Manifesto

About a month ago, give or take a few weeks, I sat in the smack middle of a river of unknown-ness.  I was being washed over and felt myself drowning in the uncertainty and helplessness of it all.  The entire situation so far outside of my influence I could literally do nothing but pray.  Long.  And hard.  With urgency and fervor and reverence that has been so lacking of late in my audience with the Almighty.  Not that intimacy nor familiarity are bad in and of themselves; quite the opposite, in fact.  Jesus calls his followers friends and God’s desire is a deep, intimate relationship with each one of us.  However, my summer has been the fisheye lens of Job-esque reverence.  The absolute need to recognize exactly who is sovereign over my circumstance.

It was then that the kids had gone over the mountains and through the woods; the Officer was in the forest, unreachable and distant.  And I was quite alone, with the exception of my blind lab-velcro-ador.  And God.  Through this repast, I came to a place of genuine listening; not my typical, I’m going to toss up what I need for the day and hope the answer either falls into my coffee cup or literally opens my bible and yells directly at me mode of “hearing from God.”  I really listened; because, quite frankly, it was all I could do.  The house was hauntingly quiet; and I was suffocating under a veil of forced silence.

I had a Jerry Maguire moment; the this-isn’t-a-memo-it’s-a-mission-statement kind.  In the pressing quiet, I penned a personal manifesto.  A new mode of being who I am, with a right focus, and intentional purpose.  A way of living that would be completely different from the way I was surviving.  I typed it out.  I artfully placed it in my journal.  I read it every day the kids and Officer where gone.  And upon their return, I promptly fell back into routine.  Not all the way back, mind you; but far enough that I’d forgotten most of what I’d written.  I had the principles, the ghosts of the ideas, floating about.  But with the distractions that come with family and decisions and these situations overtaking my days, I lost what I had so vehemently purposed just a few weeks prior.

But God’s timing is always perfect.  I was thumbing back through my journal today; and there it was, as artfully displayed as ever.  And the words shone with new intensity, particularly in light of this week.  You see, dear reader, while you are reading this installment on Thursday, I am writing it on Monday (no, not future Monday… Monday past).  I know this week will require more prayer than before; more energy, more attention.  Thus I’m writing to you in anticipation of what’s coming.   [And if you know me, then you know how out of character planning is.]  I will be taking these next five weeks (the Tuesdays and Thursdays thereof) to share with you my manifesto for my new life.   My outline for a life in Christ that is honoring to God, compassionate towards others, grounded in Scripture, girded with prayer, and centered on Jesus Christ.

Join me, won’t you?  My prayer is that you might also be blessed with a renewal of spirit, find ways to apply my lessons to your life in Christ.  Perhaps even discover that you’re not as alone in your struggles as you think.  And pen your own manifesto in the process. 

For now, dear one, I will share with you the first line of my manifesto, that you might know my heart:

I am a new creation in Christ. 

The old has died and the new has come. 

I commit to walking obediently and faithfully

in my new identity

as Beloved,

as Chosen,

as Daughter.

 

           

IN-siders and OUT-siders

       Or how, after 2,000 years I have finally got it right.*

Recently, I’ve read quite a few articles bagging on “mega” churches.  In the past few months, I’ve sat in round-table discussions focusing on how denominational representation was absolutely necessary to keep believers from stumbling off into the cult-ish wilderness of quasi-doctrinal belief.  I’ve heard stances on submission, authority, worship, “religion” (yes, I’ll interject here to say how I despise the misuse of that word.  We’re all religious, we only differ in what and how we serve.  And yes, that includes the pagans and atheists and naturalists and Christians and every-blooming-person on the earth.), theology, soteriology, historicity, interpretation, and all manner of topics.

And where I’ve landed, after looking at the Jesus revealed in the gospels, hoped for in the Pentateuch, promised through the prophets, ached for in the wisdom literature, proclaimed in the epistles, and again in the Revelation, is that not a single one of us has gotten it right.  Granted, there were a literal handful of folks in Jesus’ time who saw who he really was.  But even that was through a direct revelation on the Holy Spirit. 

So, 2,000 years later, how can any one of us claim to have cornered the market on Jesus?

Yes, we study the scriptures to discover as much as we can about what he did, who he was, and how to emulate him.  Yes, we beg the Holy Spirit to mold our decrepit and rotten hearts to be more like his.  And yes, we must rely on God’s revealed character as a litmus test against which we measure our findings.  And yes, all of this is best done within the protective boundaries of doctrinally-sound communities.          

