I sit here with my belly over full, and my heart aching with shame. Since the end of December I have stuffed myself beyond fullness. Why? What am I looking to sooth with food? I look and find no answers, only a jumble of rationalizations, habits, and less than ideal circumstances that always lead me to food and paradoxically, to emptiness.
I’ve been reading Walter Wangerin Jr.’s novel Paul. Currently I am in the midst of the debate between Paul and the other Jews about circumcision and dietary restrictions. Paul insists that Gentiles should not be required to follow the Jewish tradition of circumcision, because to put that obligation on them diminishes the Gospel. Jesus is enough. It is for freedom that Christ set us free. Yet then there is the matter of dietary restrictions. Circumcision is for the Jews and not the Gentiles, but just as the Jews will follow the circumcision tradition, so they also follow the tradition of not eating certain foods. When eating with Jews, shouldn’t the Gentiles follow those rules as well? Paul says no, that is obedience, not freedom!
And I wonder, are obedience and freedom mutually exclusive? I guess the difference lies in what comes before -- obedience out of fear of punishment is completely different than obedience motivated by love. In one case, one might appear obedient because he hasn’t gotten caught. In the other, one is clearly aware of his lack of obedience because it is so small in comparison to the love. One compares himself to others, saying, “At least I’m not as bad as so and so.” The other weeps tears of regret at one hurtful act.
And freedom? Am I free to eat as much as I want? I find that as soon as I agree and say yes, I am no longer free. I am captive to that craving, and further more, captive by the emptiness that follows. What a wretched soul am I!
Real freedom is this - I am free resist the lies of this world. I am free to return to the fountain of Grace after I have once again searched for satisfaction elsewhere. I am free not of the consequences, but of the tendency to let them define me. God does not define us by our failures, instead he sees us as the person we will become. Oh, how I long to catch a glimpse of that victorious believer!
Life in Laura's Mind
Friday, January 21, 2011
Anticipation
That bit of an Advent sermon stays with me, even now as even Epiphany has passed. We prayed “Increase in us an anticipation of Your coming.” Advent is about the discipline of waiting, something so foreign in this instant society. Loosely quoting someone that our pastoral intern quoted in that sermon, “The only thing more wonderful than the event of Christ’s coming is the waiting for that wonderful event.”
That Sunday in Advent the words of that classic hymn spoke to me as well “O Come, O come Immanuel, and ransom captive Israel.” I questioned to myself “what inside of me is captive? “ The answer I found was this -- Hope is captive. Hope and the bold prayer for sweet reunion. Captive by the reality of “bitterness, envy and strife.” Captive by the reality of wounds -- both those that I have inflicted and those I have sustained. And following on that is the longing -- the longing I am afraid to give voice to because I cannot bear to hope and be disappointed again -- the longing to be embraced in the arms of those I have hurt, and the longing to finally forget the hurts I have had to forgive.
The reunion I long for is more than joining hands around a proverbial campfire and singing “Kum Ba Yah.” It’s a reunion that not just joins what has been separated, but instead makes something new and wonderful out of the broken pieces. Like a mosaic made of broken tiles, one which perhaps forms a cross, perhaps a chalice and loaf, perhaps a crashing wave of love…or perhaps something even more grand and wonderful than I can imagine. Will I see it this side of heaven? Don’t know… but I do know that God’s faithfulness is everywhere (Psalm 19, 108)
So I’m left here with my feet stuck firmly in the mud of that reality, and the sometime clear, sometimes faint vision of something more. And here is where I have to make myself forget the slights - real or imagined - and forgive. How do I make myself? The same way a house plant strains toward the light. Because of who I am, something in me knows that I need that healing light. But also because of who I am, I see places where I am deemed unworthy. Quickly on the heals of that thought, I have to find evidence of unmerited favor. It grates me to think of the crippled orphan that I was, and the grieving parents who swooped in to save me. I hate to think of the debt of gratitude that I can never repay. I still hear the ever-present “I love you” at the end of every phone call, and even when that doesn’t ring true, even when that human love shows itself imperfect, I turn my heart to faith, that stubborn optimism that cling to the truth knowing that without it I will surely perish.
So with the eyes of faith I say that some day my biological mother and father will meet my “real” parents, and that they will see beyond the walls of class, political party, lifestyle and beliefs to the people, the those who gave DNA, faith, tears, love dreams, and time … gave all of those things and more to me, or to just the idea of me … the baby and child and the woman who is all me. That each will see the sacrifice that was made as something divine, and that we’ll all be flooded with a holy awe, so much so that others will see and hear of it and say, “Wow, God. Wow. This could only be you, God. Wow.”
Come, Lord Jesus, Come.
That Sunday in Advent the words of that classic hymn spoke to me as well “O Come, O come Immanuel, and ransom captive Israel.” I questioned to myself “what inside of me is captive? “ The answer I found was this -- Hope is captive. Hope and the bold prayer for sweet reunion. Captive by the reality of “bitterness, envy and strife.” Captive by the reality of wounds -- both those that I have inflicted and those I have sustained. And following on that is the longing -- the longing I am afraid to give voice to because I cannot bear to hope and be disappointed again -- the longing to be embraced in the arms of those I have hurt, and the longing to finally forget the hurts I have had to forgive.
