowing that in a few minutes everything would start to feel better.
Twenty minutes later, and the thermostat hadn't changed one tenth of a degree. I put my hand over the vent. The air was moving, alright, but it was warm air. Warm as the air outside, and full of icky humidity.
It completely wrecked my evening. I got snappy with my best friend and nearly broke a dish in frustration. All because I never got to cool off. I hate heat. It gives me a headache and makes me uncomfortable which makes me grumpy and a bit of a bear to be around. But none of that is any real excuse for bad behavior and a bad attitude.
The thing is, I have lived without central air for several years now. It was going to be a nice treat to have it this summer in my new place. I have cooked in ninety-plus conditions before without any trouble.
So what was the problem? My expectations. I expected to be able to cool down, so when I couldn't, I got mad. I was unsatisfied all evening. I would have been happier if I'd never even had the option of air conditioning to disappoint me.
How often do we let our expectations dictate our moods? When something doesn't happen as you think it should, you get angry, get grumpy, and act out. When things don't go as planned, our attitudes foul up to. Yet if we had had no plan, we wouldn't care.
Step back, take a deep breath, and readjust to the new situation. It is still a skill that I am learning. I have met few precious people who have mastered the art of taking disappointed expectations in stride. Scoop up the broken pieces, make a new plan, and move on.
After all, this is what God does for us all the time. We never live up to his desires for us. We never do things exactly as he wants. But he doesn't let us go, doesn't give up and send us away to wallow in our own failures. He stands by us, helps us pick up the pieces, and move forward. It's the story of life, from the beginning to the end of creation, we'll be learning to overcome failed expectations.
But if we don't, if we can't learn to take what we get and move on, if we wallow in what should have been, moaning about how the air conditioning won't work instead of moving on to new ways to stay cool, we'll be stuck a self-destructive cycle of misery. I don't want to live there.
So dear God, help me learn to endure the heat.
Ick. Ugh. Blech. That's pretty much how I felt. But there was a solution. The weather thus far hadn't been so bad, so we'd just left the windows open and dealt with little heat waves. But ninety degrees is my limit. Ninety-degrees in front of a hot stove = not happening.
So I went to switch on the air conditioning. The machine gave a start-up rumble. The fan started cranking. Air started moving through vents. I quickly closed all of the windows and went back to my cooking, knowing that in a few minutes everything would start to feel better.
Twenty minutes later, and the thermostat hadn't changed one tenth of a degree. I put my hand over the vent. The air was moving, alright, but it was warm air. Warm as the air outside, and full of icky humidity.
It completely wrecked my evening. I got snappy with my best friend and nearly broke a dish in frustration. All because I never got to cool off. I hate heat. It gives me a headache and makes me uncomfortable which makes me grumpy and a bit of a bear to be around. But none of that is any real excuse for bad behavior and a bad attitude.
The thing is, I have lived without central air for several years now. It was going to be a nice treat to have it this summer in my new place. I have cooked in ninety-plus conditions before without any trouble.
So what was the problem? My expectations. I expected to be able to cool down, so when I couldn't, I got mad. I was unsatisfied all evening. I would have been happier if I'd never even had the option of air conditioning to disappoint me.
How often do we let our expectations dictate our moods? When something doesn't happen as you think it should, you get angry, get grumpy, and act out. When things don't go as planned, our attitudes foul up to. Yet if we had had no plan, we wouldn't care.
Step back, take a deep breath, and readjust to the new situation. It is still a skill that I am learning. I have met few precious people who have mastered the art of taking disappointed expectations in stride. Scoop up the broken pieces, make a new plan, and move on.
After all, this is what God does for us all the time. We never live up to his desires for us. We never do things exactly as he wants. But he doesn't let us go, doesn't give up and send us away to wallow in our own failures. He stands by us, helps us pick up the pieces, and move forward. It's the story of life, from the beginning to the end of creation, we'll be learning to overcome failed expectations.
But if we don't, if we can't learn to take what we get and move on, if we wallow in what should have been, moaning about how the air conditioning won't work instead of moving on to new ways to stay cool, we'll be stuck a self-destructive cycle of misery. I don't want to live there.
So dear God, help me learn to endure the heat.
June 1, 2011
Up or Down?
Falling
Can be fun
Falling
Is free and easy
But falling
Leads to landing
Crashing
Which hurts.
Falling
Isn’t good
But landing
Is worse
Climbing
Is hard
Climbing
Takes a lot of work
But climbing
Leads to the top
To rest
Which is good
Climbing
Is not easy
But in the end
It is better
Than crashing
Landing
Falling
Falling is scary
Climbing is too
Because we know we might fall
And falling
Is easier than climbing
Which is better?
That which is easy
That which is hard
We cannot escape
One or the other
Climbing, Falling
Pain and sweat
Falling, Climbing
Living
Where do you want to be in the end?
Can be fun
Falling
Is free and easy
But falling
Leads to landing
Crashing
Which hurts.
Falling
Isn’t good
But landing
Is worse
Climbing
Is hard
Climbing
Takes a lot of work
But climbing
Leads to the top
To rest
Which is good
Climbing
Is not easy
But in the end
It is better
Than crashing
Landing
Falling
Falling is scary
Climbing is too
Because we know we might fall
And falling
Is easier than climbing
Which is better?
That which is easy
That which is hard
We cannot escape
One or the other
Climbing, Falling
Pain and sweat
Falling, Climbing
Living
Where do you want to be in the end?
May 27, 2011
Life is rated R
Our culture is full of taboos. Words you can’t say and images you can’t put out in public lest they offend someone. Many people equate keeping these taboos with the signs of being a good Christian. Don’t cuss, don’t watch R-rated movies or read dirty magazines. There is even a Christian radio station whose main theme is being family-friendly. Everything they talk about is rated G.
