Category Archives: personal

Exile on Faith Street: Rain

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monsoon_rain_clouds

I’ve been talking so much about exile lately; it seems like it’s a constant theme with me and my friends. Not only was it a theme for folks in the 1st century, it’s an applicable concept today.

“Exile is what happens when all the questions no longer apply; it’s the place where nothing makes sense.”

So we find ourselves in places where everything we thought we knew about the world is no longer important, and we have to simply put one foot in front of the other and trust that somehow we’ll get through it and somehow God has not deserted us in the midst of it.

But surprising things happen in exile.

Life, for instance, goes on (this may or may not be good news to you).

Though it seems like eternity, in most cases “exile” doesn’t go on forever. There is a time when God says, “Come home,” and we enter into rest.

It’s in those times that we realize that exile can prepare us for rest.

I was reading this the other day, and I thought about life in exile:

“When the LORD changed Zion’s circumstances for the better, it was like we had been dreaming.
Our mouths were suddenly filled with laughter; our toungues were filled with joyful shouts.
IT was even said, at that time, among the nations, “The LORD has done great things for them!”
Yes, the LORD has done great thigns for us, and we are overjoyed.
LORD change our circumstances for the better, like dry streams in the desert waste!
Let those who plant with tears reap the harvest with joyful shouts.
Let those who go out, crying and carrying their seed, come home with joyful shouts, carrying bales of grain!” (Psalm 126)

 

Here’s the deal about exile: rain keeps falling, the sun keeps shining, and that means even when you can’t see it or feel it, things may still be growing.

Exile may feel like a kind of death to you; a kind of barrenness, and it may be tempted to give up hope and embrace nihilism and cynicism. It may be tempting to surrender to the darkness and begin to burn and destroy, since everything seems empty and worthless.

But it also may be a time of planting, so that when you “return home” you find that things have grown up that you can now enjoy.

So what can it look like?

  • Maybe it starts with being able to say at some place in your soul, “The LORD has done great things for us.” Somewhere, sometime in the past God has spoken good things for you. He will again.
  • Ask yourself, “What can I plant right now? Assuming that someday I will come out of this with a harvest, what do I want that to look like?

Maybe the seed is a friendship that you build into or rely on.

Maybe it’s the effort to pray—maybe the Lord’s prayer or something—once a day.

Maybe it’s to read the Bible in some kind of systematic fashion.

Maybe it’s to invest in serving some folks who have really immediate, physical needs.

All of these things are seeds.

And the thing about seeds is that most of the time, you don’t really see any fruit or anything worth harvesting for a long time.

But even while you are in exile, the sun shines and the rain falls.

And someday, someday when you come home again, you’ll find that there’s a harvest to pick up and carry home.

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Lent Reflection #6 :: Jesus Uncomfortable Healings

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I’m probably alone in this, but sometimes I feel like Jesus has a funny way of healing people.

To my eyes and ears, Jesus’ healings have a hard edge to them.

For instance, we are told that one time Jesus heals a man with a “withered hand” on the Sabbath, and the religious experts are pretty ticked off about it (Mark 3v1-6). There are some interesting aspects to the story:

  • according to the text at least, the man hasn’t asked Jesus to heal him; in fact, Jesus initiates the whole process (in front of the community in the synagogue)
  • the man’s life isn’t at stake (even for Pharisees, saving life on the Sabbath was actually permitted)

There’s a sense in which Jesus is standing there, and commands the guy (who is not supposed to be in the synagogue), “Get in here and stand up in front of everyone so they can see what’s wrong with you.”

Can you sense the social awkwardness?

What begins to emerge is the possibility that Jesus is essentially using this man’s affliction and subsequent healing as an example, as a way to push the religious authorities into a corner (and to begin to plot Jesus’ death).

And all of this happens very publicly, in front of everyone. The man is healed, but first the man has to stand up in front of his community.

To me, it’s very tense. Why couldn’t Jesus have privately healed the man? Why couldn’t he have pulled the Pharisees and the Herodians aside and performed this act of political theatre in front of them alone?

Why subject the man to this public scrutiny?

A few chapters later, Mark relates the story of a woman who has been suffering—”bleeding”—for twelve years. Without going too deeply into social laws of the time, the cultural laws maintaining purity at this time were quite strict; this poor woman would have been strictly and severely ostracized.

So in a way you can understand her desperation to get to Jesus; to be made whole again. She reaches out her hand and grasps the edges of his cloak (or prayer shawl) and, “immediately”, we are told, her illness is gone.