The reunion I long for is more than joining hands around a proverbial campfire and singing “Kum Ba Yah.” It’s a reunion that not just joins what has been separated, but instead makes something new and wonderful out of the broken pieces. Like a mosaic made of broken tiles, one which perhaps forms a cross, perhaps a chalice and loaf, perhaps a crashing wave of love…or perhaps something even more grand and wonderful than I can imagine. Will I see it this side of heaven? Don’t know… but I do know that God’s faithfulness is everywhere (Psalm 19, 108)
So I’m left here with my feet stuck firmly in the mud of that reality, and the sometime clear, sometimes faint vision of something more. And here is where I have to make myself forget the slights - real or imagined - and forgive. How do I make myself? The same way a house plant strains toward the light. Because of who I am, something in me knows that I need that healing light. But also because of who I am, I see places where I am deemed unworthy. Quickly on the heals of that thought, I have to find evidence of unmerited favor. It grates me to think of the crippled orphan that I was, and the grieving parents who swooped in to save me. I hate to think of the debt of gratitude that I can never repay. I still hear the ever-present “I love you” at the end of every phone call, and even when that doesn’t ring true, even when that human love shows itself imperfect, I turn my heart to faith, that stubborn optimism that cling to the truth knowing that without it I will surely perish.
So with the eyes of faith I say that some day my biological mother and father will meet my “real” parents, and that they will see beyond the walls of class, political party, lifestyle and beliefs to the people, the those who gave DNA, faith, tears, love dreams, and time … gave all of those things and more to me, or to just the idea of me … the baby and child and the woman who is all me. That each will see the sacrifice that was made as something divine, and that we’ll all be flooded with a holy awe, so much so that others will see and hear of it and say, “Wow, God. Wow. This could only be you, God. Wow.”
Come, Lord Jesus, Come.
It happened to me -- October 2010
I never thought I would be one of the ones who would tell a story about opening a piece of mail and finding a check at just the right time. I am bursting to tell the story -- the story of the tears pricking my eyes as I read the accompanying letter, of the letting go as I read on and those tears became a stream of joy bubbling up from a well within that I had feared had gone dry...but first I must back up a few days...
I have had 2 minor car accidents in the past week caused by cell phone use, and several other recent close calls which God used to wake me up. As a result, I imposed a strict no phone policy, and have promised my family that I will abide by it and pay a hefty fine to them if I don't. I even printed a sign for my dashboard to remind me - color printing & graphics to get the message across! These accidents have not only woken me up, but also have placed an addition strain on our finances, at just the worst time -- health insurance changes at John's work for 2011, another minor car accident for him on the very same day as one of mine (his wasn‘t caused by cell phone usage, but a deer), and lastly upcoming major surgery for our oldest son.
That is the background which made the following events even more impactful.
My husband came from a pastor’s family -- good German Lutherans whose stubbornness makes faith unshakeable and frugality second nature. Throughout his growing up years, the family took only camping vacations which were often cancelled because of a congregation member’s untimely death. In the family of four children, extra curricular activities were restricted because high school was a time to work to save for college. Shortly after he proposed to me, my future husband apologetically explained to me that with him, I would acquire his unpaid student loans. Having grown up privileged by comparison, that didn’t register with me at all. The frugality of his family life as a child was not just out of necessity, but also so that his parents could travel together after they retired. As it happened, his father died before retirement. His widowed mother did travel quite frequently, but now at 85, she has begun to disburse her savings regularly to each of her children. She receives so much joy in the giving, and because she is still with us, we avoid the inheritance tax. We never know when it will be our turn to receive, nor do we know the amount.
I was reaching for my cell phone as I was backing out of the driveway, and I ran over our mailbox. The following day, we received a letter from Grandma. When I saw the typewritten letter and the check, I knew I should read the letter before looking closely at the check. That’s the background...the prickling of tears, and the letting go as joy bubbled forth...
In the next several days, I thought a lot about my mother-in-law. We had received checks like this before, but somehow this was different. After we read the letter, we decided to share it with our children. What an impact it made! The letter talked about their plans to travel together, the travels that she enjoyed after his death, and about how no matter how bad things were financially, they never reduced their giving to their church. This is her legacy -- a legacy of being faithful, of accepting life as it comes, of holding loosely to the things of this world, of giving freely. As we passed around the check to each child, we saw their eyes widen. Our oldest wondered, “How did they do that in those days?“ As I shared their comments with the giver, she just couldn't keep from giggling!
In keeping with the spirit of the gift, we first discussed what we would do with the portion that we decided to give away. As each child made their suggestions, I took notes. Finally, each had an amount that they could give to the charity of their choice. They wrote their own checks, which I signed.
And I marveled at how yes, it had happened to me, to us.
I have had 2 minor car accidents in the past week caused by cell phone use, and several other recent close calls which God used to wake me up. As a result, I imposed a strict no phone policy, and have promised my family that I will abide by it and pay a hefty fine to them if I don't. I even printed a sign for my dashboard to remind me - color printing & graphics to get the message across! These accidents have not only woken me up, but also have placed an addition strain on our finances, at just the worst time -- health insurance changes at John's work for 2011, another minor car accident for him on the very same day as one of mine (his wasn‘t caused by cell phone usage, but a deer), and lastly upcoming major surgery for our oldest son.