Except that Christians can’t live G-rated lives. It just doesn’t work, because life is rated R.
Start with the Bible. Have you actually looked at some of those stories? Gang rape, brutal murder, adultery and lust run rampant through its pages. If you made a movie of the Bible, the whole thing, unedited, you couldn’t bring anyone under 17 into the theater.
So why does the church and mainstream Christian culture try to live in a G-rated world? I’m not saying we should start cussing just because, or enjoy gratuitous sex and violence in movies. But we can’t ignore that they exist, can’t shelter ourselves from the reality that is life.
In my last post I talked about the culture and communication gap between rich and poor. It seems like there is a similar gap between ‘clean’ and ‘dirty,’ the church-accepted standard of talking and dressing and living and the worldly lack of standards. We get to used to the clean, safe, family-friendly environment we hide away in that we lose the ability to relate to people who are unfamiliar with that environment.
People who haven’t grown up where manners were enforced, mouths were washed with soap, and parental controls governed TV stations don’t feel comfortable in the G-rated world we’ve created. People who didn’t grow up in a churchy culture don’t feel comfortable there because they don’t know how to act. They understand that the church (theology and spiritually aside) has its own set of values and rules of conduct that they aren’t used to and don’t know how to follow.
Many Christian bookstores won’t carry a book that has bad words in it. They don’t want to cause a stumbling block to people, to expose them to ‘unacceptable’ ways of speaking and acting. Yet stories are how we learn about the world. The books a person reads can tell you a lot about how they think and what they believe. So when we avoid the hard issues, we learn to forget that they are there. If we won’t watch or read about someone with problems, including language, violence, etc, people face, how can we learn to understand the difficulties they face, and the strength it takes to overcome?
Jesus isn’t family-friendly. No, we don’t need to put temptation in our way, to gorge ourselves on violence and sex until we become desensitized. But we do need more Christian literature and cinema that deals with the hard issues, that takes a step beyond the clean façade of Sunday-morning and shows the hard and dirty parts of life. Because it is in the hard stuff, the R-rated stuff, that you can see the true wonder and power of Jesus’ love and life-changing power.
Except that Christians can’t live G-rated lives. It just doesn’t work, because life is rated R.
Start with the Bible. Have you actually looked at some of those stories? Gang rape, brutal murder, adultery and lust run rampant through its pages. If you made a movie of the Bible, the whole thing, unedited, you couldn’t bring anyone under 17 into the theater.
So why does the church and mainstream Christian culture try to live in a G-rated world? I’m not saying we should start cussing just because, or enjoy gratuitous sex and violence in movies. But we can’t ignore that they exist, can’t shelter ourselves from the reality that is life.
In my last post I talked about the culture and communication gap between rich and poor. It seems like there is a similar gap between ‘clean’ and ‘dirty,’ the church-accepted standard of talking and dressing and living and the worldly lack of standards. We get to used to the clean, safe, family-friendly environment we hide away in that we lose the ability to relate to people who are unfamiliar with that environment.
People who haven’t grown up where manners were enforced, mouths were washed with soap, and parental controls governed TV stations don’t feel comfortable in the G-rated world we’ve created. People who didn’t grow up in a churchy culture don’t feel comfortable there because they don’t know how to act. They understand that the church (theology and spiritually aside) has its own set of values and rules of conduct that they aren’t used to and don’t know how to follow.
Many Christian bookstores won’t carry a book that has bad words in it. They don’t want to cause a stumbling block to people, to expose them to ‘unacceptable’ ways of speaking and acting. Yet stories are how we learn about the world. The books a person reads can tell you a lot about how they think and what they believe. So when we avoid the hard issues, we learn to forget that they are there. If we won’t watch or read about someone with problems, including language, violence, etc, people face, how can we learn to understand the difficulties they face, and the strength it takes to overcome?
Jesus isn’t family-friendly. No, we don’t need to put temptation in our way, to gorge ourselves on violence and sex until we become desensitized. But we do need more Christian literature and cinema that deals with the hard issues, that takes a step beyond the clean façade of Sunday-morning and shows the hard and dirty parts of life. Because it is in the hard stuff, the R-rated stuff, that you can see the true wonder and power of Jesus’ love and life-changing power.
May 24, 2011
Plunger Ears
I love Larry-Boy, the superhero persona that Larry the Cucumber from VeggieTales takes on. He battles an alien fib and a rumor weed which teach lessons about thinking before you speak. In fact, I have always liked VeggieTales, even though I was already out of their targeted demographic when they first came out. Their combination of humor, good story telling and Biblical lessons leaves little to be desired.
Step down to South America with me, to a country called Guyana. A tropical land very, very close to the equator where the buildings are on stilts and the dirt roads are full of potholes. In an impoverished neighborhood my church group spent a week long mission trip running a Vacation Bible School for the local kids. It was loads of fun, but it was also a lot of hard work. Every evening while the adults had a prayer meeting we entertained the kids with low-effort activities, like movies.
Enter Larry-Boy and his VeggieTales fun. We (my church group) all enjoyed the singing, dancing vegetables and the lessons they taught. So we proudly put in our VeggieTale tapes and settled back to relax and let the video do the work. The kids would laugh, dance, and sing with the veggies and have a great time, just like us.
Well, they didn't. They just sat there and stared at Larry and Bob and Archibald Asparagus with open mouths and furrowed brows. They didn't get it. Nothing made sense, and they barely laughed at any of the jokes. To our Guyanese friends, VeggieTales was just a lot of nonsense, so full of American culture and worldview that it didn't connect.
We were stumped. Why wouldn't these kids love VeggieTales? But since they clearly weren't enjoying it, we put in the other video series we had brought. A simple cartoon story following a normal boy and girl as they traveled through Bible stories. No song and dance. No veggies, and no plungers. Totally BORING.