Awesome. And then she goes away and is restored to life and community, right?

Almost. Not before Jesus very publicly calls attention to her. 

Before her ultimate restoration, Jesus makes sure the entire group of people knows that she is there, and that she has received a healing.

Again, part of me wonders why Jesus didn’t pull her aside, privately bless her and then restore her to the life.

Why the public display?

The last healing story actually comes out of John’s gospel. Jesus finds a man by a pool believed to have healing properties. The man had been there for thirty-eight years. Jesus asks him, “Do you want to be made well?”

The man explains why he can’t get into the pool in time, and Jesus responds by saying, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.”

For some reason, on top of all the very public displays of Jesus’ healings, this one has been sticking with me.

And it’s all because of the mat. 

I don’t know the mat looked like. If it was comfortable; if it was threadbare and worn; if it was donated. I don’t know any of the details.

But I do know what it represented.

It represented the man’s weakness.

It represented his brokenness.

It represented his need for restoration; for health.

And Jesus tells him to pick it up and take it with him. 

If I put myself in the man’s place, I would have longed so deeply to leave the mat behind. Who wants to carry around the reminder of our past? Our brokenness? Our shame?

But instead, Jesus tells him, “No: actually this is the thing you have to bring with you. I know you’d like to leave this part of your life behind, but people need to see this. They need to ask, ‘Hey what’s with the mat?’ And you have to tell them your story.”

Looking back over these three stories, Jesus’ there’s always another agenda operating around Jesus’ healings. They are never “the endpoint.” If they were, it’s possible for Jesus to be considered more of magician—a first century “House”—than the Messiah. The healings are there to make theological points, to tell stories, to point people towards God’s restoration agenda for the entire world. Not to say that it’s great to be healed, but we need to remember that God’s (and Jesus’) agenda is always bigger than our own individual situations, and the healings are always a part of that agenda.

So maybe Jesus has done something for you. Maybe there’s some brokenness in your past (gosh I know there’s some in mine).

And maybe what you really want to do is to leave your mat behind. 

But instead Jesus is telling you, “Pick it up; pick up your past. Pick up your brokenness, the things you’ve seen, the things you’ve done, and even though I have restored you, tell others about them.”

Obviously, just because you carry your mat with you does not mean that you’re still crippled. But somehow you still have to tell people about it.

Live your life in such a way that people go, “Hey what’s with the mat?”

What does your mat represent? Have you left it behind? I think in so many ways Jesus is saying to us, “Go back and get it; carry it with you. Not in a shaming way, but in a way that helps others.”

peace

*e

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Lent Reflection #4: Broken Bottles

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Christ in the House of Simon by Dieric Bouts

Christ in the House of Simon by Dieric Bouts

Shortly before Jesus is arrested, Mark records this dinner that he attends.

While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. But some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment wasted in this way? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her. But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she had done will be told in remembrance of her.”

SO. There is a lot going on here: The cost of the perfume, the identity of the woman, Simon, Judas, poverty, etc.

But I want to talk just for a minute about perfume bottles.

The contents of that bottle were valuable—nard we think was a pretty rare and valuable spice.

And they were to be offered to Jesus, to anoint him, to prepare him for burial.

In a sense what was in the bottle was going to be offered in worship to Jesus.

But first, the bottle had to be broken.

First, glass, or clay needed to be shattered. Only then can the gift flow out to Jesus’ feet. Only then can the fragrance of those gifts spread throughout the entire house, forcing people to take notice of something that is going on in the midst. Without the breaking, the bottle may remain attractive; it may be a really great looking bottle, and it may even be tempting to believe that the bottle of perfume is fulfilling its purpose by sitting on the shelf looking great.

But it’s not until the bottle is broken can the true beauty of its gift be received and shared. 

There is a strange tension in what we bring to Jesus as well. We all desire to bring him our best: our voices, our thoughts, our service, our hands and feet.

But before we can do that, we have to suffer the breaking.

I don’t mean a shameful breaking; I don’t mean a “breaking” in the sense that casts aside. I mean a breaking that merely releases what we have to give. A breaking that allows us to bring the deepest and truest gift of ourselves to the world and to Christ.

A releasing of our gifts for the sake of Jesus. A releasing of our gifts in such a way that those “in the house” with us—the people we are in community with, our brothers and sister—notice.