That is the background which made the following events even more impactful.
My husband came from a pastor’s family -- good German Lutherans whose stubbornness makes faith unshakeable and frugality second nature. Throughout his growing up years, the family took only camping vacations which were often cancelled because of a congregation member’s untimely death. In the family of four children, extra curricular activities were restricted because high school was a time to work to save for college. Shortly after he proposed to me, my future husband apologetically explained to me that with him, I would acquire his unpaid student loans. Having grown up privileged by comparison, that didn’t register with me at all. The frugality of his family life as a child was not just out of necessity, but also so that his parents could travel together after they retired. As it happened, his father died before retirement. His widowed mother did travel quite frequently, but now at 85, she has begun to disburse her savings regularly to each of her children. She receives so much joy in the giving, and because she is still with us, we avoid the inheritance tax. We never know when it will be our turn to receive, nor do we know the amount.
I was reaching for my cell phone as I was backing out of the driveway, and I ran over our mailbox. The following day, we received a letter from Grandma. When I saw the typewritten letter and the check, I knew I should read the letter before looking closely at the check. That’s the background...the prickling of tears, and the letting go as joy bubbled forth...
In the next several days, I thought a lot about my mother-in-law. We had received checks like this before, but somehow this was different. After we read the letter, we decided to share it with our children. What an impact it made! The letter talked about their plans to travel together, the travels that she enjoyed after his death, and about how no matter how bad things were financially, they never reduced their giving to their church. This is her legacy -- a legacy of being faithful, of accepting life as it comes, of holding loosely to the things of this world, of giving freely. As we passed around the check to each child, we saw their eyes widen. Our oldest wondered, “How did they do that in those days?“ As I shared their comments with the giver, she just couldn't keep from giggling!
In keeping with the spirit of the gift, we first discussed what we would do with the portion that we decided to give away. As each child made their suggestions, I took notes. Finally, each had an amount that they could give to the charity of their choice. They wrote their own checks, which I signed.
And I marveled at how yes, it had happened to me, to us.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Reunion
Ok – here we go again – 2nd draft, perhaps rougher than the first… I had just explored the various reactions this word evokes, commented on the writing process in general (loosely quoting Anne Lamotte as interviewed on the Brown Sessions), and vowed to plunge ahead with this work of spitting out this grain of sand that has been irritating me for years in hopes to find a pearl, and when I lifted my head from the keyboard it was all gone. So I follow the first rule of Christian publishing – JESUS SAVES – and retype…
Family Reunion – evokes visions for some of a dull gathering of people with whom you may or may not be related in the geneological web of families, listening to stories you may have heard before and pretended to be interested in at one time, eating lots of food and enduring talcum powder scented hugs and kissing paper thin cheeks of elderly aunties…
Class Reunion – madly trying to regain or reinvent yourself into a younger, hipper version of yourself so that those you meet there will curse themselves for not getting to know such a fascinating and charming individual 25 years ago.
Webster’s New World Dictionary (1990) defines the term as follows “reunion, n. a coming together again, as after separation.”
Webster’s New Universal Unabridged Dictionary (1983) defines it more extensively as follows: 1. a bringing or coming together again; a second union; a union formed anew after separation or discord; as a reunion of parts or particles of matter; a reunion of parties or sects. 2. a gathering of persons after separation; a meeting, assembly, or festive gathering, as of a family, familiar friends, associates, or members of a college class or society.
The more up to date dictionaries are stubbornly refusing to be found by our lazy modem, so though the world wide web might provide a cutting edge definition, for my purposes right now, these definitions will suffice.
Anne Lamotte said in an interview with Steve Brown (add link to Steve Brown Etc) that writing is hard word, that writer must write 3 or 4 pages in hope of finally on page 3 getting around to what they want to say...Thos of you who know me may guess at the direction of this post, but for some reason I have found every excuse not to get down to the writing... it has to do with considering the audience --
Cut that -- now I have to try to recreate what I typed in after my second technological mishap of the day, and since it's now after 10 pm with the increasing odds of having another mishap and the ensuing expletives escaping my lips, I am going to post after this paragraph.
The paragraph I wrote this afternoon was about how there is this tension -- wanting to be "reunited" with my best self and being reminded repeatedly that I have my feet solidly on the mud and clay of earthly existence (damn -- the words were so right before, and now they're gone!!) Oh well...stay tuned for the continuation of this gripping tale...
Family Reunion – evokes visions for some of a dull gathering of people with whom you may or may not be related in the geneological web of families, listening to stories you may have heard before and pretended to be interested in at one time, eating lots of food and enduring talcum powder scented hugs and kissing paper thin cheeks of elderly aunties…
Class Reunion – madly trying to regain or reinvent yourself into a younger, hipper version of yourself so that those you meet there will curse themselves for not getting to know such a fascinating and charming individual 25 years ago.
Webster’s New World Dictionary (1990) defines the term as follows “reunion, n. a coming together again, as after separation.”
