We will gather around our table and enjoy a feast of Christmas beast and all the accompanying dishes. There will be 12 of us. I am really looking forward to that moment when we all sit and see one another. This year my niece and her family will join us. It will be grand.
It is around the table where it all starts as we celebrate this incredible season of birth. The birth of the baby who would grow up, become a roaming rabbi teaching, healing, crying, laughing, living with his followers. Then He will hand himself over to die a sacrificial death for all of us.
Some who gather around tables will not understand what this season truly is about. It may be viewed simply as a time to exchange presents, enjoy the company of family and friends. It may be viewed as a season of religious duty, an annual attendance at a nearby church. It may be viewed with some skeptic's eye not sure anymore if all of this is true. Childhood faith has been set aside as one considers again the veracity of this One who came to be with us and, who said He would never leave us alone as orphans again.
My plan was to read something I found written by one of my favorite authors, but it was a bit on the long side and I knew I will only have a few moments to capture those gathered about my table for this small gift of words.
He came to live as fully man and fully God to lead us into a Kingdom that only requires faith. A kingdom where we can be fully known; all our noble thoughts and actions along side our frailties, fears and our dismal failures. Fully known is just the beginning though, and can seem so heavy without the second part of His coming, this God/man who offers redemption, even if we don't believe we need it or deserve it.
He came not to just offer a deep knowing but to offer a deep love, a love that will never take the tiniest step back from us when we have failed as often and as miserably as we so often do. There is such a relief in that kind of Holiness.
We think of Holiness as being so...... Holy, set apart, above us and unattainable. And yet, that is not His Holiness that is offered. It is a Holiness that relieves us of the demands of perfection or even trying to get it right. Sure, we want to at least try and show we are worth the attention of love lavished on us, but we need not strive so hard to be something we are incapable of being.
His Holiness asks us to simply rest with Him, alongside in cooperative longing, a longing for that day when we are finally home with Him.
In the meantime, until we get home, we can celebrate, we can enjoy, we can simply be with Him, through faith. Sit around the table and imagine being there in that smelly stable and adore the One who has come to make us new.
Sunday, December 24, 2017
Monday, December 11, 2017
Trees
My last post was a little dark and vulnerable. I couldn't think of any way to show personally what a Wonderful Counselor we have in Jesus without sharing some of my own struggles. I do apologize if it was a bit too dark for some.
I've been remembering some of the lighter moments the Christmas Season would bring to our family. There were two seasons where the dynamic of our family was consistently a little lighter. One was our summer camping trips to the Middle Fork of the Yuba River. The other was Christmas, especially some of the stories surrounding our ongoing quest for the perfect Christmas tree.
Our earliest years involved purchasing a tree from a gas station. Back in those days proprietors of fueling stations would stock some Christmas trees and I remember as a very little guy the excitement of finally stopping at a station and choosing just the right tree.
A few years later my dad had a co-worker, Swede Nelson who lived on some property that had some promising trees. Dad and I, and then later we'd include my younger sister Elizabeth would load up our old Powell station wagon or a few years later the truck/camper my folks owned and drive out to Swede's place. He had a couple boys so we kids would all hop in the back of Swede's pick-up and drive up into the hills where the promising trees could be found. It would always seem like such a magical journey.
Dad was a bit fussy about finding just the right tree so it would take us some time. We'd also look for a tree for my grandparents who lived nearby in Nevada City. Of course untrimmed trees are not often as perfect as Dad would like but he'd find something that would come close. Eventually two decent trees were found and the Nelson's would find their tree so we'd load them in the back of the pick-up and we kids would squeeze in around our trees excited for this important aspect of the season. Christmas was on it's way!
Dad often would get our tree home, put in the old red metal stand and the would stand back and look at it. More often than not, there were holes that needed a branch grafted in so Dad would trim a lower branch, drill a hole where it was needed and wire it in. We could then begin the joyous work of trimming the tree. Dad would put on the lights and then we would all pitch in and start hanging the collection of ornaments. After all the ornaments were hung then we started the job of hanging the silver tinsel, strand by strand. We were taught to be very meticulous making sure each branch was draped gracefully with cascading silver strands that reflected our collection of colored lights. Some of our lights were the ones that, once heated up, would flash on and off at individual intervals. It was glorious!
Mom never liked taking down the tree. Often it was mid to late January before we would finally take it down along with all the other trimmings that decorated our little home. One year in particular, I recall it was close to Valentine's Day before the tree came down. Of course, by then it was so dry it was barely green anymore, but she didn't care. I think it always depressed her a little to finally say good-bye to Christmas.
Mom's desire for a tree that would stay fresh longer got her into a bit of trouble one year. It was Christmas 1973. My older sister and I had moved to San Francisco so when I came home a day or so before Christmas I was startled to find a completely dead, brown tree. Mom just giggled a little bit and told me her tale.