“Something has just happened.”

blessings

*e

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Lent Reflection 3 :: The Thing About Crosses, pt. 2

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Last week, I wrote about the public nature of “bearing our crosses”; how they aren’t easily hidden, and are pretty obvious to people. I challenged you all to take up a cross with someone, and share it with someone. Maybe you did that; maybe you didn’t.

That’s the nature of the interwebs, I guess.

But I thought some more about crosses this week (it being Lent, and all), and something struck me from the other side of the equation. 

I remember sitting with a friend of mine once who was going through some really heavy, trying times. We were sitting outside at a local coffee shop (because where else do pastors hang out <snark>), and she was just crying and crying. Then she began apologizing because of the crying. It was a vicious circle.

I stopped her, as best I could, and said, “Please don’t apologize for your tears. You have to understand—for pastors, these tears are a precious gift to us, because they are your deepest fears and hurts. You are giving them to us to share and to care for, and they are precious to us. This is a gift; don’t ever apologize for your tears.”

In a letter to the church in Galatia, Paul the apostle wrote, “Carry each other’s burdens and so you will fulfill the law of Christ” (6:2 CEB).

I’m used to thinking about “burdens” in a very tangible sense (in fact, I preached on it once): bills, sicknesses, and physical needs. This is true and necessary, and it remains true and necessary. Reaching out to help people walk through life is no small thing, and every time we help our brothers and sisters, we are truly “fulfilling the law of Christ.”

But the main “burden” that Jesus tells us to carry for ourselves is the cross. 

(See where I’m going here?)

So as we (and the folks around us) take up our crosses—our own obvious instruments of pain and torture that we experience—at the same time, we need to be reaching out and helping others bear those same crosses.

So last week, I was thinking about what it takes to share the nature of our own crosses.

This week, I’m thinking about what it takes to bear others folks’ crosses.

Someday, someone may offer you the gift of their tears, their hurts, and their shame. How will you respond?

Will you treat it like a gift? A cross that you help carry?

Or an inconvenience, an embarrassment?

I guess in a way I’m saying that we don’t walk this journey towards Jerusalem alone; we need to help each other, and share what we can, so that we can all get there.

Like you didn’t know this one was coming….. 

But this is so very tasty too….

 

peace and blessings

*e

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Lent Reflection #2 :: The Thing About Crosses

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Christ Carrying the Cross'', oil on canvas painting by Titian, 67 x 77 cm, c. 1565. Museo Nacional del Prado}} |Source =Museo Nacional del Prado |Author =Titian |Date =c. 1565 |Permission

Christ Carrying the Cross”, oil on canvas painting by Titian, 67 x 77 cm, c. 1565. Museo Nacional del Prado}} |Source =Museo Nacional del Prado |Author =Titian |Date =c. 1565 |Permission

After calling the crowd together with his disciples, Jesus said to them, “All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.” (Mark 8v34)

I’m going to assume, for just a moment, that you know some of the details of what Jesus is talking about—that “taking up your cross” means taking up something that is very shameful and painful.

But there’s one more thing about crosses:

… they’re big.

You see, the thing about crosses (and taking them up) is that they are very difficult to hide. Crosses are just “out there” for all the world to see (one of the reasons that the Roman government reserved crucifixion for rebels and terrorists was so that they could very publicly proclaim, “Does everyone see what happens to people who choose to disobey Rome?”)

Most of the time, I feel like I get the part about carrying my own pain and shame, but what I miss is the idea about my cross being public, being shared with others. It’s one thing to acknowledge your pain and shame; it’s another thing entirely to choose to share it with someone.

It’s an easy assumption that we all have painful secrets; what would it look like for you to share them with someone during this Lenten season? What would it look like to really take up your cross in a public way?

Is there something you need to share?

Interestingly enough, as Jesus carries his own very real, very heavy cross to the place of his crucifixion, we’re told that the soldiers pulled a man out of the crowd and forced him, of all things, to help Jesus carry his cross.

Simon, a man from Cyrene, Alexander and Rufus’ father, was coming in from the countryside. They forced him to carry his cross. (Mark 15v21)

So maybe, just maybe, that as we make our crosses visible to others, we find that they will lend their shoulders, their strength, their faith to us, and make our walk just a little lighter.

p.s. I the title for this post was inspired by a song written by a good friend of mine named David Greco. He’s a great singer and songwriter, and an even better person. Please support his music and make him famous.