Webster’s New Universal Unabridged Dictionary (1983) defines it more extensively as follows: 1. a bringing or coming together again; a second union; a union formed anew after separation or discord; as a reunion of parts or particles of matter; a reunion of parties or sects. 2. a gathering of persons after separation; a meeting, assembly, or festive gathering, as of a family, familiar friends, associates, or members of a college class or society.
The more up to date dictionaries are stubbornly refusing to be found by our lazy modem, so though the world wide web might provide a cutting edge definition, for my purposes right now, these definitions will suffice.
Anne Lamotte said in an interview with Steve Brown (add link to Steve Brown Etc) that writing is hard word, that writer must write 3 or 4 pages in hope of finally on page 3 getting around to what they want to say...Thos of you who know me may guess at the direction of this post, but for some reason I have found every excuse not to get down to the writing... it has to do with considering the audience --
Cut that -- now I have to try to recreate what I typed in after my second technological mishap of the day, and since it's now after 10 pm with the increasing odds of having another mishap and the ensuing expletives escaping my lips, I am going to post after this paragraph.
The paragraph I wrote this afternoon was about how there is this tension -- wanting to be "reunited" with my best self and being reminded repeatedly that I have my feet solidly on the mud and clay of earthly existence (damn -- the words were so right before, and now they're gone!!) Oh well...stay tuned for the continuation of this gripping tale...
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Spiritual Health Care
There is an old spiritual referring to a healing “Balm in Gilead.” When I found myself humming it one day, I decided to research the Biblical reference. In my concordance I found three scripture references: The caravan arrived after Joseph was thrown into the pit was carrying balm and spices from Gilead to Egypt. The Old Testament prophet Jeremiah begged the Lord for a medicine to heal the rebellion of his people, and then declared to them that they would search for medical healing in vain. Nothing.
I turned to Wikipedia, which told me, “This is a well-known traditional African-American spiritual. The “balm in Gilead” is a reference from the Old Testament, but the lyrics of this spiritual refer to the New Testament concept of salvation through Jesus Christ.” The refrain says,
There is a balm in Gilead
To make the wounded whole;
There is a balm in Gilead
To heal the sin-sick soul.
That made me think of all the different places we look for healing. The medical community does offer some healing, just as presumably the balm of Gilead was an effective medicine for its time. For physical ailments, there is no question that the medical community has answers – antibiotics, vaccines, organ transplants, etc. But what about emotional healing? Spiritual healing? The range of anti-depressents, anti-anxiety, and stronger phyciatric pharmacuticals is just as broad. I stand before testifying that I am thankful for Lexapro. Yet can a daily pill change a fundmentally flawed mindset?
My thoughts turn again to the issue of forgiveness. The other day I saw the Litany of Reconciliation in a print shop. It brought back the memory of the cathedral in Coventry, England, which John and I visited in '91. This Litany was familiar to us because the Chapel of the Resurrection at Valparaiso University is part of the Community of the Cross of Nails, and the Litany was said every Friday Chapel service. The site at Coventry was different, however, there we saw a tremendous visual of hollowed out cathedral next to a new and powerfully colorful modern facility. There is also a similar cathedral in Berlin, which for some reason didn’t quite have the same effect.
LITANY OF RECONCILIATION
Following the bombing of the Mediaeval Cathedral in 1940, Provost Howard had the words 'Father Forgive' inscribed on the wall behind the Altar of the ruined building. These words are used as the response in the Coventry Litany of Reconciliation, which is prayed in the ruins every Friday at noon, and is used throughout the world by the Community of the Cross of Nails.
The hatred which divides nation from nation, race from race, class from class,
Father Forgive.
The covetous desires of people and nations to possess what is not their own,
Father Forgive.
The greed which exploits the work of human hands and lays waste the earth,
Father Forgive.
Our envy of the welfare and happiness of others,
Father Forgive.
Our indifference to the plight of the imprisoned, the homeless, the refugee,
Father Forgive.
The lust which dishonours the bodies of men, women and children,
Father Forgive.
The pride which leads us to trust in ourselves and not in God,
Father Forgive.
Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.
I find it interesting that it speaks of reconciliation in terms of coming to grips with injustice – covering the sin as if it exists apart from the sinner. There is not the sense of restoring relationships, except in the last line, as if only once these evils are removed by the power of God’s forgiveness can we even begin to reach out to each other.
(To look in to more about the Cross of Nails Community, click http://www.coventrycathedral.org.uk/about-us/our-reconciliation-ministry.php)
In the Christian school where I teach, we have come to use a powerful image to solve conflicts. It refers to the medical terms for the way we hurt each other. A minor wound is just a scratch, and we should just brush it off. Scratching in the same place over and over leads to a more serious wound, like a laceration. A laceration can also be the result of a one-time attack. In this case, we need to apply first aid – the circle of forgiveness. The words, which many students have had to repeat many times, are, “Please forgive me for…” “I forgive you (which means I will not bring it up again),” or “I will try to forgive you with God’s help.” If a wound is serious, it needs medical attention, and the pastor or school administrator become involved.