Evidently she'd been watching the Dinah Shore talk show one morning. She'd had some guy who was an expert gardener, the Green Gardener is who I think it was. He'd given a recipe to help preserve and keep fresh cut Christmas Trees. Mom got so excited she immediately went into the kitchen and whipped up a batch of whatever it was he'd said to use, cooking it a bit. She said the tree was still outside so she rushed out and dumped into the pan in the stand her hot concoction. Well, you can guess what happened. She'd not heard the whole set of instructions and didn't let the concoction cool down. It quickly killed the tree. I'm not sure she had the heart to tell Dad what had happened so they put it up anyway in hopes it would make it through a shortened Christmas Tree season, but frankly, it wasn't going to make it.
The next day I bundled up my little sister and we took a hike down the hill from our house, across highway 49 and up the ridge on the other side to look for anything resembling a Christmas Tree. Fortunately, we found a beautiful little cedar I cut down. Now poaching trees is NOT something you should do and so I sent my sister on ahead to make sure no cars were coming along the highway so I could make a mad dash across the road and up the hill out of sight of anyone driving along the road. By the time we'd gotten home, Dad had completely stripped the dead tree and was waiting for us with whatever we could find. It was the only cedar tree we ever had. Cedars have rather limp limbs that droop precariously with the weight of ornaments, but we didn't care, it was much better looking than the brown stick of a tree it replaced. We often laughed about the year Mom killed the tree.
Years later, after the first five years of marriage, Gail and I moved to Minnesota. Our first Christmas we went with friends to a tree farm and cut a beautiful tree. It was a different variety than we were use to with very short, sharp needles. We weren't sure how we would keep our crawling, adventurous daughter from the tree, but after her first attempt at reaching for the beautiful ornaments she discovered how sharp those needles were on her delicate hands. One attempt was all it took for her to know the tree would hurt her and she never tried to reach into it again.
A few years later we were preparing for a special Christmas, my folks were coming for a visit. As was our custom, a few weeks before their arrival, we cut a beautiful blue spruce that fit our little condo perfectly, tall enough, but not too wide. What we didn't know was the variety we'd selected had a tendency to dry out fairly quickly and drop needles. By Christmas Eve it was dropping them at a sickening rate. Heavier ornaments would slide down branches any time anyone walked by and you could hear the needles fall on the presents beneath it.
I'd had enough of it so I bundled up my mother and the two of us went in search of another tree with strict instructions from my wife to not get one that was too wide. Well, we ended up at a KMart with a pitiful collection of trees, most laying on their sides, dejected trees waiting for a home late in the season. We found what we thought would work and loaded it in my Toyota Celica for the ride home. What we didn't realize was the shape we thought was fairly compact was due largely from the fact it was frozen into a tight pyramid. By the time we got it in our compact living room it thawed and just about filled half our living room. Gail was not particularly happy but Mom and I just giggled as we decorated the thawing tree.
After we moved back to California we'd do the tree expedition again up into the Sierra Foothills about 50 miles from home. We'd often go with our friends the Blodgers and make a day of it looking for the perfect tree. Those are good memories. Eventually the kids got tired of going with Dad to look, I tend to be particular about finding a tall, perfect tree. The last year that Charlie went with me we found a beautiful tree, but it was just slightly shorter than our car. It was one of those years I flocked the tree so I stood it up in the stand in the driveway, flocked it with several cans of snow and brought it into the house. One problem, to get the lights and ornaments on the top I had to stand on the tip top of our 8' ladder on my toes, lean out with one hand on a wall and sort of toss the lights and ornaments on the upper branches. It sort of drove Gail nuts watching me do this, but it was beautiful when done.
My last year of cutting a tree was a solo effort on my part. It was one of those cold drizzly days where it was almost snowing. Being fussy for just the right tree meant time and effort tromping around tree farms. By the time I found the right tree, paid for it and loaded it my holybluemazda, the jeans I was wearing were completely soaked and I was freezing cold for the 50 mile drive home. No problem I thought. I pulled over onto a secluded dirt road, took my pants off, cranked up the heater and drove home in my underwear.
I know my goal in writing here is to find transcendence in the ordinary things of life. Frankly, I'm not finding that in writing this, but I love the memories I have connected with our adventures with finding the perfect Christmas tree. Memories are precious things and we can find joy and even a hint of transcendence in remembering our happy memories during this Advent season. Maybe, just maybe revisiting our own personal memories of past Advent seasons we can recapture again the importance of being a child, after all, unless we become like children, we cannot enter the Kingdom of God.
Oh yes, the last Christmas before my dad passed away we were retelling the story of going out with Swede Nelson to cut a tree. My dad, with a twinkle in his eye confessed for the first time to any of us that we had been poaching trees all those years! Suddenly something he always would do before leaving the Nelson's made sense. He would always cover up the trees with an old bedspread he would bring along, even when we would load the trees into the back of the camper. I always thought it was just to keep the needles from making a mess but it was to hid our pilfered trees!