Yet, I hurt when I come across Christian-bashing.  By other believers.  Those in the mega-churches saying the liturgical are faithless robots.  The seeker-oriented gatherings bash mega-church attendees as godless zombies.  Those in the liturgical traditions treat their liberal fellows as if infected with anti-Christian-plague.  We, brethren, are the body of the one, true Christ.  We are all outsiders, seeking entrance, through grace, into the glorious kingdom of the Father. 

And not a single, solitary person among us is worthy to be let in.

                But for Christ… 

Jesus loved the outsiders.  Yet, he still found time to minister to the insiders.  He touched Roman and Jew alike.  He healed without care for class or ethnicity.  He rebuked Pharisees and a Syrophoenician with the same authority.  He taught men and women just the same.

Jesus gives each one of us His Truth.  That He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and that no one comes to the Father but through Him.  Jesus allows each of us to decide whether we accept or decline his sacrificial death on our behalf.  And if we do, He expects obedience from us.  Be we Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male or female.  Our allegiance to His Father requires our submission to His will.  We are to listen for His voice and be obedient to Him. 

And in our obedience, we are to love one another.  Whether the other happens to be our polar opposite or not.  We, as Christ’s followers, are to be known by our love for one another.  Jesus said so.     

Thus, I have to ask: can we look at one another, in love, and strive to live peacefully as far as it is up to us.  And admit that none of us have it exactly right

But for Jesus.



*I say this entirely tongue-in-cheek.  I'll be the absolute first to admit that I, in fact, do not have it all right.

Exacting Grace

“Grace always shocks.  Grace always stuns.  Grace is always what we need.” 

~Anne Voskamp

In the uncluttering of my spirit, the spring cleaning of my soul, I happened across a memory.  Something long burried in the back of my mind that, with hindsight, I find holds more value than I imagined at the time.  A truth, hidden away when it was too immediate and raw to recognize.  But truth, whenever it is given is always a treasure.  Sometimes one just has to rediscover it.

It had been a dark day.  One of the darker in lengthy memory.  My skin wasn’t racking just yet, calling for the pain to be lanced out of it.  But I was at that precipice.  The swirl of three- day long conversations churning in my mind.  My heart expanding panic, and my spirit tweeking like a meth-freak, unable to sit still, wringing and clawing at the cause of all of this. 

Knowing the conversation had to happen, if I were to ever rest.  Yet more afraid of the other side of those words, the potential of all I stood to lose. 

Barbed Wire Fence in Field, by Paul Mutton

Fences are hard to build.  Necessary to keep what’s important in.  And what’s harmful out.    

I had the conversation.  I swallowed, fear playing Zozobra in my stomach, and said what had to be spoken.  The tread finding purchase on this new road to healing.  Though the path is still entirely uncertain, the journey itself is begun.  Or at least restarted.  If one is honest, it was begun years ago. 

But what is there, after tears?  After boundaries raised, and respected?  There is quiet.  Too much aloneness.

Her e-mail came through, afterward.  These things have a dividing before- and after- effect on the soul.  Like a tornado, when one has lived through enough of them, you can feel them coming through the rain. 

She spoke only of a vivid dream.  “Jesus came to me and told me to email you,” she said.  “He said to tell you, from him,

‘I accept you.’” 

Tender explanation followed, because she couldn’t know that my heart didn’t need one.  “It was this encompassing I accept all of you--accept your heart, accept your belief, accept your love, and I hold it dear-- way.”  She woke and argued, why not “I love you?”  Why just “accept?”  Then she sent the e-mail anyway.  Because love is obedient. 

But he always knows exactly what to say.

The tears returned, though not the searing kind fraught with worry and pain.  These were cool, to wash the wounds of my soul. 

All of me.  Without reservation.  Without even a pause for breath.  The Yes! that precedes even the question. 

                Unconditional.

He knew that is what I needed.  Right then.  And not just from him.  But from a temporal mouth as well.  He does not exist alone; he is always* in loving relationship with his Father and the Spirit.  And we are not to exist alone either. 

His answer to my wounds isn’t just unconditional, all-encompassing love and acceptance, though it is enough; his answer is also a relationship.  A fellow warrior to combat the loneliness; to walk beside me, hurting when I hurt, covering me when I’m too broken, and dancing when I am filled with joy.

                A never alone proposition, straight from his heart and her computer.        

 Grace has many expressions.  But it is always just the right one, for precisely the right time. 

May you, dear one, be open to this surprising grace of his.  And may you have someone who is willing to share it with you, even when its forms seem at first blush less than expected. 

Because his sufficiency is exacting.  And his grace-filled love never fails.  For he can create beauty in even the hard places.