As I was thinking of this, I remembered the few times I’ve seen blood poisoning. What started as a minor wound ended up infected, until we saw the tell tale signs of the red lines crawling out from the wound. It brought to mind the old practice of bleeding people. In the spiritual sense it seems that process is sometimes necessary – a draining the old and contaminated blood and transfusing the body with healthy life giving blood. This is no quick fix, there is no magic pill, no script that will solve the issues that run deep. I requires nothing less than renewing the mind, constantly. This litany sometimes must be repeated daily, showing that the desire is there, strength to live is out needs to be replenished constantly. (That is what litanies are for!) We will always be vulnerable to the toxicity of sin as long is we live in this world. But there is one who has conquered this world, Alleluia.
OK – get real, I tell myself, get off the pulpit. Everyone has a besetting sin – for me it’s food, novels, and sleep. These three take turns in my life. They are an ineffective balm – like putting Icy Hot or Ben Gay on a compound fracture. Like so many (if not all of us), I have wounds that are deep, torn ligaments, and all.
I had an interesting conversation with our son Ben the other day. I think he was telling me something was a waste of his time. Benny said, “I’m a kid, my time is more valuable.” To my I quizzical look, he explained, “Yeah – I’ll only be a kid for so long, don’t you wish you could be a kid again?”
“Not really,” I responded.
“You must have had a bad childhood."
“Not really, I’m just having a better adulthood.” The words came out of my mouth before I had time to think about them. What a gift!
Those wounds of my childhood are still there, and up to a point I have been applying various balms to distract me from the residual pain. But I’ve also made various efforts at first aid – apologies written and said, efforts at making amends. Those soothe and have been in many ways a matter of survival. But what has been most effective is the time I’ve spent opposite a wise and caring counselor. But still, sometimes something hits it just right and my insides react violently without me even knowing it – I cringe and writhe on the inside, and I’m not always sure exactly why. I thought I dealt with that issue. Why is the pain still so fresh?
The answer seems to lie in the second and third verses of that old hymn, where it speaks of the Holy Spirit reviving, and the act of telling about Jesus:
If you cannot speak like Peter,
If you cannot preach like Paul
Go home and tell your loved ones
He died to save us all.
Somehow this becomes part of the healing, letting your pain, even the current struggle, work to heal others. Kind of like a bit of the virus growing to make a vaccine. Allowing the pain to wash over you, but not succumbing to it; letting it be redeemed in another. It makes the wounded whole, heals sin-sick souls.
Something about that Litany of Reconciliation always got me…it hits on so many points of my sinfulness. It does not ask only for personal forgiveness, or forgiving of others who “know not what they are doing,” but asks for forgiveness of the sin itself – “Lord attack, extract, neutralize that hatred, jealousy, greed, etc. in me and in others…put me under the knife if you must, amputate if gangrene has set in…I’ve seen what this poison can do, and I’ve seen where you have made whole those who have lost great parts of themselves. I’m ready. Amen, let it be so.
I turned to Wikipedia, which told me, “This is a well-known traditional African-American spiritual. The “balm in Gilead” is a reference from the Old Testament, but the lyrics of this spiritual refer to the New Testament concept of salvation through Jesus Christ.” The refrain says,
There is a balm in Gilead
To make the wounded whole;
There is a balm in Gilead
To heal the sin-sick soul.
That made me think of all the different places we look for healing. The medical community does offer some healing, just as presumably the balm of Gilead was an effective medicine for its time. For physical ailments, there is no question that the medical community has answers – antibiotics, vaccines, organ transplants, etc. But what about emotional healing? Spiritual healing? The range of anti-depressents, anti-anxiety, and stronger phyciatric pharmacuticals is just as broad. I stand before testifying that I am thankful for Lexapro. Yet can a daily pill change a fundmentally flawed mindset?
My thoughts turn again to the issue of forgiveness. The other day I saw the Litany of Reconciliation in a print shop. It brought back the memory of the cathedral in Coventry, England, which John and I visited in '91. This Litany was familiar to us because the Chapel of the Resurrection at Valparaiso University is part of the Community of the Cross of Nails, and the Litany was said every Friday Chapel service. The site at Coventry was different, however, there we saw a tremendous visual of hollowed out cathedral next to a new and powerfully colorful modern facility. There is also a similar cathedral in Berlin, which for some reason didn’t quite have the same effect.
LITANY OF RECONCILIATION
Following the bombing of the Mediaeval Cathedral in 1940, Provost Howard had the words 'Father Forgive' inscribed on the wall behind the Altar of the ruined building. These words are used as the response in the Coventry Litany of Reconciliation, which is prayed in the ruins every Friday at noon, and is used throughout the world by the Community of the Cross of Nails.
All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.
The hatred which divides nation from nation, race from race, class from class,
Father Forgive.
The covetous desires of people and nations to possess what is not their own,
Father Forgive.
The greed which exploits the work of human hands and lays waste the earth,
Father Forgive.
Our envy of the welfare and happiness of others,
Father Forgive.
Our indifference to the plight of the imprisoned, the homeless, the refugee,
Father Forgive.
The lust which dishonours the bodies of men, women and children,
Father Forgive.
The pride which leads us to trust in ourselves and not in God,
Father Forgive.
Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.
I find it interesting that it speaks of reconciliation in terms of coming to grips with injustice – covering the sin as if it exists apart from the sinner. There is not the sense of restoring relationships, except in the last line, as if only once these evils are removed by the power of God’s forgiveness can we even begin to reach out to each other.
(To look in to more about the Cross of Nails Community, click http://www.coventrycathedral.org.uk/about-us/our-reconciliation-ministry.php)
In the Christian school where I teach, we have come to use a powerful image to solve conflicts. It refers to the medical terms for the way we hurt each other. A minor wound is just a scratch, and we should just brush it off. Scratching in the same place over and over leads to a more serious wound, like a laceration. A laceration can also be the result of a one-time attack. In this case, we need to apply first aid – the circle of forgiveness. The words, which many students have had to repeat many times, are, “Please forgive me for…” “I forgive you (which means I will not bring it up again),” or “I will try to forgive you with God’s help.” If a wound is serious, it needs medical attention, and the pastor or school administrator become involved.
As I was thinking of this, I remembered the few times I’ve seen blood poisoning. What started as a minor wound ended up infected, until we saw the tell tale signs of the red lines crawling out from the wound. It brought to mind the old practice of bleeding people. In the spiritual sense it seems that process is sometimes necessary – a draining the old and contaminated blood and transfusing the body with healthy life giving blood. This is no quick fix, there is no magic pill, no script that will solve the issues that run deep. I requires nothing less than renewing the mind, constantly. This litany sometimes must be repeated daily, showing that the desire is there, strength to live is out needs to be replenished constantly. (That is what litanies are for!) We will always be vulnerable to the toxicity of sin as long is we live in this world. But there is one who has conquered this world, Alleluia.
OK – get real, I tell myself, get off the pulpit. Everyone has a besetting sin – for me it’s food, novels, and sleep. These three take turns in my life. They are an ineffective balm – like putting Icy Hot or Ben Gay on a compound fracture. Like so many (if not all of us), I have wounds that are deep, torn ligaments, and all.
I had an interesting conversation with our son Ben the other day. I think he was telling me something was a waste of his time. Benny said, “I’m a kid, my time is more valuable.” To my I quizzical look, he explained, “Yeah – I’ll only be a kid for so long, don’t you wish you could be a kid again?”
“Not really,” I responded.
“You must have had a bad childhood."
“Not really, I’m just having a better adulthood.” The words came out of my mouth before I had time to think about them. What a gift!
Those wounds of my childhood are still there, and up to a point I have been applying various balms to distract me from the residual pain. But I’ve also made various efforts at first aid – apologies written and said, efforts at making amends. Those soothe and have been in many ways a matter of survival. But what has been most effective is the time I’ve spent opposite a wise and caring counselor. But still, sometimes something hits it just right and my insides react violently without me even knowing it – I cringe and writhe on the inside, and I’m not always sure exactly why. I thought I dealt with that issue. Why is the pain still so fresh?
The answer seems to lie in the second and third verses of that old hymn, where it speaks of the Holy Spirit reviving, and the act of telling about Jesus:
If you cannot speak like Peter,
If you cannot preach like Paul
Go home and tell your loved ones
He died to save us all.
Somehow this becomes part of the healing, letting your pain, even the current struggle, work to heal others. Kind of like a bit of the virus growing to make a vaccine. Allowing the pain to wash over you, but not succumbing to it; letting it be redeemed in another. It makes the wounded whole, heals sin-sick souls.
Something about that Litany of Reconciliation always got me…it hits on so many points of my sinfulness. It does not ask only for personal forgiveness, or forgiving of others who “know not what they are doing,” but asks for forgiveness of the sin itself – “Lord attack, extract, neutralize that hatred, jealousy, greed, etc. in me and in others…put me under the knife if you must, amputate if gangrene has set in…I’ve seen what this poison can do, and I’ve seen where you have made whole those who have lost great parts of themselves. I’m ready. Amen, let it be so.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Blueberry Bessings and Anxiety and Abiding
“Blueberry Blessings” “Anxiety and Abiding” Those are the titles I came up with as crafted these blogs in my head. When I began this blog, I decided a realistic expectation would be posting monthly. But since time marches on even when I fall out of step, and since I am my own “drum major,” I decided I could conduct myself any way I desired, and blog only when needed. I forgot to listen to the cadence of the Holy Spirit, who was telling me to “just do it.” So I shake off the guilt and tell myself “Ain’t nothin’ to it but to do it.” I shake off the metaphors, realize that God is beyond what I can describe, and I just listen…I hear him say “It’s okay, you don’t have to let others into your mind now,” and again when he says “Now’s the time.” So I begin my therapeutic reflection.
Blueberry Blessings. All I can remember about the day that I thought of this title is that it was late summer, school was about to start, and in a rush in my kitchen I spilled a carton of fresh blueberries on the floor in front of the fridge. At that moment, I realized that I could either curse and throw them all away, or gather them up with the dirt and dog hair that seems to be plentiful in my house, and put them back in the fridge with a promise to wash them thoroughly before serving them. That is what I did, but my blue-eyed blueberry lover of a son beat me to it and ate them right out of the carton. He lesson I remembered – focus on the blessings, and try not to let the dog hair get you down.