I've been remembering some of the lighter moments the Christmas Season would bring to our family. There were two seasons where the dynamic of our family was consistently a little lighter. One was our summer camping trips to the Middle Fork of the Yuba River. The other was Christmas, especially some of the stories surrounding our ongoing quest for the perfect Christmas tree.
Our earliest years involved purchasing a tree from a gas station. Back in those days proprietors of fueling stations would stock some Christmas trees and I remember as a very little guy the excitement of finally stopping at a station and choosing just the right tree.
A few years later my dad had a co-worker, Swede Nelson who lived on some property that had some promising trees. Dad and I, and then later we'd include my younger sister Elizabeth would load up our old Powell station wagon or a few years later the truck/camper my folks owned and drive out to Swede's place. He had a couple boys so we kids would all hop in the back of Swede's pick-up and drive up into the hills where the promising trees could be found. It would always seem like such a magical journey.
Dad was a bit fussy about finding just the right tree so it would take us some time. We'd also look for a tree for my grandparents who lived nearby in Nevada City. Of course untrimmed trees are not often as perfect as Dad would like but he'd find something that would come close. Eventually two decent trees were found and the Nelson's would find their tree so we'd load them in the back of the pick-up and we kids would squeeze in around our trees excited for this important aspect of the season. Christmas was on it's way!
Dad often would get our tree home, put in the old red metal stand and the would stand back and look at it. More often than not, there were holes that needed a branch grafted in so Dad would trim a lower branch, drill a hole where it was needed and wire it in. We could then begin the joyous work of trimming the tree. Dad would put on the lights and then we would all pitch in and start hanging the collection of ornaments. After all the ornaments were hung then we started the job of hanging the silver tinsel, strand by strand. We were taught to be very meticulous making sure each branch was draped gracefully with cascading silver strands that reflected our collection of colored lights. Some of our lights were the ones that, once heated up, would flash on and off at individual intervals. It was glorious!
Mom never liked taking down the tree. Often it was mid to late January before we would finally take it down along with all the other trimmings that decorated our little home. One year in particular, I recall it was close to Valentine's Day before the tree came down. Of course, by then it was so dry it was barely green anymore, but she didn't care. I think it always depressed her a little to finally say good-bye to Christmas.
Mom's desire for a tree that would stay fresh longer got her into a bit of trouble one year. It was Christmas 1973. My older sister and I had moved to San Francisco so when I came home a day or so before Christmas I was startled to find a completely dead, brown tree. Mom just giggled a little bit and told me her tale.
Evidently she'd been watching the Dinah Shore talk show one morning. She'd had some guy who was an expert gardener, the Green Gardener is who I think it was. He'd given a recipe to help preserve and keep fresh cut Christmas Trees. Mom got so excited she immediately went into the kitchen and whipped up a batch of whatever it was he'd said to use, cooking it a bit. She said the tree was still outside so she rushed out and dumped into the pan in the stand her hot concoction. Well, you can guess what happened. She'd not heard the whole set of instructions and didn't let the concoction cool down. It quickly killed the tree. I'm not sure she had the heart to tell Dad what had happened so they put it up anyway in hopes it would make it through a shortened Christmas Tree season, but frankly, it wasn't going to make it.
The next day I bundled up my little sister and we took a hike down the hill from our house, across highway 49 and up the ridge on the other side to look for anything resembling a Christmas Tree. Fortunately, we found a beautiful little cedar I cut down. Now poaching trees is NOT something you should do and so I sent my sister on ahead to make sure no cars were coming along the highway so I could make a mad dash across the road and up the hill out of sight of anyone driving along the road. By the time we'd gotten home, Dad had completely stripped the dead tree and was waiting for us with whatever we could find. It was the only cedar tree we ever had. Cedars have rather limp limbs that droop precariously with the weight of ornaments, but we didn't care, it was much better looking than the brown stick of a tree it replaced. We often laughed about the year Mom killed the tree.
Years later, after the first five years of marriage, Gail and I moved to Minnesota. Our first Christmas we went with friends to a tree farm and cut a beautiful tree. It was a different variety than we were use to with very short, sharp needles. We weren't sure how we would keep our crawling, adventurous daughter from the tree, but after her first attempt at reaching for the beautiful ornaments she discovered how sharp those needles were on her delicate hands. One attempt was all it took for her to know the tree would hurt her and she never tried to reach into it again.
A few years later we were preparing for a special Christmas, my folks were coming for a visit. As was our custom, a few weeks before their arrival, we cut a beautiful blue spruce that fit our little condo perfectly, tall enough, but not too wide. What we didn't know was the variety we'd selected had a tendency to dry out fairly quickly and drop needles. By Christmas Eve it was dropping them at a sickening rate. Heavier ornaments would slide down branches any time anyone walked by and you could hear the needles fall on the presents beneath it.