Origin

*The only moment in eternity when this wasn't true, the dividing, before-and-then-after moment when creation cried out in unison, was on cross.  When the Father turned his face away from the Son, and their eternal communion was broken.  For the sake of every soul ever.  So that those who would choose to accept this grace, might be saved.  And live.

  

Red Numerals

I am sitting at my computer, waiting for my student loan forms to load on the internet.   And I am squeamish.  The number indicating how much assistance I am accepting, in red no less, is frightening.  I want very much to say, “Money is not my god.”  But when I see that number (and yes, I have adjusted my schedule because I need my award to more closely match my tuition), I shrink.  Wow.  That’s a lot.  How am I ever going to pay that back?  (And how will I ever graduate if I keep dropping classes?)

I panic.  And begin been trolling internet job sites.  “I could do that.  I mean I’ve never welded anything in my life, but surely I could be a master welder in no time.  Right?”  [To all my welder friends out there, I apologize.  This is merely an example of my desperation; anyone who would hand me tools involving fire is more than slightly off their rocker.]  And then I consider taking 1 class per semester... for the next 13 years.  Ridiculously depressing.  That thought, in turn, causes me to throw in the towel, “forget it!  How can I put my family through this type of financial strain?”   Though this is mostly due to the little voice screaming in the back of my head, “Student loans are evil!  Get out of debt; don’t dig in deeper” a la Dave Ramsey; coupled with the admonition of a pastor, who implied that education merely for the sake of more education is a waste of resources.   

But do you want to know the funny part (not laugh-out-loud funny; more of an audible smirk)?  Just last night (rather, very early this morning), I committed to an utterly abandoned following after God in my life.  I literally said, “I will not let any obstacle, of other’s or my own making, stand in the way of me doing the good works for which You have made me.”  Do these require a degree?  Likely not.  Though I know I was called to go.  It was so present, so palpable, when I first felt it.  And when I’m there, even on the nights of tests (yeah, I don’t handle stress well) or paper’s due dates, there is this wide open space within my spirit; an expansion, a hope  that permeates my entire being.  When I drive away from campus, I feel it closing behind me; and I have this desperate desire to pull it with me, to share it with the world, to take it with me into the darkness.  I know it’s not the commentaries, or the lectures, or the theories that awaken my spirit.  It’s finding new [to me, as He is unchanging] facets of God; glimpsing a little more of Jesus.  It is opening my God box a little wider, letting Him out of my parameters a little bit more; letting Him show me who He is.  And then, like the Samaritan woman, I want to run and call everyone to Jesus.  See!  Look!  He is the hope for our lives; He is the rescue from our darkness!  He is so much more than I ever could have imagined.  He is beautiful.

So how do I reconcile that desire with the glaring, red numerals extracting my resolution?  By recalling the time not two semesters ago, when I sat in the office of a gentleman theologian; he encouraged me to follow my calling, while admonishing me that this will be an uphill battle the entire way.  It will try my resolve.  It will be a test of endurance.  Basically, (in my coarse paraphrase), it’s gonna suck.  But most things that are worth doing require great effort, some sacrifice, and an exorbitant amount of grace; as well as an adjustment of my attitude.  So as I click the “submit” button on my loans, I am engaging in a breath prayer.  I breathe in, “YHWH-Yireh” [the God who Provides] to recognize that God is the source of my sustenance and His provision is always more than sufficient.  And I breathe out: “money is not my god,” to remind me that in spite of their scariness, they are just numbers after all.

Empty Vessel

I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call—one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all [believers].

~ Ephesians 4:1-6 [note added]

You’ve likely seen the shirt, or bumper sticker, or status update: “Jesus hates religion, too.”  It’s the post-modern anthem for the Evangelical’s idea of Luther-esque freedom.  Let’s throw out rigid adherences, toss away antiquated practices, and dispose of the “old” way of doing things.  Let’s take a sledgehammer to the pipe organ, set fire to the pulpit, and never, ever, ever say anything that looks like rote prayer.  In fact, if you mention denominations that have even the slightest liturgical flavor, you must do so with a look of puckered disdain, all sour and “we-know-better.”

But this trite dismissal of all things religious leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.  I have to ask, does He really?

I know the common response, when looking for Christ’s example of anti-religious sentiment is His attitude towards and reaction to the Pharisees.  However, I have to note, that Jesus did not roundly renounce the Jewish faith.  Not once did He utter any anti-Semitic pronouncements.  Rather, He calls into question the state of the hearts of the individuals in leadership.  In fact, His ministry centered on reaching the most religious people of His time: the Jews, the remnant of God’s first covenant with humanity; though He knew they would reject him.  And let’s not forget that the foundation of their religious practice was instituted and directed by YHWH Himself.