The kids in Guyana loved it. They wanted to watch that video again, and then the next one, and the next one. It made sense to them. What we thought of as a simple, boring story was quality entertainment to them, way better than those strange vegetables.
They say the sign of a decaying civilization is a widening gap between the rich and the poor, as is happening all over the world right now. But there is more than a gap in money and resources. There is a gap in ideals, education, and communication.
Why does it take a cucumber with plungers in his ears to get us Americans to sit up and actually listen to a moral tale? Are we falling out of touch with real life because of this insulated, manufactured world we have created? What happens when we can't connect with 3/4 of the world anymore?
The hardest part about our work in Guyana was not the heat or the humidity but communication. Accents aside, we white Americans spoke a different language and looked at the world very differently then the Guyanese. The problem, however, isn't isolated to foreign countries. The gap between the culture of the rich and poor in America is huge, too.
Look across the city to a neighborhood that does not look like yours. Would you be comfortable striking up a conversation with those people? Why not? Are you scared of them because that neighborhood is dangerous? Or is it also that you don't understand the language they use, don't understand their culture.
We need to close the communication gap if anything in this world is going to change. We need to take the plungers out of our ears. VeggieTales is a great show, don't get me wrong. But we also need to be able to step out of our comfort zone and learn to talk to people who just don't get talking cucumbers. We need to meet people where they are at, understand who they are and the forces that have shaped their lives. We need to stop trying to make people like us, by exporting VeggieTales, and start listening to what they have to say.
Step down to South America with me, to a country called Guyana. A tropical land very, very close to the equator where the buildings are on stilts and the dirt roads are full of potholes. In an impoverished neighborhood my church group spent a week long mission trip running a Vacation Bible School for the local kids. It was loads of fun, but it was also a lot of hard work. Every evening while the adults had a prayer meeting we entertained the kids with low-effort activities, like movies.
Enter Larry-Boy and his VeggieTales fun. We (my church group) all enjoyed the singing, dancing vegetables and the lessons they taught. So we proudly put in our VeggieTale tapes and settled back to relax and let the video do the work. The kids would laugh, dance, and sing with the veggies and have a great time, just like us.
Well, they didn't. They just sat there and stared at Larry and Bob and Archibald Asparagus with open mouths and furrowed brows. They didn't get it. Nothing made sense, and they barely laughed at any of the jokes. To our Guyanese friends, VeggieTales was just a lot of nonsense, so full of American culture and worldview that it didn't connect.
We were stumped. Why wouldn't these kids love VeggieTales? But since they clearly weren't enjoying it, we put in the other video series we had brought. A simple cartoon story following a normal boy and girl as they traveled through Bible stories. No song and dance. No veggies, and no plungers. Totally BORING.
The kids in Guyana loved it. They wanted to watch that video again, and then the next one, and the next one. It made sense to them. What we thought of as a simple, boring story was quality entertainment to them, way better than those strange vegetables.
They say the sign of a decaying civilization is a widening gap between the rich and the poor, as is happening all over the world right now. But there is more than a gap in money and resources. There is a gap in ideals, education, and communication.
Why does it take a cucumber with plungers in his ears to get us Americans to sit up and actually listen to a moral tale? Are we falling out of touch with real life because of this insulated, manufactured world we have created? What happens when we can't connect with 3/4 of the world anymore?
The hardest part about our work in Guyana was not the heat or the humidity but communication. Accents aside, we white Americans spoke a different language and looked at the world very differently then the Guyanese. The problem, however, isn't isolated to foreign countries. The gap between the culture of the rich and poor in America is huge, too.
Look across the city to a neighborhood that does not look like yours. Would you be comfortable striking up a conversation with those people? Why not? Are you scared of them because that neighborhood is dangerous? Or is it also that you don't understand the language they use, don't understand their culture.
We need to close the communication gap if anything in this world is going to change. We need to take the plungers out of our ears. VeggieTales is a great show, don't get me wrong. But we also need to be able to step out of our comfort zone and learn to talk to people who just don't get talking cucumbers. We need to meet people where they are at, understand who they are and the forces that have shaped their lives. We need to stop trying to make people like us, by exporting VeggieTales, and start listening to what they have to say.
May 21, 2011
Jury Duty
I think that if I ever got called in for jury duty, I'd be booted out within the first day. Why?
Well, have you ever watched a lawyer movie that is all about the trial? You watch two people in fancy suits sort through tons of paperwork and make their cases and piece the details together. Then you watch them decide how to present it so that things are tilted in favor of whichever side they are arguing. Then they stand up and make objections to things and somehow the jury is supposed to ignore what was said. Their arguments always leave me wanting to shout, to point out a point that wasn't stated during the trial, to ask the wittness another question, or call a different wittness entirely.
You see, if I were on a jury, I'd be raising my hand just like I was in a classroom whenever I had a question. I don't understand how a jury can make an informed decision sitting idly by and watching a carefully planned performance like the lawyers put on. I'd want to ask my own questions, analyze the evidence for my self, talk to each witness without any lawyer present. I don't feel like I could make a honest and informed decision any other way. I can't let other people do all of the research for me, and trust that they did a good job. .
So the judge would probably kick me out before they day was through. Because I couldn't just sit still and listen. If I'm supposed to decide someone's guilt, let me ask the questions. Let the lawyer give me a baseline of what the witness saw, but then open it up to the jury. After all, they're the ones making the decision.
Actually, I think the whole idea of two people each defending one side of the case is a bad idea. It makes you skew the facts to line up with one explanation or another. You can't just look at the evidence and draw a conclusion. We ought to have three professional investigators each work the case independently, and then present their findings to the jury, who can ask questions and then make a decision. No pressure to make evidence fit one side or the other. No pressure to win the case, whether you think the person is guilty or not.