I'd had enough of it so I bundled up my mother and the two of us went in search of another tree with strict instructions from my wife to not get one that was too wide. Well, we ended up at a KMart with a pitiful collection of trees, most laying on their sides, dejected trees waiting for a home late in the season. We found what we thought would work and loaded it in my Toyota Celica for the ride home. What we didn't realize was the shape we thought was fairly compact was due largely from the fact it was frozen into a tight pyramid. By the time we got it in our compact living room it thawed and just about filled half our living room. Gail was not particularly happy but Mom and I just giggled as we decorated the thawing tree.
After we moved back to California we'd do the tree expedition again up into the Sierra Foothills about 50 miles from home. We'd often go with our friends the Blodgers and make a day of it looking for the perfect tree. Those are good memories. Eventually the kids got tired of going with Dad to look, I tend to be particular about finding a tall, perfect tree. The last year that Charlie went with me we found a beautiful tree, but it was just slightly shorter than our car. It was one of those years I flocked the tree so I stood it up in the stand in the driveway, flocked it with several cans of snow and brought it into the house. One problem, to get the lights and ornaments on the top I had to stand on the tip top of our 8' ladder on my toes, lean out with one hand on a wall and sort of toss the lights and ornaments on the upper branches. It sort of drove Gail nuts watching me do this, but it was beautiful when done.
My last year of cutting a tree was a solo effort on my part. It was one of those cold drizzly days where it was almost snowing. Being fussy for just the right tree meant time and effort tromping around tree farms. By the time I found the right tree, paid for it and loaded it my holybluemazda, the jeans I was wearing were completely soaked and I was freezing cold for the 50 mile drive home. No problem I thought. I pulled over onto a secluded dirt road, took my pants off, cranked up the heater and drove home in my underwear.
I know my goal in writing here is to find transcendence in the ordinary things of life. Frankly, I'm not finding that in writing this, but I love the memories I have connected with our adventures with finding the perfect Christmas tree. Memories are precious things and we can find joy and even a hint of transcendence in remembering our happy memories during this Advent season. Maybe, just maybe revisiting our own personal memories of past Advent seasons we can recapture again the importance of being a child, after all, unless we become like children, we cannot enter the Kingdom of God.
Oh yes, the last Christmas before my dad passed away we were retelling the story of going out with Swede Nelson to cut a tree. My dad, with a twinkle in his eye confessed for the first time to any of us that we had been poaching trees all those years! Suddenly something he always would do before leaving the Nelson's made sense. He would always cover up the trees with an old bedspread he would bring along, even when we would load the trees into the back of the camper. I always thought it was just to keep the needles from making a mess but it was to hid our pilfered trees!
Monday, December 4, 2017
Wonderful Counselor
We live in a time, at least here in North America, where counseling and the need of a counselor is widely accepted. It is easy to find a counselor, life coach, mentor or a spiritual director when one senses the need for some one-on-one help. These named professions carry some distinctive aspects from one another, but they offer some form of counsel. While I am not writing here to tout my training and work as a spiritual director, I will write my work with people is to help them find and work alongside the Spirit of God that I believe inhabits those who profess to be Jesus followers. A good counselor will probably offer a more clinical approach to life issues offering more concrete suggestions and guidance than I would. My approach is more relational, God alongside the people I sit with knowing He will offer guidance. Ah, but I digress a little from what I want to write here.
It really wasn't that long ago when counselling was more under the radar, less accepted than it currently is. It really was just a generation ago. My own family is a good example of that. The three children that grew up in my family of origin needed some help. Frankly, our family was not a very healthy family emotionally speaking. We all three grew up forming self images that were not helpful or healthy for moving well into life.
There was just one experience one of the three of us had with professional counseling, my older sister Carla was taken to the only counselor in the little town we grew up in. As I was told a few years ago, Carla went to some consultations alone with the counselor. When it was time for the counselor to speak to my parents about their findings, my mother was told that much of the difficulty with Carla stemmed from her very combative relationship with Mom. It was the last meeting they had with the counselor.
A few years later I experienced a suicide attempt. I really needed some help but nothing was sought out for me; I was left alone to deal with the fallout. My attempt was never spoken of again after mother asked me a week later if I was going to be okay just before my parents left for a planned vacation leaving me alone at home to care for my youngest sister. The implication was I needed to be okay for them to leave as planned.
I share these experiences to exemplify how shameful it once was thought to need counselling. The needs were often never met with any professional help. Issues were simply swept under the carpet and hopefully forgotten. I don't believe my experience with needing help was not unique nor was the lack of finding help unique. It simply was not done one short generation ago. Thankfully, this is no longer the case.
I believe a good counselor will take the time to gradually listen, offering insights into whatever is the presenting issue with an eye to letting the person coming to them to gradually see themselves with the issue. It takes time to come to that point where one can bravely look at themselves in the mirror the counselor has gradually offered them. It takes courage to look in the mirror but there can be a great deal of healing that takes place if that courage can be found. Mirror holding is a large part of a what a good counselor will do.