And isn’t that wasn’t wrong with our religious institutions today?  People.  Our junked up, fallen way of dealing with others, with God’s word, with trying [and inevitably failing] to be God’s emissaries to the lost, the broken, and, frankly, each other.  It’s what the Pharisees were supposed to be.  It what we, the “un-religious” Church, are supposed to be.  Not anti-religion, but pro-relationship.  The two are NOT mutually exclusive.

So if nothing else, I take offense at the misuse of the word.  Much like there is a marked difference between schizophrenia and multiple-personality disorder (another pet peeve), the presence of religion does not immediately equate the absence of Christ.  Simply because someone practices an older, more liturgical brand of faith does not make them an empty vessel; they are not one who has no relationship with Christ, only hollow practices and numerous restrictions.  Frankly, we can not see the state of their hearts, what’s inside their jar of clay.  Only God can; and therefore, it is not our place to play judge.  By definition, religion is: the service and worship of God or the supernatural (2) commitment or devotion to religious faith or observance (3) a personal set or institutionalized system of religious attitudes, beliefs, and practice.

“Service and worship of God,” isn’t that what we do?  Is that what we’re called to?  Isn’t that who we, as Christ’s body, are?

Which means I have a bit of a shock for my fellow non-denomers: by definition, WE ARE RELIGIOUS.  But don’t dismay, that’s as it should be.  Which brings us to another potentially uncomfortable truth: as the body, we are to live in harmony with other believers, even [or especially] our liturgical, “religious” brethren.  In fact, so long as the religious “they” holds fast to the truth of the gospel, we are told in no uncertain terms to “put away all malice and all deceit and hypocrisy and envy and all slander.  Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation—if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good” [1 Peter 2:1-3].  That means we don’t talk badly about other denominations, we don’t react poorly to their various spiritual disciplines, and we treat all members of the body of Christ as He does: with tenderness and love.

So the next time you or I see that tag line, let’s remember, Jesus was religious.  He wasn’t disparaging, malicious, or slanderous.  Let us strive, within the appropriate boundaries of the gospel, to be harmonious, peaceful, and loving.  That, and not denominational disputes, is what the world needs from us.

May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

~ Romans 15:5-6

Day 34: A --less update

Psalm 93: The LORD Reigns

The LORD reigns; he is robed in majesty;the LORD is robed; he has put on strength as his belt. Yes, the world is established; it shall never be moved. Your throne is established from of old; you are from everlasting. The floods have lifted up, O LORD, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their roaring. Mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the LORD on high is mighty! Your decrees are very trustworthy; holiness befits your house, O LORD, forevermore.

Under the veil of transparency I sit, searching for a conversation with you, imaginary reader, that captures what has happened up to this point. I promised, a few weeks ago, to keep you abreast of my fasting. I had, quite honestly, hoped that I would have a report filled with spiritual wonders; a greater closeness to the Lord; a deeper understanding of the mysteries of Heaven. But between you, me, and the keyboard, this hasn’t been the mountain top experience I’d envisioned…and yet, I have felt the Lord move in ways that were missing before. I am coming out of a drought, parched and weary, into a place of new growth. Tiny shoots of life scratching through brittle soil. I am moving towards unfettered joy found only in the resurrection of Christ. I can see hope on the horizon. And my expectation increases daily.

Matthew 5: 20 ~ For I [Jesus] tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.

The absence of sugar. For 24 days, I held fast. No sugar. No sweeteners, other than honey on occasion. I discovered a new love of fruit. My coffee was abrasive. I delighted in the metaphor of how bitter and joyless my life is without the resurrection of Christ, every time I poured a cup, or craved a treat. I gave my cravings over to the Lord, I rejoiced in His strengthening me. And then, without much warning, I felt the quaking of self-righteousness within me. I became the master of my cravings. I was the one holding out. I could get through 40 days. Me. For me.

And then, I got sick. I was exhausted, hungry, and miserable. On the way home from the doctor (day 3 of pain and no food), I prayed. I wanted so much to honor my commitment, to stick to it with my own power. But I asked for permission to have a milkshake ~ something to numb the fire in my throat and fill my belly so I could sleep. And the answer I got: my self-righteousness had gotten in the way of my worship. I had given up sugar to take things out of the way of my relationship with my Lord. But in doing so, I’d unwittingly erected another wall ~ my works. I had become like a Pharisee, righteous for my own sake. All show and no heart. Clinging to ritualized commitments, instead of to the Lord.

So I asked for forgiveness. I recognized that I could give up sugar for the rest of eternity and still miss the point. It is only through Christ’s work (not mine) that I find right standing with God. No amount of fasting will ever change that. So I had a shake (or 3). And I got back on my fast, with a new focus: God, not me keeping away from sugar.