I've never much liked the way our legal system works. It just doesn't make sense to me. I don't mind serving jury duty, if I am ever called. But honestly, I don't think I could follow our current system's rules.
What do you think? Do you see any holes in the way our trials are run? Would you raise your hand to ask questions if you were a juror?
Well, have you ever watched a lawyer movie that is all about the trial? You watch two people in fancy suits sort through tons of paperwork and make their cases and piece the details together. Then you watch them decide how to present it so that things are tilted in favor of whichever side they are arguing. Then they stand up and make objections to things and somehow the jury is supposed to ignore what was said. Their arguments always leave me wanting to shout, to point out a point that wasn't stated during the trial, to ask the wittness another question, or call a different wittness entirely.
You see, if I were on a jury, I'd be raising my hand just like I was in a classroom whenever I had a question. I don't understand how a jury can make an informed decision sitting idly by and watching a carefully planned performance like the lawyers put on. I'd want to ask my own questions, analyze the evidence for my self, talk to each witness without any lawyer present. I don't feel like I could make a honest and informed decision any other way. I can't let other people do all of the research for me, and trust that they did a good job. .
So the judge would probably kick me out before they day was through. Because I couldn't just sit still and listen. If I'm supposed to decide someone's guilt, let me ask the questions. Let the lawyer give me a baseline of what the witness saw, but then open it up to the jury. After all, they're the ones making the decision.
Actually, I think the whole idea of two people each defending one side of the case is a bad idea. It makes you skew the facts to line up with one explanation or another. You can't just look at the evidence and draw a conclusion. We ought to have three professional investigators each work the case independently, and then present their findings to the jury, who can ask questions and then make a decision. No pressure to make evidence fit one side or the other. No pressure to win the case, whether you think the person is guilty or not.
I've never much liked the way our legal system works. It just doesn't make sense to me. I don't mind serving jury duty, if I am ever called. But honestly, I don't think I could follow our current system's rules.
What do you think? Do you see any holes in the way our trials are run? Would you raise your hand to ask questions if you were a juror?
May 16, 2011
Drop the 'C'
Did you know that we YWCA (Young Women's Christian Association) now prefers to be known simply as the YW? The YMCA (Young Men's Christian Association) is changing it's name to the Y. Drop the C. We don't need it, we don't want it. They feel that the label of 'Christian' is too constricting. It does not mesh with their goals.
And what are the YWCA's goals? I wear them every day on my t-shirt when I go to work. Empowering Women. Eliminating Racism.
Wait a minute. You have to drop the 'Christian' from your name to do that?
It is a sad but true fact that many people today see Christianity as oppressive, instead of uplifting. They see it as exclusive, instead of inclusive. They see an elitist group with their own agenda who want to protect themselves, not a group of people who want to reach out and help the world.
Eliminating racism and empowering women were two goals of the early Church. Women served as priests alongside men in the first century. Paul wrote over and over again to the Jews and Gentiles to get along despite their differences. Jesus broke down barriers, talked to people against all social taboo, included everybody.
These two goals, while they do not define totally the Christan message, are certainly an integral part of what Jesus and his disciples taught. Yet here we are, two thousand years later, and everything is turned around.
There are many secular organizations that do incredibly admirable things. They care for orphans, work for social justice, help to create jobs, heal the sick, feed the hungry. Yet churches will not give these organizations money because they do not have a 'Christian' statement of faith. My sister is currently raising funds for missionary work in Thailand, and has been told by many churches that they can only support missionaries from their own denomination. It doesn't matter if the cause is good, even Godly, and doesn't conflict with their church doctrine. If you don't have the right label, you can't get the cash.
It makes me sad enough to cry, mad enough to put my fist through this computer right now. WAKE UP PEOPLE! When did we become the very thing Jesus preached against? Why can't we work together?
Maybe the YWCA has good reason to think 'Christian' doesn't belong in their name. They have seen the pettiness of the American Church, the internal bickering and politicking, the outright selfishness of people who build giant new gymnasiums and can't manage to find a few hundred dollars for people with real needs. They have seen self-segregated congregations and churches that deny women equal status with men. When they see a steeple, they see oppression, exclusion, and vanity.
Casting Crowns put it well in their song "Does Anybody Hear Her?" "Lofty glances from lofty people...Under the shadows of our steeple, With all the lost and lonely people, Searching for the hope that's tucked away in you and me." Simply put, the church isn't doing it's job. And the world has noticed.
The American Church has become blind to its history, to its calling, to its true purpose in the world. It has turned into a sort of social club where people go to have a good time, to sing and chitchat about the trivial things that trouble them, to feel cozy and happy and insulated from all of the bad stuff outside. While the secular organizations are rolling up their sleeves to do the work the church left behind.
People don't want to be part of a 'Christian' organization anymore, they don't want to be labeled with the big C. Not because they disagree with the Bible. No, it's because they haven't had a chance to see what the Bible teaches. They don't want to know; the Church has shown them enough.
If we want people to accept 'Christians' if we want to spread Jesus' message, we've go to change our tune. We've got to clean up our churches. We've got to reclaim our name.
And what are the YWCA's goals? I wear them every day on my t-shirt when I go to work. Empowering Women. Eliminating Racism.
Wait a minute. You have to drop the 'Christian' from your name to do that?
It is a sad but true fact that many people today see Christianity as oppressive, instead of uplifting. They see it as exclusive, instead of inclusive. They see an elitist group with their own agenda who want to protect themselves, not a group of people who want to reach out and help the world.
Eliminating racism and empowering women were two goals of the early Church. Women served as priests alongside men in the first century. Paul wrote over and over again to the Jews and Gentiles to get along despite their differences. Jesus broke down barriers, talked to people against all social taboo, included everybody.