And now it’s the time to reflect on “Anxiety and Abiding”
So I’ll start with defining my terms. Anxiety in its current usage today definitely has a negative connotation. When I think about the definition of anxiety, I think of worry with a capital A, which moves it to the front of the alphabet. Worry and nagging fears annoy, but anxiety has the taste of some kind of official diagnosis. It’s almost as if worry takes up residence and decides to stay. One of the definitions that came up when I googled the term was “a multi-symptom response to a perceived threat or danger” (can’t cite my source, oh well).
But being anxious about something can also be good, as in “I’m anxious to get started, let’s go!” I can even put both of them in the same sentence – I’m anxious to get to heaven, but if I’m not careful, my Anxiety will get me there faster.
Answers .com, the world’s leaning Q & A site defines “abiding” as follows:
adj. Lasting for a long time; enduring: an abiding love of music.
N. noun form “abode”, as in “my humble abode” to dwell
v., a·bode (ə-bōd'), or a·bid·ed, a·bid·ing, a·bides.
v.tr.
1. To wait patiently for: "I will abide the coming of my lord" (Tennyson).
2. To withstand: a thermoplastic that will abide rough use and great heat.
v.intr.
1. To remain in a place.
2. To continue to be sure or firm; endure.
3. To dwell or sojourn.
idiom: abide by
To conform to; comply with: abide by the rules; had to abide by the judge's decision
One of my favorite hymns comes to mind - “Abide with Me Fast Falls the Eventide.” Is a prayer for the Lord to abide with me, in verse 2 especially – “I need thy presence every passing hour, What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?” Here is the powerful truth - God’s grace is the antidote to the lies that sneaky little voice in our heads that says, “you’ll never get there, your goals are like lofty dreams – like clouds blown away…” And Grace answers with the truth, “It’s okay, yes I gave you dreams, and parts of them may blow away, but what I want to keep, I’ll keep, for I made the wind, and I made you too, and the essence of you – the beautiful soul that is my masterpiece, that I love, I preserve, and I will abide there. I am sure and firm, I endure. I have made your heart my dwelling place, now come home – to that place in your heart, and abide in me. Be sure of me, waiting patiently for my plan to unfold, and abide by the law, and as you seek to hear my voice first, and do not despise preaching or his word, honor others, worship me, and you will see that I am there too – shining through and covering you with Grace to not fear failure but I will allow you to excel in my name.”
I’m not sure if God speaks in such long run-on sentences, but I have a feeling it doesn’t bother him to do so.
Blueberry Blessings. All I can remember about the day that I thought of this title is that it was late summer, school was about to start, and in a rush in my kitchen I spilled a carton of fresh blueberries on the floor in front of the fridge. At that moment, I realized that I could either curse and throw them all away, or gather them up with the dirt and dog hair that seems to be plentiful in my house, and put them back in the fridge with a promise to wash them thoroughly before serving them. That is what I did, but my blue-eyed blueberry lover of a son beat me to it and ate them right out of the carton. He lesson I remembered – focus on the blessings, and try not to let the dog hair get you down.
And now it’s the time to reflect on “Anxiety and Abiding”
So I’ll start with defining my terms. Anxiety in its current usage today definitely has a negative connotation. When I think about the definition of anxiety, I think of worry with a capital A, which moves it to the front of the alphabet. Worry and nagging fears annoy, but anxiety has the taste of some kind of official diagnosis. It’s almost as if worry takes up residence and decides to stay. One of the definitions that came up when I googled the term was “a multi-symptom response to a perceived threat or danger” (can’t cite my source, oh well).
But being anxious about something can also be good, as in “I’m anxious to get started, let’s go!” I can even put both of them in the same sentence – I’m anxious to get to heaven, but if I’m not careful, my Anxiety will get me there faster.
Answers .com, the world’s leaning Q & A site defines “abiding” as follows:
adj. Lasting for a long time; enduring: an abiding love of music.
N. noun form “abode”, as in “my humble abode” to dwell
v., a·bode (ə-bōd'), or a·bid·ed, a·bid·ing, a·bides.
v.tr.
1. To wait patiently for: "I will abide the coming of my lord" (Tennyson).
2. To withstand: a thermoplastic that will abide rough use and great heat.
v.intr.
1. To remain in a place.
2. To continue to be sure or firm; endure.
3. To dwell or sojourn.
idiom: abide by
To conform to; comply with: abide by the rules; had to abide by the judge's decision
One of my favorite hymns comes to mind - “Abide with Me Fast Falls the Eventide.” Is a prayer for the Lord to abide with me, in verse 2 especially – “I need thy presence every passing hour, What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?” Here is the powerful truth - God’s grace is the antidote to the lies that sneaky little voice in our heads that says, “you’ll never get there, your goals are like lofty dreams – like clouds blown away…” And Grace answers with the truth, “It’s okay, yes I gave you dreams, and parts of them may blow away, but what I want to keep, I’ll keep, for I made the wind, and I made you too, and the essence of you – the beautiful soul that is my masterpiece, that I love, I preserve, and I will abide there. I am sure and firm, I endure. I have made your heart my dwelling place, now come home – to that place in your heart, and abide in me. Be sure of me, waiting patiently for my plan to unfold, and abide by the law, and as you seek to hear my voice first, and do not despise preaching or his word, honor others, worship me, and you will see that I am there too – shining through and covering you with Grace to not fear failure but I will allow you to excel in my name.”