They will also offer help, suggestions for what is needed once we are able to gaze into the mirror and see ourselves. It can be difficult to actually see where we've contributed to issues that confound our personal emotional growth. It is also hard work to start to re-think issues that often enslave us to old paradigms that no longer work.
This brings me to one of the titles given to Jesus in Isaiah, Wonderful Counselor. Please note, there is no comma, this is one title in two words. This title goes along with Emmanuel, His "with us" in the flesh, knowing what we are as humans, spiritual beings in human form. Without His "with us" His ability to be the Wonderful Counselor would be hindered. The Wonderful Counselor flows out of Him being Emmanuel, God with us.
Now, what a counselor we truly have. He is kind, slow to anger and patient with us and He has a view of who we are, right now at this moment, broken and flawed as we are. He gently wants us to see something though. He not only sees who we are at this moment but He also sees with absolute clarity who we truly are in Him. He sees a completeness and a beauty in us that only He can see yet wants us, no, He longs and desires as only He can desire that we become courageous enough to glimpse at what He sees in us. I am not sure we can handle more than a glimpse most of the time, but once we do, I believe we will fall down and worship this One who is so kind and patient with us in our unwillingness to believe.
He desires for us to believe not only who He is but who we are in Him. Remember, we are told we are one with Him who is One with the Father. It is an astounding fact that should shake us to the core in such a way that we give up our illusion of not needing Him. He truly is the Wonderful Counselor who has known me at my worst far more deeply than I can know my worst. And yet, He does not back away, He does not blink, He simply loves me deeply into seeing a bit of what I truly am in Him.
In this Advent season, may we ponder what a Wonderful Counselor we have in the One who came to redeem us into His kingdom and to shake us at the core so that we will see and know Emmanual, God with us, our Wonderful Counselor.
It really wasn't that long ago when counselling was more under the radar, less accepted than it currently is. It really was just a generation ago. My own family is a good example of that. The three children that grew up in my family of origin needed some help. Frankly, our family was not a very healthy family emotionally speaking. We all three grew up forming self images that were not helpful or healthy for moving well into life.
There was just one experience one of the three of us had with professional counseling, my older sister Carla was taken to the only counselor in the little town we grew up in. As I was told a few years ago, Carla went to some consultations alone with the counselor. When it was time for the counselor to speak to my parents about their findings, my mother was told that much of the difficulty with Carla stemmed from her very combative relationship with Mom. It was the last meeting they had with the counselor.
A few years later I experienced a suicide attempt. I really needed some help but nothing was sought out for me; I was left alone to deal with the fallout. My attempt was never spoken of again after mother asked me a week later if I was going to be okay just before my parents left for a planned vacation leaving me alone at home to care for my youngest sister. The implication was I needed to be okay for them to leave as planned.
I share these experiences to exemplify how shameful it once was thought to need counselling. The needs were often never met with any professional help. Issues were simply swept under the carpet and hopefully forgotten. I don't believe my experience with needing help was not unique nor was the lack of finding help unique. It simply was not done one short generation ago. Thankfully, this is no longer the case.
I believe a good counselor will take the time to gradually listen, offering insights into whatever is the presenting issue with an eye to letting the person coming to them to gradually see themselves with the issue. It takes time to come to that point where one can bravely look at themselves in the mirror the counselor has gradually offered them. It takes courage to look in the mirror but there can be a great deal of healing that takes place if that courage can be found. Mirror holding is a large part of a what a good counselor will do.
They will also offer help, suggestions for what is needed once we are able to gaze into the mirror and see ourselves. It can be difficult to actually see where we've contributed to issues that confound our personal emotional growth. It is also hard work to start to re-think issues that often enslave us to old paradigms that no longer work.
This brings me to one of the titles given to Jesus in Isaiah, Wonderful Counselor. Please note, there is no comma, this is one title in two words. This title goes along with Emmanuel, His "with us" in the flesh, knowing what we are as humans, spiritual beings in human form. Without His "with us" His ability to be the Wonderful Counselor would be hindered. The Wonderful Counselor flows out of Him being Emmanuel, God with us.
Now, what a counselor we truly have. He is kind, slow to anger and patient with us and He has a view of who we are, right now at this moment, broken and flawed as we are. He gently wants us to see something though. He not only sees who we are at this moment but He also sees with absolute clarity who we truly are in Him. He sees a completeness and a beauty in us that only He can see yet wants us, no, He longs and desires as only He can desire that we become courageous enough to glimpse at what He sees in us. I am not sure we can handle more than a glimpse most of the time, but once we do, I believe we will fall down and worship this One who is so kind and patient with us in our unwillingness to believe.
He desires for us to believe not only who He is but who we are in Him. Remember, we are told we are one with Him who is One with the Father. It is an astounding fact that should shake us to the core in such a way that we give up our illusion of not needing Him. He truly is the Wonderful Counselor who has known me at my worst far more deeply than I can know my worst. And yet, He does not back away, He does not blink, He simply loves me deeply into seeing a bit of what I truly am in Him.