Mark 1:35 ~And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, [Jesus] departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed.

In regards to my snooze button: once. Only once have I risen early to spend time in prayer and meditation. And I will admit that was only when the sun had begun rising earlier (before the “spring forward” time change which causes my room to stay dark until well after I should be up). I’ll also admit that the time wasn’t of high quality; it was of “get-it-out-of-the-way” sort. And I have lamented this. I’ve been my typical guilt-ridden self. Hardly the point.

But in that, I’ve been instructed in and therefore open to the idea of 1 degree of change; which paraphrased to fit my illustration says, if I can take 1 step of faith growing closer to Christ, I have (from an eternal perspective) changed my entire trajectory. So, I’ve taken to praying differently (from a stance of relinquishment instead of pleading); and focusing more time throughout the day on God, His word (even just 1 line of scripture repeated at different points throughout the day), and His attributes. And, not surprisingly, I have grown. My worship is reflecting a slight difference. My thoughts are quicker to quiet, more readily on my Father when I wake than before.

While from the outside it looks like I’ve failed in this, I am changing. I am discovering new means of quality time with my Heavenly Father. And for that, I am glad.

Luke 10: 38-42 ~ As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!" "Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."

Finally, to the one thing I’ve given up and actually stayed away from: the internet distraction of a certain social networking site. I haven’t visited it, haven’t thought about it, haven’t even wanted to. And I’ve found lots of time, time previously wasted, to devote to the Lord. But all that time has only resulted in was more doing, more busy-ness, more activities, more weariness, more striving – SIT DOWN, MARTHA! My soul is screaming. Sit at the Master’s feet. Be filled. Be still. Be at peace.

So there it is: seeming failure on all fronts. And yet, maybe not. Perhaps each is 1 degree of change, movement in a more Christ-like direction. I will keep trying, with the help of the Holy Spirit to guide and support me. And I will quietly delight in the metaphor that without the resurrection of Christ, all of my striving is hollow ceremony.

Getting out of my own way

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.  ~ Romans 12:1-2

I hate my alarm clock.

Understand that there is nothing wrong with this gadget: it works properly (oh, too properly), I can see it mocking me from across my bedroom (I can activate any snooze button in my sleep, hence the need to place it away from arm's reach), and I can certainly hear it shrieking in increasingly ridiculous decibels.  Perhaps, more than the apparatus itself, I hate waking.  Or at least waking before I'm ready. There was a time in very recent memory when I would bound out of bed (okay, not bound; but at least shuffle out of bed without malice) and head down to my coffee and quiet time.  Granted, that was in the summer months when the sun was peeking at me, just over the sill in my kitchen window; and my children could sleep until nine or so, as we had no commitments outside of the pool opening at eleven.  Even the recollection of those mornings draws out warmth and tugs a smile into the corner of my south.  But the dark, the winter, pulls at my resolve to rise early.  I dash across my floor, eagerly hitting the snooze button and take the few steps back into my bed, throwing the covers over me, silently  pleading, "five more minutes, Lord.  Just five more minutes."  And five becomes 30, then 60, until I have to get up lest the children be late to school.  Still dark, still cold; but now missing the delightful communion with my God.  I resolve to meet Him later in the day, which I generally do.  And I know that He is with me throughout my day.  His place is not scripted only in the times before my family rises.

Yet the paces of my day become flustered; my mode catch up, rather than soak up.  Quick fill-er-ups and stolen moments in the flow of the day; instead of separate, oasis in my life.

Upon meditation, I became aware of this and other tendencies in my flesh that are, though not pulling me away from God, certainly keeping me stagnant.  Pride.  Distraction.  Sloth.  [No, this isn't a prelude to one of my favorite movies.  It is merely the reason driving the next 40 days.] Which leads to me to the observation of a practice I thought I left far behind.  Though of late, I am becoming more respectful of the offices kept by our liturgical brethren.  This year, I feel the Lord is calling me to practice Lent.

Historically, Lent is observed for the 40 days leading up to Resurrection Sunday, during which observers recognize the temptation (ergo full humanity) of Christ in the desert prior to His Incarnate ministry.  It is a time where followers sacrifice something (e.g. "give up") for the prescribed period in observance of Christ's sacrifice of His place as God [leaving the Heavenly realm to live, caged in flesh, among the fallen on Earth].  Typically, a follower will abstain from something that is interfering with their relationship with God.  This is to prepare their hearts for the resurrection of Christ, the holiest day on the Christian calendar, the apex of history thus far.

I didn't exactly make my choices; more accurate would be to say that they were made for me as I  reflected upon my daily life.