These two goals, while they do not define totally the Christan message, are certainly an integral part of what Jesus and his disciples taught. Yet here we are, two thousand years later, and everything is turned around.
There are many secular organizations that do incredibly admirable things. They care for orphans, work for social justice, help to create jobs, heal the sick, feed the hungry. Yet churches will not give these organizations money because they do not have a 'Christian' statement of faith. My sister is currently raising funds for missionary work in Thailand, and has been told by many churches that they can only support missionaries from their own denomination. It doesn't matter if the cause is good, even Godly, and doesn't conflict with their church doctrine. If you don't have the right label, you can't get the cash.
It makes me sad enough to cry, mad enough to put my fist through this computer right now. WAKE UP PEOPLE! When did we become the very thing Jesus preached against? Why can't we work together?
Maybe the YWCA has good reason to think 'Christian' doesn't belong in their name. They have seen the pettiness of the American Church, the internal bickering and politicking, the outright selfishness of people who build giant new gymnasiums and can't manage to find a few hundred dollars for people with real needs. They have seen self-segregated congregations and churches that deny women equal status with men. When they see a steeple, they see oppression, exclusion, and vanity.
Casting Crowns put it well in their song "Does Anybody Hear Her?" "Lofty glances from lofty people...Under the shadows of our steeple, With all the lost and lonely people, Searching for the hope that's tucked away in you and me." Simply put, the church isn't doing it's job. And the world has noticed.
The American Church has become blind to its history, to its calling, to its true purpose in the world. It has turned into a sort of social club where people go to have a good time, to sing and chitchat about the trivial things that trouble them, to feel cozy and happy and insulated from all of the bad stuff outside. While the secular organizations are rolling up their sleeves to do the work the church left behind.
People don't want to be part of a 'Christian' organization anymore, they don't want to be labeled with the big C. Not because they disagree with the Bible. No, it's because they haven't had a chance to see what the Bible teaches. They don't want to know; the Church has shown them enough.
If we want people to accept 'Christians' if we want to spread Jesus' message, we've go to change our tune. We've got to clean up our churches. We've got to reclaim our name.
May 14, 2011
David Waited
Do you ever feel like the things you are working towards are never going to happen? Freshman year in college and that degree is a four-year eternity away. Get a job and the pay raise that can pay for a house and a car is a ten-year eternity away. Someone gets pregnant and you have to wait a nine-month eternity to meet that new baby. A heat wave rolls through town and the promised cool front in a 24-hour eternity away.
It always seems like we are waiting for things to happen, for life to change. You make a decision, but you still have to fill out paperwork, wait for the start date, set things in motion before anything ever comes of that decision. Like me, deciding to enter Seminary, and classes won't even start for three more months. It feels like making that decision didn't make much difference sometimes. I'll have to wait before I start feeling any practical effect. Or take my sister and her husband. They want to be full-time missionaries, but now they are waiting for six months until they can raise enough support to make the trip.
We decide to do what we hope is God's will, and then we wait. So often it feels like things should move faster. I want results today. Then I look at David. The kid who used a sling and a stone to kill a giant, who was anointed as king and then spent years and years waiting for the throne.
Why did he wait? David didn't have to. Saul was trying to kill him because he was jealous. He set David on the run, made him wander in the wilderness, pursued him through the desert and sent him running into the arms of his enemies for shelter. No one would have blamed David if he'd taken control of his own destiny. After all, God said he would make him king. Why not kill Saul and be done with it?
But he didn't do it. David waited for God to make his move. He waited for Saul's time to be over and done, waited for Saul's own actions to catch up to him. He didn't let the desire for the throne, the desire simply to be free of that madman, get in the way of God's plan. God had anointed Saul, too. So David wouldn't touch him.
Abraham and Sarah didn't wait. They wanted to see the promise fulfilled, so when Sarah couldn't have a son she gave Hagar to her husband and Ishmael was born. It's not Ismael's fault, but the result was a lot more family dysfunction than would have happened had Sarah waited.
It can be hard, so hard to wait. Yet it is better to take David's path. He was, after all, a man after God's own heart. It may be the harder path, the longer path. But when we try to determine our destiny, make plans work out our way, we just get in the way.
David honored God first, and God honored him. Sarah tried to make things happen, and we still have dysfunction in the middle east.
I hate waiting. I get antsy and grumpy just waiting for ten minutes for my dinner to cook. But we need to learn how to wait. We need to cultivate patience. We need to let God take the lead and follow instead of stepping in ourselves and messing things up worse.
We spend an awful lot of our lives waiting. But sometimes, that's just what we need to do.
It always seems like we are waiting for things to happen, for life to change. You make a decision, but you still have to fill out paperwork, wait for the start date, set things in motion before anything ever comes of that decision. Like me, deciding to enter Seminary, and classes won't even start for three more months. It feels like making that decision didn't make much difference sometimes. I'll have to wait before I start feeling any practical effect. Or take my sister and her husband. They want to be full-time missionaries, but now they are waiting for six months until they can raise enough support to make the trip.
We decide to do what we hope is God's will, and then we wait. So often it feels like things should move faster. I want results today. Then I look at David. The kid who used a sling and a stone to kill a giant, who was anointed as king and then spent years and years waiting for the throne.
Why did he wait? David didn't have to. Saul was trying to kill him because he was jealous. He set David on the run, made him wander in the wilderness, pursued him through the desert and sent him running into the arms of his enemies for shelter. No one would have blamed David if he'd taken control of his own destiny. After all, God said he would make him king. Why not kill Saul and be done with it?