I’m not sure if God speaks in such long run-on sentences, but I have a feeling it doesn’t bother him to do so.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Goals, Addictions and Grace
STUPID!!! I can’t log in to my blogger account, too many stinkin’ passwords to remember (didn’t want anyone impersonating me, so I made up a REALLY secure password, … DUH!) And Facebook – well you think I could find the wall post where I listed my web address? Not without looking at flair, putting birthdays on my virtual calendar and being goaded into taking a ridiculous IQ test because 4 people in my town think I’m STUPID! Well, tell me something I didn’t know!
Ok, so now that I got all of my acceptable expletives and self-depreciating humor out of my system, on to the real business of blogging…
The book, The Last Addiction, Why Self Help is Not Enough, by psychologist Sharon A. Hearsh has deeply affected my thinking in the past few weeks. Hearsh writes:
“What keeps those who struggle with addiction in a prison of negativity, self-hatred, and alienation from others? It’s the last addiction, a belief that I must somehow be good enough and an honest realization that no matter how hard I try, I can’t do it. When these two beliefs stand alone - I must do it and I can’t do it -the natural response is self-contempt...The sense of being forgiven - forgiven for my failures, my foolish attempts, my lifelong strategies of being in control - does not result from my effort. That’s the last addiction. It comes only from openness.”
Hence, my blog – a relatively safe place to reveal the thoughts and struggles in my mind and soul, to admit my weaknesses and even laugh at blunders. Allowing myself to put myself down reveals that self-contempt I feel when I mess up. The openness I allow myself in this blog is my attempt to defeat the “last addiction.” And I see now that the only antidote to that tireless monster is Grace. I need it, at times desperately. Only whe I see my desperate need for help, does the Holy Spirit nudges herself gently into my consciousness, softly and gently reminding me of lessons I’ve learned before (John 14:26). And so I see, with serendipitous clarity, how the Father’s love cascades down on me, cleansing and refreshing me. And I see how Jesus, our brother, longed to gather me as a hen her chicks, and when I wasn’t willing, he still sacrificed Himself for me.
And so, even though I haven’t met my goal of completing a short blog before midnight, I have begun the process, trying to be faithful, and praising God for the epiphany I’ve experienced in the trying – namely that it’s not about me, but about that beautiful 3-in-1 being we call Abba, Lord & Savior, and Holy and Mysterious Counselor…. Prince of Peace, King of Kings, Alpha and Omega, Immanuel – God with us, Jehovah Jiarah, Adonai, … Goodnight… You ARE The Man!
Hearsh, Sharon A., The Last Addiction, Why Self Help is Not Enough (Colorado Springs, CO: Waterbrook Press, 2008), p. 122.
Ok, so now that I got all of my acceptable expletives and self-depreciating humor out of my system, on to the real business of blogging…
The book, The Last Addiction, Why Self Help is Not Enough, by psychologist Sharon A. Hearsh has deeply affected my thinking in the past few weeks. Hearsh writes:
“What keeps those who struggle with addiction in a prison of negativity, self-hatred, and alienation from others? It’s the last addiction, a belief that I must somehow be good enough and an honest realization that no matter how hard I try, I can’t do it. When these two beliefs stand alone - I must do it and I can’t do it -the natural response is self-contempt...The sense of being forgiven - forgiven for my failures, my foolish attempts, my lifelong strategies of being in control - does not result from my effort. That’s the last addiction. It comes only from openness.”
Hence, my blog – a relatively safe place to reveal the thoughts and struggles in my mind and soul, to admit my weaknesses and even laugh at blunders. Allowing myself to put myself down reveals that self-contempt I feel when I mess up. The openness I allow myself in this blog is my attempt to defeat the “last addiction.” And I see now that the only antidote to that tireless monster is Grace. I need it, at times desperately. Only whe I see my desperate need for help, does the Holy Spirit nudges herself gently into my consciousness, softly and gently reminding me of lessons I’ve learned before (John 14:26). And so I see, with serendipitous clarity, how the Father’s love cascades down on me, cleansing and refreshing me. And I see how Jesus, our brother, longed to gather me as a hen her chicks, and when I wasn’t willing, he still sacrificed Himself for me.
And so, even though I haven’t met my goal of completing a short blog before midnight, I have begun the process, trying to be faithful, and praising God for the epiphany I’ve experienced in the trying – namely that it’s not about me, but about that beautiful 3-in-1 being we call Abba, Lord & Savior, and Holy and Mysterious Counselor…. Prince of Peace, King of Kings, Alpha and Omega, Immanuel – God with us, Jehovah Jiarah, Adonai, … Goodnight… You ARE The Man!
Hearsh, Sharon A., The Last Addiction, Why Self Help is Not Enough (Colorado Springs, CO: Waterbrook Press, 2008), p. 122.
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