Point of You

Today's reading led me to the passage in Mark 8 where Jesus reprimands Peter -- "Get away from me, Satan!" he said. "You are seeing things merely from a human point of view, not from God's." (New Living Translation)

How often do I succumb to this myself? (Too often.) It's so easy to sum up a situation based only on what I see, think or feel, but God sees The Big Picture I can't see. His purposes and plans go far beyond my thoughts or emotions in the moment. I'm so grateful for this reminder that I need to "pray without ceasing" -- à la 1Thessalonians -- for the mind of Christ...for wisdom...and for my spiritual eyes to be opened so I can see things from an eternal perspective. Easier said than done at times, especially when the stakes seem high.

I so relate to Peter...he didn't want to believe his Lord and close friend would be killed. He even went so far as reprimanding Jesus! Can you imagine? Reprimanding Jesus?!! But Peter was a man of deep feelings and passion, and he was impulsive.

Didn't I say yesterday that "No, Lord" is an oxymoron?

So Jesus responds with an in-your-face reprimand, rebuking the spirit behind what Peter was saying. Do we ever have the guts to do that...to say to a close friend or loved one, "That's from the enemy; I rebuke that!"? I've seen it done, and I've done it myself a few times. It's a powerful moment...but there's no guarantee how the person receiving the rebuke will respond; that's in God's hands.

I sit here, faced with some situations where I know I'm looking at things only from a human point of view...not wanting to ruffle feathers...not wanting to upset the apple cart. But I also recognize I am missing The Big Picture when I do this. Lord, have mercy.

"How pointless is my point of view, until I reach the point of You." (Thanks, Ryan Green.)

Amen.

Facing the Cup

"Organized religion has domesticated the crucified Lord of glory, turned Him into a tame theological symbol. Theological symbols do not sweat blood in the night."

-- Brennan Manning

Yesterday's reading (which I read this morning) was about Jesus looking at the cup the Father was offering. What filled the cup wasn't pretty...it was the most vile contents ever known. Every sin was to be laid on the only sinless person in all of history. Would He drink the cup?

Three times He cried out to the Father for things to be different. It seemed like too much for Him to bear. But we know how the story ends...He stood up and walked the road of obedience to the Cross, and changed the course of history forever. Changed my life...changed me...forever.

Today I am facing my own cup -- a cup filled with fear, anxiety and uncertainty. Compared to what Jesus faced, it's a walk in the park. Will I drink the cup the Father is offering? Will I gaze into the Lord's eyes of love and TRUST that this cup is what I need? Will I trust that He knows the big picture and has my best interest in mind? Will I walk the road of obedience, even if I have not a clue where it will lead?

"No, Lord" is an oxymoron.

Remain Here...

"'Remain here and keep watch with me....' Such a simple request. Has he ever asked these men to do anything for him before?

"'Remain here and keep watch with me....' He asks for so little, but they can't give it. These ones to whom Jesus gave his every waking moment for three years cannot stay awake for one hour at his request....

"In the end there is only the Father....He pleads with his friends, 'Remain here and keep watch with me....' but only the Father hears." (Tricia Rhodes...Day 3 in Contemplating the Cross: A Pilgrimage of Prayer)

Continuing to sit in Gethsemane...gazing at this part of the scene. Our Lord, who gave it all, made one simple request of His three closest friends, and they couldn't do it. What first rose up in me was "*I* wouldn't have fallen asleep!" Wow. Hello, pride. Hello, arrogance. I bowed my head and asked for forgiveness. How many times have I failed to "remain" with Him? Oh my goodness. That truth socked me between the eyes. I stopped judging His friends and joined *them* in the scene, for I am no different from them. I too easily fall prey to my own longings and appetites and don't remain or abide with the Lord. I reach for the ice cream or pick up the phone to call a friend instead of remaining. I daydream about how life could be different or easier instead of facing the painful realities in front of me. I escape into TV or any of a number of distractions instead of pressing into His Word or prayer, or just BEING in His presence, not having to DO anything. After all, isn't that what He asked of His friends? Remain...BE...keep watch. That's not much to ask. Be with me...stay with me...put me first for an hour...pray for me as I grieve.

If we're honest, don't we all want that from our friends? When we are in times of grief, the last thing we want is advice. I think one of the hardest things is to just sit with a crying friend and say nothing...or very little. But that's what's needed. I'm getting a lot better at this, but sometimes I blow it. I hear unnecessary words come out of my mouth and I want to grab them and throw them into the abyss!! Fortunately, my friends have grace for me. :) And I for them. But this is an important message we Americans need to hear...and especially American Christians...SHUT UP. If a friend comes to you in pain, shut up. Don't dispense advice, at least not right away. Listen. Hug. Say, "I love you." (And please, NEVER say, "Shh...don't cry.") You don't need to FIX anything. We are so quick to give advice or spout whatever Bible verse comes to mind because WE are uncomfortable seeing a friend in pain. If we are really honest, we usually offer advice to comfort *ourselves*, not the person in agony. When someone's in agony, even the best advice from the best expert cannot be received. Not at that moment. Wait. Then ask if they want to hear your thoughts, and accept it if they say, "Not now." So hard!! But that's what's needed.