But he didn't do it. David waited for God to make his move. He waited for Saul's time to be over and done, waited for Saul's own actions to catch up to him. He didn't let the desire for the throne, the desire simply to be free of that madman, get in the way of God's plan. God had anointed Saul, too. So David wouldn't touch him.
Abraham and Sarah didn't wait. They wanted to see the promise fulfilled, so when Sarah couldn't have a son she gave Hagar to her husband and Ishmael was born. It's not Ismael's fault, but the result was a lot more family dysfunction than would have happened had Sarah waited.
It can be hard, so hard to wait. Yet it is better to take David's path. He was, after all, a man after God's own heart. It may be the harder path, the longer path. But when we try to determine our destiny, make plans work out our way, we just get in the way.
David honored God first, and God honored him. Sarah tried to make things happen, and we still have dysfunction in the middle east.
I hate waiting. I get antsy and grumpy just waiting for ten minutes for my dinner to cook. But we need to learn how to wait. We need to cultivate patience. We need to let God take the lead and follow instead of stepping in ourselves and messing things up worse.
We spend an awful lot of our lives waiting. But sometimes, that's just what we need to do.
May 10, 2011
Peter Pan: Sociopath
I love Peter Pan. The idea of flying on pixie dust to a carefree land of never ending fun is enticing at any age. We all wish, at some point in our lives, that we could return to that simpler time when we were children. Those of us who had happy, contended childhoods, anyway.
Have you ever actually read the book by JM Barrie? Or have you just seen the Disney cartoon, the musical, or the more recent live action film? Peter Pan, like most fairy tales, has been pruned, preened, altered and simplified as it was taken to stage and screen. The dark tones and adult themes are glossed over. Hints of them remain, lurking in the background, but the original essence of the tale is lost.
Peter Pan is a creepy book. The main character is carefree, true, but that’s not a good thing. He doesn’t care who lives and who dies, and death is as real in Neverland as it is anywhere else. He forgets entirely about Wendy and her brothers. Peter exists only in the moment; nothing else is real. He has no heart, and no real ability to love.
I found a modern version of Peter Pan at the library which drew out and amplified the dark tones of the original tale. In The Child Thief, the author Brom shows us the creepiness in Barrie’s work, the lack of compassion in Peter, the gruesome reality of being a child in a grown-up’s world. Brom sees, Peter Pan as the equivalent of a modern gang leader, a sociopath who mesmerizes followers and discards the loyal as soon as they become useless. It’s a creepy book, and I don’t actually recommend you read it, but the concept gave me pause.
It makes me wonder why more people can’t see the creepy side of Peter Pan, and all of the other fairy tales for that matter. How did our culture manage to erase everything unpleasant in our folklore, to modify it to a G rating? It scares me to think how much we gloss over the unpleasant, candy-coating reality so that we can no longer see the darkness lurking under the surface.
Where in our lives have we done the same thing? If it happens so easily on stage and screen, it is just as easy to do in our own minds, our own selves. If we don't acknowledge the darkness, it we remain entirely unaware of it, someday it may overwhelm us without our ever knowing.
Why are we so blind to what’s wrong with the world, so unwilling to see things the way they are? One day, we’ll have to square up and face facts. Neverland won’t actually exist forever. The lost boys all leave the same way the pirates do; dead.
Have you ever actually read the book by JM Barrie? Or have you just seen the Disney cartoon, the musical, or the more recent live action film? Peter Pan, like most fairy tales, has been pruned, preened, altered and simplified as it was taken to stage and screen. The dark tones and adult themes are glossed over. Hints of them remain, lurking in the background, but the original essence of the tale is lost.
Peter Pan is a creepy book. The main character is carefree, true, but that’s not a good thing. He doesn’t care who lives and who dies, and death is as real in Neverland as it is anywhere else. He forgets entirely about Wendy and her brothers. Peter exists only in the moment; nothing else is real. He has no heart, and no real ability to love.
I found a modern version of Peter Pan at the library which drew out and amplified the dark tones of the original tale. In The Child Thief, the author Brom shows us the creepiness in Barrie’s work, the lack of compassion in Peter, the gruesome reality of being a child in a grown-up’s world. Brom sees, Peter Pan as the equivalent of a modern gang leader, a sociopath who mesmerizes followers and discards the loyal as soon as they become useless. It’s a creepy book, and I don’t actually recommend you read it, but the concept gave me pause.
It makes me wonder why more people can’t see the creepy side of Peter Pan, and all of the other fairy tales for that matter. How did our culture manage to erase everything unpleasant in our folklore, to modify it to a G rating? It scares me to think how much we gloss over the unpleasant, candy-coating reality so that we can no longer see the darkness lurking under the surface.
Where in our lives have we done the same thing? If it happens so easily on stage and screen, it is just as easy to do in our own minds, our own selves. If we don't acknowledge the darkness, it we remain entirely unaware of it, someday it may overwhelm us without our ever knowing.
Why are we so blind to what’s wrong with the world, so unwilling to see things the way they are? One day, we’ll have to square up and face facts. Neverland won’t actually exist forever. The lost boys all leave the same way the pirates do; dead.
May 7, 2011
Fess Up!
I always thought the Catholic ritual of confession was weird. It’s not something that I have ever encountered in my own life. My church doesn’t require people to come in and sit in a little box and talk to someone you can’t see through a screen. We don’t need someone to pronounce that our sins are forgiven, or do any sort of penance.
But as I grow older, and hopefully wiser, the idea of confession becomes more and more important. It is essential not only for drawing closer to God but for living a healthy life. The root of all change is confession.
We all know that the alcoholic or the drug addict can’t be forced to change. We can shove them into a locked room and force them to go through detox, but we can’t keep them from going back to old habits. Bad habits only change when the person stuck in them decides to make the change. And that change starts with admitting that the thing they are doing is bad, destructive to themselves and those around them. It’s in the twelve steps somewhere. Confess. Acknowledge that what you’ve done isn’t good.