Sadly, the first thing I think about when I wake is not the Lord, His plan for my day, nor even my delight in being His child.  It is: "what am I going to eat?"  Oh, how it pains me to write that.  Worse still, is the internal dialogue I have regarding the choices I've given myself.  Which will make me feel healthy and thin; which will be more satisfying, but send me spiraling into self-loathing when my jeans don't fit.  From that point, my mind is primed on its favorite topic: how I feel about, how I feel other people think about, how I feel about the way I think about how other people think about ~ how I look. Yikes.  Doesn't get more self-centered than that, does it?  Granted, I'm not one who looks at myself in the mirror and thinks everyone should be looking at me.  Quite the opposite.  I'd rather people didn't.  But that extreme is on the continuum of pride.  I spend a great deal of time thinking about how I look, and how other people see me.  Pride.

As I'm writing this, I'm having an internal dialogue with you [my imaginary reader] as to whether or not you like what you're reading so far.  You've interjected a few times.  I've made changes accordingly.  Have I mentioned that I have a desire for the approval of others?  With the painless anonymity of the internet, I can alert the world of my every thought and have anyone who is so moved respond.  Notice me.  Distract me.  My favorite social networking site has conveniently built this into my day.  And I have become a junkie.  I have a hard time getting on the computer to do anything without first getting my fix out of the way.  If I want to do a word search to compliment a study, I hop on the internet, but first check my page.  So this fixation feeds both my distraction and pride.

None of these activities/interests/practices are bad.  They are not sinful.  They are merely things that have crept into my life.  Things that if left unchecked, could settle into my life, could be habit-forming, could affect the way I engage in the praxis of the gospel. So, for the next 40 days, I'm giving up: sugar, my favorite social networking site, and my snooze button.  All three represent something in my flesh that is keeping me from realizing, rejoicing in, and proclaiming the miracle of the resurrection daily.  Without each, and in their place communion with and reliance upon my LORD, I will hopefully come out on the other side struggling less with pride, distraction, and sloth.  And delighting more in the sacrifice of Jesus, as He gave up His position in Heaven to walk among us.

I'll let you know how this all goes, imaginary reader.  If you'll hold me accountable.

Thoughts from the treadmill

It’s January.  And as I have done for more times than I care to discuss here, I have resolved to exercise.  Along those lines, I let slip to my kids (who are white belts) that I should take an adult karate class. So at the strong encouragement of my children, who delight in the idea of their mom kicking and “ki-ah-ing” right along with them, I spoke with the Sensi of their dojo. He was very enthusiastic, but did caution me that I shouldn’t eat dinner before coming to class. “Why,” was my naïve response. With what I consider a truly wicked grin, he responded, “So you don’t puke on the mats. Most first-timers do.”

Excuse me? Did you say, “puke?!”

As you can imagine, I am oh-so excited to start karate. In fact, I’m wondering exactly how long I can put off joining this class. I do have to see Sensi four times a week for my children’s classes, so I can’t completely avoid him. However, to make my yes be yes, I have resolved to get in shape (at least develop some muscle and endurance) before I start karate classes. Because, frankly I can imagine few things more humiliating than vomiting in front of other adults due solely to the fact that I can’t hack the workout. Yeah, it’s a pride thing. But I don’t think I could summon the strength to show my face at the dojo again, which would be a tragic way to end my kids’ budding karate careers.

As I was sweating profusely on the evil elliptical (right beside Barbie, who had been on her machine 30 minutes longer than I, and was only glistening the way aerobic-video instructors do, not the way people drenched in their own perspiration shine), I was commending myself for my resolve to get into shape so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed when I took a class to get into shape. “Ha,” I thought to myself, “I won’t throw up, I will even be able to keep up.” (Yes, if you must know, that was most likely the delightful cocktail of endorphins and peppy, workout music on the mp3 player talking.) And then, I had a sobering, more realistic thought flit into my brain: “what if, after all this personal preparation, I still puke?” I stole a glance at Barbie, to make sure she couldn’t read the mortification in my thoughts. Thankfully, she was grinning as happily as ever, flaunting her feat of sweat-free elliptical endurance.

It was then that I realized a number of the body of Christ approach our God this way. “Thanks for the invitation, God; but I’ve got some messy stuff I have to take care of first. After I deal with all of that, then we’ll talk.” Oh, I’m not just talking about people on the verge of conversion; I am primarily referring to those among us (myself chief amongst us) who consider themselves unworthy of serving, evangelizing, disciplining.