In this Advent season, may we ponder what a Wonderful Counselor we have in the One who came to redeem us into His kingdom and to shake us at the core so that we will see and know Emmanual, God with us, our Wonderful Counselor.
Monday, November 27, 2017
Emmanuel
Here we are again, in the season of Advent. I did not grow up in a church that followed the four Sundays of Advent with a wreath and candles lit one after the other during those Sundays. It was a recent addition to my celebration in my present church where I found and hungered for those words and acts of preparation for His coming. Unfortunately, with the passage of leadership, my church no longer follows this tradition. I miss it.
So, in light of this hunger for my own personal preparation, I've begun to write something of my thoughts regarding this holy season. Tonight, in time with Abba, I was struck by this name given to Jesus; Emmanuel, God with us.
If we take a moment and let that idea sink in we may find ourselves in awe of the very act of birth, the birth of this child we believe was conceived in mystery and miracle. We who follow Jesus believe He was God in the flesh, God with us. He began human life as we all do, as a babe.
Now I can't presume to know what it was for Him to find Himself wrapped in baby flesh fresh from the womb. Did He look into His mother's eyes and see and know who she was and who He was yet limited by baby flesh? We really don't understand incarnation from His point of view. It is and always will be a mystery. What I do believe is this, God was flesh and dwelt among us as first a baby, then toddler, then child, then teenager, then a young man at Joseph's side learning a skill He would not use. He then became fully a man set apart to do what only He could do, offer salvation to the whole world. These are the core beliefs of any who profess to follow Him, facts only appropriated through faith.
God with us. It brings either belief or unbelief. There isn't much middle ground here. In my belief, I am stunned again at the act of coming to be one of us for a time; to know hunger, thirst, weariness, joy, sorrow, anger, frustration, temptation, love.
If we allow ourselves to be honest, setting aside our religion, we will know we are hungry for this kind of God who would do such a thing, become like us, fully man and fully God. Again, I am in awe of the mystery of incarnation.
I need Emmanual, God with me more than I can imagine and I did allow myself to taste again the hunger of needing His "with us" tonight.
We can move past a corporate knowing and awe and allow our own hearts to hear and know His "with us" at the personal level He truly came to introduce us to. Remember in that last night before His arrest He told the eleven remaining disciples He was one with the Father and they were one with Him. He's talking about His "with us" and how it might be for us.
Sin always wants to come in and corrupt the holy relationship He has set in place. We fall often and for some of us, we fall hard. We may have marveled at His "with us" during those mountaintop experiences He brings us to from time to time, but it is when sin has done it's dirty work is when we need His "with us". We are dead in the water without His "with us" to guide us along.
We think we've been separated when sin comes. Frankly, I no longer believe that. There is a shift in the relationship but He's not departed. He is there at our lowest points. It really is scandalous what this "with us" means in those dark places we find ourselves in. I am reminded though of some of His last words recorded before being taken up to heaven, "Lo, I am with you always." There is no caveat to that kind of "with us" that may say "I am with you until you really blow it then you are sort of on your own until you come to your senses". I don't read that anywhere and yet too often we think that is how He responds to us.
So I am struck with the scandal of His "with us" when all others might depart. I am struck with knowing He was with me wherever I may have wandered and His "with us" has come to find me when I'd rather run and hid from His loving gaze.
Emmanuel, God with us, an essential component of Advent if we are to truly celebrate His coming.
So, in light of this hunger for my own personal preparation, I've begun to write something of my thoughts regarding this holy season. Tonight, in time with Abba, I was struck by this name given to Jesus; Emmanuel, God with us.
If we take a moment and let that idea sink in we may find ourselves in awe of the very act of birth, the birth of this child we believe was conceived in mystery and miracle. We who follow Jesus believe He was God in the flesh, God with us. He began human life as we all do, as a babe.
Now I can't presume to know what it was for Him to find Himself wrapped in baby flesh fresh from the womb. Did He look into His mother's eyes and see and know who she was and who He was yet limited by baby flesh? We really don't understand incarnation from His point of view. It is and always will be a mystery. What I do believe is this, God was flesh and dwelt among us as first a baby, then toddler, then child, then teenager, then a young man at Joseph's side learning a skill He would not use. He then became fully a man set apart to do what only He could do, offer salvation to the whole world. These are the core beliefs of any who profess to follow Him, facts only appropriated through faith.
God with us. It brings either belief or unbelief. There isn't much middle ground here. In my belief, I am stunned again at the act of coming to be one of us for a time; to know hunger, thirst, weariness, joy, sorrow, anger, frustration, temptation, love.
If we allow ourselves to be honest, setting aside our religion, we will know we are hungry for this kind of God who would do such a thing, become like us, fully man and fully God. Again, I am in awe of the mystery of incarnation.
I need Emmanual, God with me more than I can imagine and I did allow myself to taste again the hunger of needing His "with us" tonight.