 

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Just Start Walking

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By Alex S(User talk:Alex S).Alex S at en.wikipedia [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)], from Wikimedia Commons

Jerusalem, by Alex S(User talk:Alex S).Alex S at en.wikipedia [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)%5D, from Wikimedia Commons

Lent begins today, and many of us have already made preparations: we’ve prayerfully considered what we will surrender during this time, we’ve made arrangements for our fasts, we have sought out an Ash Wednesday gathering to be a part of.

All of these are good, good things.

But they’re not the best thing.

One of the verses that always gives me pause is located in Luke 9.

As the time approached when Jesus was to be taken up into heaven, he determined to go to Jerusalem (v51).

The Greek for this passage would read something a little more like: “He resolutely set his face to go Jerusalem.” The phrase indicates a sense of courage and determination. Moreover, it is also a reference to Isaiah 50v8:

The LORD God opened my ear; I didn’t rebel;
I didn’t turn my back.
Instead, I gave my body to attackers,
and my cheeks to beard pluckers.
I didn’t hide my face from insults and spitting.
The LORD God will help me; therefore, I haven’t been insulted.
Therefore, I set my face like flint, and knew I wouldn’t be ashamed.
The one who will declare me innocent is near. Who will argue with me?
Let’s stand up together. Who will bring judgment against me?
Let him approach me (vv5-8).

Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, knowing what is waiting for him: insults, beatings, and attempts to discredit and shame him. He goes, however, with a steadfast faith in God’s call on his life, and a belief that ultimately God will vindicate him through the resurrection.

And here’s the deal:  his disciples are on the road to Jerusalem with him.

Lent is ultimately not about giving up chocolate, or fasting, or praying extra prayers, or attending gatherings, or anything. These are great—even necessary—tools, but for me Lent is ultimately about “setting my face” towards Jerusalem and journeying there with Jesus, with no agenda but to follow Him, and to attempt to be present, really present, through this last season of His ministry. 

As we begin our Lenten journey, don’t just commit to giving up something; don’t just commit to an extra gathering or devotion.

Commit to walking with Jesus on his road to Jerusalem. 

Commit to staying with him during his time of trial.

Commit to staying faithful to him when he is arrested. 

Commit to being with him at the Cross. 

And here’s the deal: He knows our weakness, just like he knew the disciples’. He knows that we will fall asleep, that we will look away, that we will deny him.

But he invites us anyway.

 

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Again, and again, and again.

Failure is Always an Option

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Diptic

If you are a parent, you know you just can’t be perfect all the time. In fact, I have long stretches when the failures—the spectacular, extraordinary failures—far outnumber the successes.

Days when there’s no patience in me.

When I raise my voice.

When I can’t control my non-verbal communication.

Fail, fail, FAIL.

Declaring, “Failure is not an option,” may make for a great (read: mediocre) slogan, but I just can’t agree. Failure—at least short-term failure—is a constant option for me, and here’s the deal:

This is a good thing.

Failure is always an option because, when I can admit that I have failed, I can begin to accept responsibility for all the things that I’m not, and that is the beginning of growth, reconciliation, and relationship. I know people who have never failed, which really means that they’ve never admitted failure. Their lives—along with the lives of those cosest to them—may be a hot mess, but responsibility and fault is always “out there” with “them”, never ever within themselves.

And so they stay stuck. 

You can’t grow until you have something you need to grow past. 

You can’t succeed until you see that you’re failing.

You can’t heal until you can see that you are the one who is broken…

Refuse to “fail”, and eventually you’ll get what you wish for.

But you’ll also get

… A refusal to grow

… A refusal to heal

… A refusal to be reconciled

… And that’s no deal at all.

I’ll choose the possibility of failure every time.

Weekly Wonder, 8 Feb Edition

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Never once in my life did I ask God for success or wisdom or power or fame. I asked for wonder, and he gave it to me. -Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel

The short list of the thoughts, images, and words that opened my eyes a littler wider this week…

  1. Personal retreats of solitude.
  2.  Henri Nouwen’s book Life of the Beloved. On a whim, I took this with me on my retreat, and I ended up just living with these words for most of the time. His writing is simple, profound, and generous. God wants you to remember that, before, everything else, you are His beloved, His “good gift” to the world. “We were innocent before we started feeling guilty; we were in the light before we entered into darkness; we were at home before we started to search for a home. Deep in the recesses of our minds and hearts there lies hidden the treasure we seek.” Yeahhhhhhhhhh…. anyone else need to be reminded of that?
  3. Charles and Ray Eames (did anyone else not know they weren’t brothers, but a husband and wife?). I watched this documentary on the great American designers of the 20th century. Terrific insight into creativity and to “shipping.”
  4. Little hints that maybe just maybe, you’ve gotten one or two things right as a parent.
  5. Okay…. well, I’m still on my Britpop kick … I love songs that make me feel like just running down the street as fast as I can. “Mr. Brightside” is one of those, but I love, love this song by Stereophonics. (note: I can’t be responsible for any riots that start).  The other thing about this song is that, to my ears, it has 3 different choruses… who does that? 