Relating this to Gethsemane -- Jesus' friends couldn't stand to see Him in that much pain. With no iPhones or Facebook or blogs to distract them, they did the only thing available -- fall asleep. Instead of praying for their friend, instead of joining Him in lament before the Father, instead of just BEING with Him in His hour of need, they escaped into sleep. Jesus asked them THREE TIMES and they still couldn't do it. My heart breaks for all of them.

Much to think about...
What part of this scene do we relate to the most? Jesus or His friends or both?
How can we "remain" today?
Is there something He's asking us to do specifically? Can we do it?
Is there someone in pain who needs our love today? No advice, just love?

Let's remain...with Jesus...and with each other.

Agony and Ecstasy

This Lenten season, I've committed to reading/working through Contemplating the Cross: A Pilgrimage of Prayer by Tricia Rhodes. I've started it several times and was always moved by its contents, but never completed the journey. This year I know I must finish the 40-day challenge of prayer, reading, meditation, and contemplation necessary to travel from Gethsemane to the Cross.

This morning's time was deep and painful...meditating on what Jesus was feeling and thinking in the Garden. Tricia writes so beautifully, "We resist looking too intensely at the parts of a story that shake our sheltered belief system. What do we do with a God who breaks down like us? How do we handle His weakness, His desperate pleading, His seeming lack of self-control? Before we rejoice that Jesus chose the Father's will over his own pain, we must look hard at the blood oozing from his pores. Before we wrap his anguish in reasonable explanations, we must comprehend his complete sense of isolation and abandonment. Until we're willing to confront the terrible trauma of Gethsemane, the Cross will exist as a symbol of our religion instead of the very heartbeat of our faith."

Gethsemane has become a very special place for me...a sacred place. I have learned much about the importance of lamenting, and Jesus in the Garden has been my model (along with David in the Psalms). The past few years have provided many opportunities to "go there"... to kneel beside Jesus in my pain and know that He identifies with me. He, too, needed friends with him as he cried out to the Father. His friends failed him, and he wasn't happy about it. Ah yes...we all know that pain. (Though I must say that my nearest and dearest have stuck to me like glue, even when I was weeping, wailing and gnashing my teeth. I don't deserve their loyalty, but I will be forever grateful.)

Christ knew betrayal on so many levels. Jesus felt anguish in his bones, in his sinew, in his soul. Tricia explains, "The language here speaks of both physical pain and mental anguish. Jesus knows not only agony of soul, but feels life itself slipping away as distress distills in his veins....Man of sorrows, acquainted with grief...strange words to describe a Deity. But he had given it all up -- didn't consider equality with God something to cling to....The wretchedness on the face of Christ will play itself out to the bitter end. Anything less would leave God's children hanging in the balance, bound in the slave market of sin's great camp. This he cannot allow."

I spent a good chunk of time this morning taking in the scene. My soul felt weighed down and heavy. I thought about times when I, too, was gripped with agony. It's not difficult for me to call up deep pain, as I still live with it every day;  I just choose not to live *in* it, as much as possible. And while my pain is miniscule next to Christ's, I know it is part of sharing in his sufferings. And so I sat with my pain next to his...and was still.

With a heavy heart, I raised my hands in worship, as that was the only response that made any sense to me. Words felt hollow. All I can do is offer myself...my life...my heart...and say, "Yes, Lord; have Your way."

I looked at the clock and realized it was time for me to leave for my first voice lesson with Sam (née Samantha). Sam decided not to hire me to be her studio coordinator. Instead she asked if we could barter -- she would give me free voice lessons if I would come and listen and counsel and nurture her. WHAT? Is this for real? We *did* hit it off immediately when I interviewed with her. She told me she went home to her husband and talked nonstop about me...that she needed someone like me in her life. SERIOUSLY? (Her husband suggested I start a "rent-a-mom" business!) And that she really really wanted to work with me and help me regain all of my voice, and help me fulfill my dream of making a CD. She said all of this in my "rejection letter" for the job. That's a letter I'm saving for sure!