We can move past a corporate knowing and awe and allow our own hearts to hear and know His "with us" at the personal level He truly came to introduce us to. Remember in that last night before His arrest He told the eleven remaining disciples He was one with the Father and they were one with Him. He's talking about His "with us" and how it might be for us.
Sin always wants to come in and corrupt the holy relationship He has set in place. We fall often and for some of us, we fall hard. We may have marveled at His "with us" during those mountaintop experiences He brings us to from time to time, but it is when sin has done it's dirty work is when we need His "with us". We are dead in the water without His "with us" to guide us along.
We think we've been separated when sin comes. Frankly, I no longer believe that. There is a shift in the relationship but He's not departed. He is there at our lowest points. It really is scandalous what this "with us" means in those dark places we find ourselves in. I am reminded though of some of His last words recorded before being taken up to heaven, "Lo, I am with you always." There is no caveat to that kind of "with us" that may say "I am with you until you really blow it then you are sort of on your own until you come to your senses". I don't read that anywhere and yet too often we think that is how He responds to us.
So I am struck with the scandal of His "with us" when all others might depart. I am struck with knowing He was with me wherever I may have wandered and His "with us" has come to find me when I'd rather run and hid from His loving gaze.
Emmanuel, God with us, an essential component of Advent if we are to truly celebrate His coming.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Identity
I can't seem to get away from the issue of identity lately.
I am not thinking about my name, although there is a bit of a story there and we all know what it means to hear our name called out; someone wants our attention, wants to tell us something, wants us for some reason. Often, it is good to hear our name, sometimes, not so much.
What I am thinking about is identity, who we think and believe we are, and who we really are. I am also pondering why this issue, above most others, is the one area our enemy assaults more often then other areas. In fact, I am fast coming to the belief any assault on us will eventually zero in on our identity.
I think we develop our beliefs about who we are, identity, in our family of origin. As a parent of adults I am humbled by the power I had to help my two children develop in this area. I would like to report I was intentional about this important part of parenting, frankly I wasn't. We had dinner last night with our two children. Our daughter treated us all to celebrate an important promotion/milestone in her career. It was a good night and I am blessed by the two adults that call me "Dad".
No matter how any of us were parented, we came away with a fractured view of who we are. I think many of us came away from our families so fractured that an identity overhaul was necessary if we were to get along in life. Some of us turn to career, some to therapy, some to ceaseless activity. All these endeavors will only be marginally successful in redeeming our identity.
At the core of our identity, if we are to hold to a biblical view, is our heart. We are told it is the well spring of life and should be guarded at all costs. It is the center of who we are whether we are followers of Jesus or we are not.
As a Jesus follower, I believe a large part of the full work accomplished through his death, resurrection and ascension is the giving of a new heart, a heart of flesh, for those who submit their lives to His lordship. Paul is telling us this when he writes that we are new creatures in Christ. Another writer I enjoy, Frank Viola, states we are a new species. If you stop to think about that idea, it might just rock your world.
John Eldredge, in his book, The Sacred Romance, outlines an ascension of identities moving from Clay in the potter's hands to Sheep to Servants to Children to Friends to finally, Beloved. I won't cite here his full quote, it's lengthy but powerful. You can find it on page 96 if you are so inclined. The point is, there are many layers to this new identity we receive at our second births. John's view is that we ascend through these to the final identity of Beloved. I think there is truth to this but there are times I must return back to Clay in God's hands when confronted with some things that come my way. All of these identities are important at various times in our lives.
The ultimate identity of Beloved is the one singular identity our enemy is after though. When we finally begin to believe from our core that we are Beloved in the Trinity's sight, so much of who we are and who we are meant to be falls into place. Pieces of the puzzle of who we are snap into their appointed places and potential clarity is offered. It is not easy to finally arrive at the point of deep belief in our status of Beloved and few truly get to that level. It's easier to think of ourselves as Sheep, Children or Friends of God. Belovedness carries a lot of weight that sometimes we aren't prepared to live with. BELOVED is what He calls us, though.
The assault on this identity sometimes comes at our own hands when sin arrives, as it always will. We listen to the voice, either our own, patterned by years of use, or the enemy's voice of accusation. The voice tells us that if we truly are Beloved, we would not do what we've just done. Sometimes we are reluctant to enter into confession and repentance thinking if we wallow in the guilt for a while we will be "cured" of our propensity towards the sin. Of course this is just one more lie we either tell ourselves or we listen to. Guilt-wallowing will do nothing to cure what only Grace can cure. We must always come back to Abba and His Grace when sin enters the realm of our identity.
There are times though, when we are trapped by something and we are in need of another Grace, the Grace of God's people, brothers and sisters who will listen and help us, who may need to come and gently correct and restore our shattered sense of identity.
It is this function, this activity I turn to now; the function we may offer to others of being a part of the royal priesthood of believers. How best may we come alongside a dear one who may be trapped in something too powerful for them to overcome without the Body of Christ coming alongside? At the core of this ministry is gentleness, a gentleness born out of humility, a humility born out of the notion we too may get caught in something too large for us to handle on our own.