Enjoy, and may you cultivate some wonder in your lives this week!

Weekly Wonder

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Never once in my life did I ask God for success or wisdom or power or fame. I asked for wonder, and he gave it to me. -Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel

The short list of things that opened my eyes a littler wider this week…

  • Psalm 46
  • Getting reacquainted with The Smiths. Every. Single. Song. Kills.
  • Relatedly, watching and listening to Noel Gallagher talking about the Smiths (warning NSFW language).
  • Javier Bardem. This man can act! Wow. Watched Biutiful. It’s exquisitely painful, but his acting is a masterpiece.
  • “Doing The Work.”
  • Two + hours of silence. No radio, no TV, no speaking.
  • Anticipating my personal silent retreat next week.
  • Getting to hear hopes and dreams from some good friends this week

 

What about you?

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It’s Still About Surrender

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By Jan Jacobsen (http://www.worldpeace.no/THE-WHITE-FLAG.htm) [CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

By Jan Jacobsen (http://www.worldpeace.no/THE-WHITE-FLAG.htm) [CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Soul-work is hard.

Since my Sabbatical began, I’ve been going inside myself to see more, learn more, and ultimately heal more.

What I’m finding hasn’t been pretty.

For now, I’ll spare you most of the gory details, but this one thing has been coming up, over and over again. This one aspect of my life that, even though it is essentially Christianity 101, I have managed to radically lose sight of. 

It’s the idea of surrender.

It’s the question of who is ultimately in control, not just of “my life” but of the pieces of my life as well.

Does that make sense?

Long ago, I’d bowed my head to the idea that my life is in God’s hands, but what I’m coming to terms with now is that even though I’d done that on a grand scale, on a day-to-day scale I still very much prefer to remain firmly in control.

And that wasn’t working anymore.

Right now, seemingly everywhere I look in my universe I see evidence of how I’m attempting to play God and stay firmly in control of people, situations, ideas, myself. When I can’t (because, um, I’m not God), it brings up such destructive thoughts and ideas.

I’ve really come to understand Paul’s words: “I’m a miserable human being. Who will deliver me from this dead corpse?” (Romans 7:24 CEB)

Fortunately, I’m also on the road to understanding the second half of that thought: “Thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

Even though I thought I’d gotten this a long time ago, I’m learning (again?) that the beginning of freedom and peace is to release of the idea that I control anything in the first place.

If I could, I could save myself.

My job is not to control anything—it’s to cultivate the deep presence of God within me, through Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit.

Guess what #1: it feels like dying. 

Guess what #2: dying is what we’re called to do in order to let Jesus live his life through us. 

For me right now, the only anecdote to pathological control is to seek God ruthlessly each day and cast myself on Him.

I’m finding that this doesn’t occur in a shotgun prayer as I hurriedly get in my car.

It doesn’t happen between shots of espresso.

It doesn’t even necessarily happen in the moments of desperation when I’m careening off track.

It happens in slowness. Stillness. Purposeful silence. Prayer. Meditation.

Which is, I guess, the way it’s always been.

God is our refuge and strength,

a help always near in times of great trouble.

That’s why we won’t be afraid when the world falls apart,

when the mountains crumble into the center of the sea,

when the waters roar and rage,

when the mountains shake because of its surging waves.

There is a river whose streams gladden God’s city,

the holiest dwelling of the Most High.

God is in that city. It will never crumble.

God will help it when morning dawns.

Nations roar; kingdoms crumble.

God utters his voice; the earth melts.

The LORD of heavenly forces is with us!

The God of Jacob is our place of safety.

Come, see the LORD’s deeds,

what devastation he has imposed on the earth—

bringing wars to an end in every corner of the world,

breaking the bow and shattering the spear,

burning chariots with fire.

‘That’s enough!

Now know that I am God!

I am exalted among the nations;

I am exalted throughout the world!’

The LORD of heavenly forces is with us!

The God of Jacob is our place of safety.

(Psalm 46)

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