You can’t kill a problem until you find it’s cause. When we fess up to our mistakes, we acknowledge the source of the problem. Only then can we start to heal.
Confessing is hard, though. It’s about honesty, and most people are pathological liars.
Take Adam and Eve after the first sin. Yeah, that fruit on that tree that we weren’t supposed to eat. Did we ever actually admit to doing it? No. Adam points to Eve and says, It’s her fault! Eve blames the snake. The snake just sits back and laughs.
Do you ever wonder if we might still be in Eden if Adam and Eve had just fessed up? What if they came running to God, got down on their knees, and said, “We did something wrong, and it’s our own fault because we should have known better. Please, we’re sorry. Can we start over?”
God wants us to fess up. He didn’t dole out punishment until after Adam and Eve refused to own their guilt. They couldn’t take credit for their own actions, so God sent them away. They had to learn the hard way, not because they sinned, but because they refused to admit it.
Confession is more than admitting something to yourself. You have to tell others. The body and soul are connected. I don’t think that secret confession, in silent prayer between you and God, is very powerful. The mouth as to be involved, and another set of physical ears.
I’m not saying you have to get on YouTube and start spilling all of your secret demons. But you need to find someone to tell. Find a confessor, someone you can trust, and tell them your struggles. The beauty of confession means that we don’t bear our burdens alone. When someone else knows what we have trouble with, what we have done and are afraid of doing again, they can help us. A confessor isn’t a punisher who carries your secret shame. A confessor is an encourager who can see our weakness and shore it up with their strength. A confessor is a friend to share the burden and make it lighter, to hold us accountable and pick us up when we fall.
We all need to confess, and we all need to learn to be confessors, to listen to others when they come to us with their troubles and worries and mistakes. If you have secret fears and sins, they become chains that drag you down and hold you back. When you tell someone, you can take the first steps towards the true freedom that Jesus wants for you.
But as I grow older, and hopefully wiser, the idea of confession becomes more and more important. It is essential not only for drawing closer to God but for living a healthy life. The root of all change is confession.
We all know that the alcoholic or the drug addict can’t be forced to change. We can shove them into a locked room and force them to go through detox, but we can’t keep them from going back to old habits. Bad habits only change when the person stuck in them decides to make the change. And that change starts with admitting that the thing they are doing is bad, destructive to themselves and those around them. It’s in the twelve steps somewhere. Confess. Acknowledge that what you’ve done isn’t good.
You can’t kill a problem until you find it’s cause. When we fess up to our mistakes, we acknowledge the source of the problem. Only then can we start to heal.
Confessing is hard, though. It’s about honesty, and most people are pathological liars.
Take Adam and Eve after the first sin. Yeah, that fruit on that tree that we weren’t supposed to eat. Did we ever actually admit to doing it? No. Adam points to Eve and says, It’s her fault! Eve blames the snake. The snake just sits back and laughs.
Do you ever wonder if we might still be in Eden if Adam and Eve had just fessed up? What if they came running to God, got down on their knees, and said, “We did something wrong, and it’s our own fault because we should have known better. Please, we’re sorry. Can we start over?”
God wants us to fess up. He didn’t dole out punishment until after Adam and Eve refused to own their guilt. They couldn’t take credit for their own actions, so God sent them away. They had to learn the hard way, not because they sinned, but because they refused to admit it.
Confession is more than admitting something to yourself. You have to tell others. The body and soul are connected. I don’t think that secret confession, in silent prayer between you and God, is very powerful. The mouth as to be involved, and another set of physical ears.
I’m not saying you have to get on YouTube and start spilling all of your secret demons. But you need to find someone to tell. Find a confessor, someone you can trust, and tell them your struggles. The beauty of confession means that we don’t bear our burdens alone. When someone else knows what we have trouble with, what we have done and are afraid of doing again, they can help us. A confessor isn’t a punisher who carries your secret shame. A confessor is an encourager who can see our weakness and shore it up with their strength. A confessor is a friend to share the burden and make it lighter, to hold us accountable and pick us up when we fall.
We all need to confess, and we all need to learn to be confessors, to listen to others when they come to us with their troubles and worries and mistakes. If you have secret fears and sins, they become chains that drag you down and hold you back. When you tell someone, you can take the first steps towards the true freedom that Jesus wants for you.
May 2, 2011
Celebrate Life, Not Death
My extended family always gets together the week after a holiday, so that all of the aunts and uncles and cousins can stay at home on Easter and Christmas and Thanksgiving. So we were together yesterday (Sunday) enjoying each other's company, eating good food, laughing about childhood stories, hunting for plastic eggs and stuffing our faces with candy. We also took time to think again of what we celebrate on Easter. Jesus, the son of God, came to earth and died, but he didn't stay dead. He was raised to life and is still alive. Death is not the end. Life triumphs.
Not an hour ago this morning I saw the newspaper headline. Osama Bin Laden Dead.
I stopped still, staring at the huge color photo of a party around the White House. What? That guy? Really? I haven't heard about him for ages, but I remember his name. No one can forget that name and that face. I had to check the Internet, listen to the president's speech, read people's comments, before it felt real.
When I was celebrating with family, enjoying life and remembering that we are free from death, thousands of miles away across the sea a man was being killed. A man who had orchestrated the murder of thousands and inspired hundreds of others to follow in his footsteps and continue the terror.
I am a pacifist and generally disapprove of war and violence of all kinds. Yet I cannot say I am sorry that this man is dead. He can no longer hatch plans, no longer inspire, no longer champion the cause of fear and destruction and twist young, impressionable minds until children are ready to do terrible things. There is still danger, of course. Bin Laden's followers will probably strike back hard and soon and we have to be ready to endure it. But one man who caused death can do so no more.