I drove into the city, still feeling the agony of Gethsemane, but with some anticipation (and a little apprehension) of meeting up with Sam again. It all sounded too good to be true; certainly there was a catch somewhere. But no! She was every bit as lovely and gregarious and warm as before. We talked for awhile, breaking down more walls, learning more about each other. And then we got to work on breathing and a few vocal exercises. She was so encouraging! We only had an hour today, but she's blocking out 2 hours for "us" every Thursday...one hour (or so) of talking/sharing, one hour (or so) of voice work. Just pinch me.

I left her studio as if I'd gone from Gethsemane straight to the Resurrection. I'm not sure what the Lord is doing, or why, but He has dropped this lovely young woman into my life who apparently needs a pastor/mother/sister/friend. She sees something in me and knows she needs it. I know ultimately that is Jesus, but I'm taking it slow on that front. I couldn't help but cry as she told me what she saw in me from the first time we met. Out of the mouth of a near-stranger came blessing and healing and love that I needed to hear...it was straight from the heart of God.

How is it possible in this age of consumerism and the all-important dollar that I am getting voice lessons in exchange for...being me? I don't know. It's unfathomable. But we hugged goodbye, expressing appreciation for the gift we are to each other...and I practically skipped to my car.

From agony to ecstasy. What a day!

Beauty from Ashes

"Dear People of God:

The first Christians observed with great devotion the days of our Lord's passion and resurrection, and it became the custom of the Church to prepare for them by a season of penitence and fasting. This season of Lent provided a time in which converts to the faith were prepared for Holy Baptism. It was also a time when those who, because of notorious sins, had been separated from the body of the faithful were reconciled by penitence and forgiveness, and restored to the fellowship of the Church. Thereby, the whole congregation was put in mind of the message of pardon and absolution set forth in the Gospel of our Savior, and of the need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.

I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God's holy Word. And, to make a right beginning of repentance, and as a mark of our mortal nature, let us now kneel before the Lord, our maker and redeemer." (from The Book of Common Prayer)

Thus began the communal portion of our Ash Wednesday service this evening. It was a lovely time together. First we went to various stations to open our hearts, meditate on Scripture, write prayers of confession, and commit this Lenten season to the Lord. The lights were dim, we could light candles as we wished, and I found the time to be deeply moving. After this time of individual reflection, we gathered as a community and sang the following song by Jon Foreman (of Switchfoot fame):

White As Snow

Have mercy on me, O God
According to Your unfailing love
According to Your great compassion
Blot out my transgressions

Would you create in me a clean heart, O God
Restore in me the joy of Your salvation

The sacrifices of our God are a broken and a contrite heart
Against You and You alone have I sinned

Would You create in me a clean heart, O God
Restore in me the joy of my salvation

Wash me white as snow
And I will be made whole
Wash me white as snow
And I will be made whole

Would you create in me a clean heart, oh God
Restore in me the joy of Your salvation

After receiving the ashes on my forehead and taking Communion, I felt undone by the love of the Lord and the love of my community. He's making me whole in the the midst of pain...in the midst of confusion...in the midst of this mess called life. 

As I end this day, I am reminded of this verse from Isaiah 61: "To all who mourn in Zion he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair." 

Beauty will come from the ashes. I can hardly wait.

 

Truth and Dare

Telling the truth is important to me, and often that means saying what's broken about something, someone (including myself!) or some situation, which usually involves relationships. Part of it comes from growing up in a family where life was all veneer and no one talked about what was really wrong...in fact, there were far too many secrets and lies, and I determined to not live that way as an adult. Part of it comes from a prophetic bent God's put in me to speak things that no one else will, like the kid who shouted that the emperor wasn't actually wearing clothes. And part of it is because I desperately long to see God's healing come into people, relationships, churches, etc., and the first step toward healing is talking about what's broken or diseased.

That being said, truth-telling isn't just about what's wrong, it's also about what's right. Paul exhorts us to "...fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise." (Phil. 4:8) My spiritual mother (aka "Mama Grace") has often reminded me that whatever I dwell on will become larger in my soul. So while I know part of my raison d'etre is to provide correctives (I don't love editing and proofreading for no reason!), I also know that an important part of being a Jesus-follower is to give thanks in all things and cling to what is good (1Thessalonians 5:18; Romans 12:9). But since this isn't always my natural first response to life, I am grateful for help along the way to bring that corrective to me.

This morning I came upon something called "The Joy Dare" from author Ann Voskamp. She has taken the idea of a gratitude journal and run with it, assigning three different "gifts" to look for each day so that by the end of the year, she'll have identified and given thanks for over a thousand gifts. In fact, she's written a book called One Thousand Gifts. I haven't read it but it's on my list. I've decided to take her up on this challenge. To give you an idea, here's the first week's "dare" from January:

1. 3 things about yourself you are grateful for

2. a gift outside, inside, on a plate

3. 3 lines you overheard that were graces

4. one gift old, new & blue

5. something you're reading, you're making, you're seeing

6. one thing in your bag, your fridge, your heart

7. 3 graces from people you love

You can find the complete month's list HERE.