When we experience the invitation to serve, we reason that first we must get our act together. We need to whip ourselves in to spiritual shape before we can be useful to God. In our current state, we are too depraved, too messy, too fleshly. We need to be the model mother/wife/friend/daughter/neighbor/domestic diva/culinary whiz (one does need to entertain, does one not, when becoming a servant?), etc. We need to be better versed in Scripture, increasingly well-read, a stronger apologist, a more motivating leader, a more humble person, a little more mature, more organized, more articulate, more empathetic...Until our personal lists extend beyond our ability.

Granted, there are biblical qualifications for leadership, laid out in Titus 1-2 and 1st Timothy 3, to which we should adhere. However, God does not expect us to fix ourselves before serving Him. Quite frankly, He is all too aware that we can’t fix ourselves. Only an intimate relationship with Him can enable us to deal with our mess. Scripture, in fact, tells us that [God’s] grace is sufficient for you, for [His] power is made perfect in weakness (2 Cor 12:9). When we enter into service, not under our own power or abilities, but with the full knowledge and admission that we can NOT do anything apart from God, to whom are we assigning glory? Certainly not ourselves, in our weak and flawed flesh. We accept that, without God, we are insufficient. And through our weakness, our junk, our messes, He is evident, He is perfect, He is glorified.

The more humbly we submit ourselves and our mess to Him, through service, the more we have to rely on His power to get us through. The more evident it becomes to those we are serving, that we are not the ones responsible for our seemingly endless grace or love or wisdom. It can only be God.

And isn’t that how it should be? All the glory, honor, and praise going to God, instead of to ourselves in our own abilities?

So, instead of hitting the spiritual elliptical (whatever that looks like for you: becoming the model Christian, strengthening your apologetics, or waiting for maturity to smack you upside the head), hit your knees. Admit that you can’t do whatever it is you’re being called to do. Tell God that this task is so far outside of your abilities that you’ll puke on the mats (figuratively, of course). Beg His help, His guidance, His presence.

And then get up and do it. Because His grace is sufficient for you; God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong (1 Cor 1:27). God chose you. He is with you in your obedience. Joshua 1:9 assures us of this promise: Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

So get off the spiritual treadmill and get on your spiritual mission.

I will

“’As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and darkness. I myself will tend my sheep and have them lie down,’ declares the Sovereign LORD. ‘I will search for the lost and bring back the strays. I will bind up the injured and strengthen the weak’”
Ezekiel 34:12, 15-16 [part]

I am a bit of an English nerd (thanks, Mom!). While I’m certainly not an expert, I do like my modifiers in the appropriate places. And, yes, I am constantly seeking metaphors. I read and then re-read sentences to gain meaning from their construction, their tone, their choice of words. I could literally spend hours on one or two well-turned phrases, extracting their full depth and enriching their meaning.

For example, the above Scripture is one of my favorites (yes, I do say that a lot ~ guess I really just love God’s word). At first glance it tells me that GOD Himself cares for me. HE says so, “I myself will tend my sheep;” and I’ve learned HE doesn’t flippantly say, or not say, anything (Ezk 34:15). This passage does not say, “I’m sending my angels in descending order to look after my sheep depending upon their righteous living. The martyrs warrant archangels, the prophets and missionaries get cherubim and seraphim, while the rest of you sinners can look out for yourselves.” No! The Sovereign LORD says, “I myself will tend my sheep.” GOD will personally search for the lost, retrieve those who wander, and heal the hurts of those wrecked by sin. GOD, who spoke the entire universe into existence, is personally looking after you; searching for you, calling you back, desiring to heal your wounds and strengthen you.

Amazing, isn’t it? You might have noticed that HE doesn’t just say that once. GOD says, “I will” five times. In case you didn’t catch it on the first read, HE reiterates that fact ~ in five separate instances. The Almighty GOD will personally tend to you.

The other part of this passage that I love is the use of the word, “will.” Notice the word is not “did;” GOD’s Son, Jesus Christ, did die for all the sins of the world ~ past tense. But the Creator of the Universe chose “will” to describe His relationship with us. This word shows futurity ~ it is going to happen. It denotes habitual action ~ something that is repeated again and again; then, now, & tomorrow. And it indicates an inevitable tendency ~ the action [or verb] following “will” is certain to take place.

The Sovereign LORD does not forgive us once & then abandon us to our soul-destructive tendencies. Instead, HE teaches us that it is HIS character, HIS very nature, to keep rescuing us, keep finding us, keep healing us. Even if HE has to take us back to the day of clouds and darkness to do so. And HE will continue to tend to us for all eternity. For we are HIS and HE is ours!