I celebrate, but I do not celebrate because a man is dead. I celebrate because more now have a chance to live. And not just live, but to live with dignity, free of fear.
Yet I also feel that Bin Laden's death is a tragedy. The entire affair is a tragedy that started decades ago, long before anyone thought of flying planes into towers. The tragedy is the hatred that grew in his heart, that hatched such a plot. The tragedy is the hatred so many others felt, hate strong enough to drive them to carry out the plan, to kill themselves just to kill others.
Where did that hatred start? When will it end? What have I done to cause it, and what can we all do to stop it?
Around the world there are thousands of young, innocent children untainted by hate, just as Osama Bin Laden once was. The forces that set to work twisting Osama's heart are still in place, still active. There are hundreds of terrorists still free, still planning attacks because of the same hate in their hearts. They still carry out his goals. Because terror was not Bin Laden's invention. It will continue until the conditions which created it cease to exist.
Bin Laden is dead, but there is still a lot of work to be done, and it cannot be done by force alone. No matter how many terrorists we kill, more can rise to take their places. The answer to lasting peace, to freedom from fear and terror, is in the heart. We have to kill hatred, but hatred thrives on gunfire and death. The only thing that can combat it is love.
So while many feel it is necessary to continue to hunt for terrorists, there is another battle which is even more important. The battle for education, for equality across gender and racial lines. The battle for jobs and rights. The battle for respect and a chance to live life with dignity. This battle turns enemies to friends and learns how to forgive.
Our battle cry ought to be for life, not death. Peace cannot be won with death. It is time not to kill more terrorists but to build more schools, more hospitals. To build bridges of understanding and friendship. To take away all of the reasons the terrorists have for fighting by showing them there is nothing to hate. To make sure that no more children can be caught and twisted by this infectious virus of the heart.
Jesus, when faced with hate, did something strange and wonderful. He did not try to fight those who were in the wrong. Instead, he lifted up those who had been wronged. He held out a hand of friendship to all who cared to take it, and taught that the best way to build a better world is by helping each other, not hating each other. He let himself be killed because that was the only way to conquer death and hate. Now He is alive because hate cannot triumph over love.
We will make no progress against terrorism, with or without Bin Laden's death, unless we release our own hatred. We should not celebrate the fact that a man is dead. Instead celebrate life, and when the party is over make sure that what you do next promotes love, not hate. Because hate got us into this mess. It can't get us out.
Not an hour ago this morning I saw the newspaper headline. Osama Bin Laden Dead.
I stopped still, staring at the huge color photo of a party around the White House. What? That guy? Really? I haven't heard about him for ages, but I remember his name. No one can forget that name and that face. I had to check the Internet, listen to the president's speech, read people's comments, before it felt real.
When I was celebrating with family, enjoying life and remembering that we are free from death, thousands of miles away across the sea a man was being killed. A man who had orchestrated the murder of thousands and inspired hundreds of others to follow in his footsteps and continue the terror.
I am a pacifist and generally disapprove of war and violence of all kinds. Yet I cannot say I am sorry that this man is dead. He can no longer hatch plans, no longer inspire, no longer champion the cause of fear and destruction and twist young, impressionable minds until children are ready to do terrible things. There is still danger, of course. Bin Laden's followers will probably strike back hard and soon and we have to be ready to endure it. But one man who caused death can do so no more.
I celebrate, but I do not celebrate because a man is dead. I celebrate because more now have a chance to live. And not just live, but to live with dignity, free of fear.
Yet I also feel that Bin Laden's death is a tragedy. The entire affair is a tragedy that started decades ago, long before anyone thought of flying planes into towers. The tragedy is the hatred that grew in his heart, that hatched such a plot. The tragedy is the hatred so many others felt, hate strong enough to drive them to carry out the plan, to kill themselves just to kill others.
Where did that hatred start? When will it end? What have I done to cause it, and what can we all do to stop it?
Around the world there are thousands of young, innocent children untainted by hate, just as Osama Bin Laden once was. The forces that set to work twisting Osama's heart are still in place, still active. There are hundreds of terrorists still free, still planning attacks because of the same hate in their hearts. They still carry out his goals. Because terror was not Bin Laden's invention. It will continue until the conditions which created it cease to exist.
Bin Laden is dead, but there is still a lot of work to be done, and it cannot be done by force alone. No matter how many terrorists we kill, more can rise to take their places. The answer to lasting peace, to freedom from fear and terror, is in the heart. We have to kill hatred, but hatred thrives on gunfire and death. The only thing that can combat it is love.
So while many feel it is necessary to continue to hunt for terrorists, there is another battle which is even more important. The battle for education, for equality across gender and racial lines. The battle for jobs and rights. The battle for respect and a chance to live life with dignity. This battle turns enemies to friends and learns how to forgive.
Our battle cry ought to be for life, not death. Peace cannot be won with death. It is time not to kill more terrorists but to build more schools, more hospitals. To build bridges of understanding and friendship. To take away all of the reasons the terrorists have for fighting by showing them there is nothing to hate. To make sure that no more children can be caught and twisted by this infectious virus of the heart.
Jesus, when faced with hate, did something strange and wonderful. He did not try to fight those who were in the wrong. Instead, he lifted up those who had been wronged. He held out a hand of friendship to all who cared to take it, and taught that the best way to build a better world is by helping each other, not hating each other. He let himself be killed because that was the only way to conquer death and hate. Now He is alive because hate cannot triumph over love.
We will make no progress against terrorism, with or without Bin Laden's death, unless we release our own hatred. We should not celebrate the fact that a man is dead. Instead celebrate life, and when the party is over make sure that what you do next promotes love, not hate. Because hate got us into this mess. It can't get us out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)