Wanna join me?

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P.S. It's not your imagination...I changed the title of the blog and also the design...a fresh look for a new year!

2012: The Year of Reconciliation?

"One of the hardest things in life is to let go of old hurts. We often say, or at least think: 'What you did to me and my family, my ancestors, or my friends I cannot forget or forgive. ... One day you will have to pay for it.' Sometimes our memories are decades, even centuries, old and keep asking for revenge. Holding people's faults against them often creates an impenetrable wall. But listen to Paul: 'For anyone who is in Christ, there is a new creation: the old order is gone and a new being is there to see. It is all God's work' (2 Corinthians 5:17-18). Indeed, we cannot let go of old hurts, but God can. Paul says: 'God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not holding anyone's fault against them' (2 Corinthians 5:19). It is God's work, but we are God's ministers, because the God who reconciled the world to God entrusted to us 'the message of reconciliation' (2 Corinthians 5:19). This message calls us to let go of old hurts in the Name of God. It is the message our world most needs to hear."

-Henri Nouwen

This quote from Nouwen was in my email box this morning and I've read it several times. I can't think of a more perfect thought to fill my mind and heart as I close out a year and enter a new one. So many of us, myself included, make resolutions or a list of goals for the new year -- lose weight, start exercising; less TV, more fiber -- but how many of us make deeper goals for the new year? Sure, I might add "read the Bible more " to the list, but that's still only scratching the surface.

What if we (and when I say "we" I'm honestly including myself!) were to sit for a moment and ponder the deeper goal of reconciliation? What broken relationships are in our lives that need mending? What offenses do we need to let go of? And not in the "shrug it off" kind of way, but really pouring out the pain at the Lord's feet and then leaving it there? Is there someone we need to write to or call to begin the process of healing? What if we're convinced that it was all THEIR fault? Will we keep digging in our heels, or can we extract ourselves from the cement of stubbornness (which is so often rooted in pride and fear, right?) and reach out across the miles, or across the dinner table, and open the door to new communication?

This all hits very close to home for me. As many of you know, my parents and I suffered a severe rift six years ago, and I have not heard from them since. I've reached out a few times, but to no avail. My attitude over the past few years has been one of resignation, "Oh well, I tried." But God's not letting me off the hook; a New Year's card is sitting on the coffee table, addressed to my parents, ready for a stamp. I've been putting it off, but I know I need to send it. Today. With no expectations, but with faith in the Reconciler...that He knows the pain on both sides and He longs for healing in my family even more than I do.

To be brutally honest, though, sometimes I don't actually want to be reconciled. Aye, there's the rub. It's an ugly truth. I'd rather deal with the twinges of pain on birthdays and holidays than deal with the struggle to maintain relationships with "difficult people." I'd rather settle for an easy peace than the harder work of building bridges. Sloth at it's best...or worst. Lord, have mercy on me.

It struck me just now how the Father's heart must ache when relationships break. I know how my heart breaks when my sons fight or wound each other; I can only imagine how God must feel when His children hurt each other and discard one another, and even moreso when it happens within the church. John 13:35 says the world will know we are Jesus' disciples by our love for one another, so why isn't our first mission to clean up our relationships with each other? All the "good deeds" we do are kind of meaningless if we're holding resentment and bitterness toward a Brother or Sister. And I don't think the Lord lets us off the hook if the rift is with someone who's not a believer. (Case in point, my parents aren't Christians.) Ultimately, this is about our relationship with God, and following His commands to forgive and to be at peace with all people. We can't control what other people do and how they respond, of course, but shouldn't it be OUR job, as Christ's ambassadors, to make the first move? What's stopping us?

Talk about an upward/outward/inward process...upward to God by asking Him to show me my heart and confessing, repenting, and receiving His forgiveness; outward to others by reaching out and beginning the process of reconciliation; inward to myself to take a serious look at why this is so hard for me, what my fears are, and oh yeah, maybe what part *I* played in the breakdown of the relationships that are broken. And then back to God to confess...and back to others to bring things into the light...ah, the circle of life.

I hope you will join me in this journey to make 2012 the Year of Reconciliation. Let's mend past hurts and commit to keeping short accounts about future ones. Let's try to apologize more quickly and forgive more easily. Let's be intentional about processing the deep pain that has ahold of our hearts so that we can move forward on this upward/outward/inward journey of life. I would love to pray with and for anyone who needs help in this area. We need each other!

Time to put a stamp on the envelope and put that card in the mail.

Happy New Year, everyone.