Stay

Out of curiosity, I recently visited Wikipedia and found 29 songs listed with the title, "Stay." Stay. There is an ache, whatever the genre, in that single word. A desperate plea. An admission of some other over-arching emotion. Love. Fear. Loneliness. The need for companionship; for witness to our fragile existence. Don't go. Stay.

I am not immune to that ache. I have known it's many forms. I have been overcome and I have been victorious over this state time and again. My days now are filled with a joy and purpose I for so very long thought impossible. However, of late it has been my heart's cry. I have been privy to a particular healing group, a sisterhood of women who have sought truth in face of their darkest moments; women who have knelt before the cross of Jesus Christ and traded their shame for His righteousness. And I have seen God work miracles in their hearts. He has brought springs out of parched ground and gardens from wastelands (Isaiah 41: 18-19). Upon my sisters, He has bestowed a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. And we each walk away, displaying the LORD's splendor (Isaiah 61:3). I have literally seen these transformations weekly. I have been transformed.

Therefore, it stands to reason that I would not readily walk away from this holy site. But circumstances are commanding my respite. Some, frankly, are quite joyful ~ a fellow sister will stand in my stead and I am praising GOD for the chance for her to bear this witness and toil in this blessed vineyard as well! Some are near and dear to my heart; and some are, seemingly, just life. But as I watched the light from 13 candles illuminate the dark corner of a room, I said to my Adonai, "You can't ask me to walk away. Don't take this from me."

Why? Was I so selfish that I wanted this only for myself? Did I think this wouldn't happen without me in the room? No. It was the fear that if I left this arena, I would loose this closeness, this intimacy with my Yahew Roi [the LORD is my Shepherd]. I was desperate not to loose this holy place, this level of relationship with Him.

"Stay!" My heart cried out, "don't go!" Tears soaked my prayers, my worship; my knees grew numb from begging. But eventually, I had to get up. Life wouldn't wait (my 3 year-old needed breakfast and he is very adamant about eating). Throughout my days, I kept silently insisting, "stay. Stay!"

And in His tender way, my Abba took me into His arms, and wiped away my tears. He held me, He listened to my pleas, but He did not change His mind. His will was not bent to suit my desires. Instead, He told me of a time when another one of His children did not want to let go...

Paraphrased from Matthew 16:21-17:5, with personal commentary
Jesus revealed to his disciples that He would be put to death, a horrible death preceded by torture, by the chief priests of Jerusalem. There is a part of me that believes He did this not only to indicate His divinity, but to prepare those who loved Him. He was getting them ready for what was inevitable. Upon hearing this news, His disciples were frantic, most likely heartbroken. They pledged their lives in exchange for His. Peter even declared, "never!" Christ's rebuke was fairly harsh; but He never was one to pull any punches. Days passed without comment, though I assume that his dearest friends were still silently distraught. And He knew this. So, Jesus takes Peter, James, and John with Him to the top of a mountain for time alone to pray. Each man was probably thinking of this time as a chance to draw closer to Jesus, to soak up His nearness after such a distressing revelation. Up the mountain they went. During this prayer time, Christ is transformed into His heavenly glory; and He is met atop this mountain by Elijah and Moses. Why does this happen in front of Peter, James, and John? Maybe Jesus wanted to comfort them with the knowledge that He is the Son of God; therefore He knew what would take place and He had already made the choice to follow through ~ for the sake of every soul in the world. The disciples were astounded; some books say they were afraid, some say they didn't know what to do. And then Peter begs. Peter tells Jesus he will build three tents to house Christ, Elijah, and Moses ~ to keep Jesus there, in the temporal, in immediate contact with Peter. "Stay," is Peter's heart's cry. At that moment, the mountain is enveloped in a cloud and a voice from the cloud says, " This is My Son, whom I love; with Him I am well pleased. Listen to Him."

"Listen to Him." The implication being, "abandon your own plans. Follow His directions." Peter, who loved Jesus, didn't want to let go. He wanted to stay with Jesus in the closest sense. But Peter couldn't understand what Christ's death would accomplish. Peter couldn't know what plans God and Jesus had following the Crucifixion. In order to see the apex of all history, Peter would have to let Jesus go. He would be required to experience physical distance in order to have spiritual closeness beyond imagination. Peter would have to be obedient, in spite of his emotions. In spite of his heart. Peter heard the voice of God telling him to listen to Jesus. And Jesus was preparing him for a time of relationship which was beyond Peter's comprehension.

And so, my Heavenly Father showed me that I can not understand His plans. And sometimes, my heart's desire may actually stand in the way of those plans. Albeit unwittingly. So, He asks me to trust Him. Because whatever is on the other side is very much worth it.

Tonight, I kneel before my Adonai. I am letting go, Lord. Help me let go.