It is a ministry of seeing, seeing what is going on; a ministry of listening, hearing what our friend is going through in all its details; a ministry of wisdom, taking care of what is said; a ministry of reconciliation, helping our weak brother to find their footing once again as a Beloved one. Anytime we are prompted to come alongside we need to be very careful in how we approach our friend. Care must be taken to not do violence to our brother. Let me say this again, care must be taken to not do violence to our brother.
How could we possibly do violence at this point? There are many ways and unfortunately I have seen this happen often. It occurs when we don't take the time to think carefully about how our weak friend may respond. What will be our strategy if they completely reject us with anger? It also happens when we are so convinced of an issue that we don't really listen well to how our weak friend found themselves in a point of bondage. It also occurs when we do violence to God's identity already bestowed on our weak brother.
At first glance this idea of violence may seem an overstatement, but Jesus made this last point when talking about murder in the Sermon on the Mount. He tells us that when we call a brother "Raca" (most translate this to mean "idiot") we have committed murder, we have done violence to God's identity for our brother.
In coming alongside a weak brother, we need to always be careful to address what we have observed in our friend's behavior, what have we seen that gives us cause for concern. Approaching from this point of view hopefully may open up dialog that will reveal what has trapped our friend; conversation that will give deeper insight into what is going on and what other factors, unknown to us, have brought our friend to needing some help. Wisdom then may flow into the conversation as the Spirit in us and the Spirit in our brother find common ground on which help and strength may be found.
The violence occurs when we jump ahead too quickly and begin to rename our friend's identity, often an identity that runs counter to who God has already called our friend. We must always remember our weak brother is still Beloved. Anything offered in the way of identity that does not support the core of Belovedness does violence to our brother and will probably shut the hoped for conversation of help down in anger.
As mentioned above, Paul tells us to go to another with gentleness because we too may fall into sin and need the ministry of "coming along side". I don't think he necessarily meant we may fall into the same sin our weaker brother has fallen into. What I do think he means is that if we do violence against the identity of our weak brother, we too may find ourselves being treated with the same sin of violence against our identity in Christ.
Belovedness must be guarded at all costs. It has been bestowed at a great cost by Abba, and is the source from which all wholeness flows. It is a wholeness we all crave and hunger for since we are all broken and in need of wholeness.
The ministry of "coming along side" demands care, wisdom and above all, God's love flowing through us to one in need.
I am not thinking about my name, although there is a bit of a story there and we all know what it means to hear our name called out; someone wants our attention, wants to tell us something, wants us for some reason. Often, it is good to hear our name, sometimes, not so much.
What I am thinking about is identity, who we think and believe we are, and who we really are. I am also pondering why this issue, above most others, is the one area our enemy assaults more often then other areas. In fact, I am fast coming to the belief any assault on us will eventually zero in on our identity.
I think we develop our beliefs about who we are, identity, in our family of origin. As a parent of adults I am humbled by the power I had to help my two children develop in this area. I would like to report I was intentional about this important part of parenting, frankly I wasn't. We had dinner last night with our two children. Our daughter treated us all to celebrate an important promotion/milestone in her career. It was a good night and I am blessed by the two adults that call me "Dad".
No matter how any of us were parented, we came away with a fractured view of who we are. I think many of us came away from our families so fractured that an identity overhaul was necessary if we were to get along in life. Some of us turn to career, some to therapy, some to ceaseless activity. All these endeavors will only be marginally successful in redeeming our identity.
At the core of our identity, if we are to hold to a biblical view, is our heart. We are told it is the well spring of life and should be guarded at all costs. It is the center of who we are whether we are followers of Jesus or we are not.
As a Jesus follower, I believe a large part of the full work accomplished through his death, resurrection and ascension is the giving of a new heart, a heart of flesh, for those who submit their lives to His lordship. Paul is telling us this when he writes that we are new creatures in Christ. Another writer I enjoy, Frank Viola, states we are a new species. If you stop to think about that idea, it might just rock your world.
John Eldredge, in his book, The Sacred Romance, outlines an ascension of identities moving from Clay in the potter's hands to Sheep to Servants to Children to Friends to finally, Beloved. I won't cite here his full quote, it's lengthy but powerful. You can find it on page 96 if you are so inclined. The point is, there are many layers to this new identity we receive at our second births. John's view is that we ascend through these to the final identity of Beloved. I think there is truth to this but there are times I must return back to Clay in God's hands when confronted with some things that come my way. All of these identities are important at various times in our lives.
The ultimate identity of Beloved is the one singular identity our enemy is after though. When we finally begin to believe from our core that we are Beloved in the Trinity's sight, so much of who we are and who we are meant to be falls into place. Pieces of the puzzle of who we are snap into their appointed places and potential clarity is offered. It is not easy to finally arrive at the point of deep belief in our status of Beloved and few truly get to that level. It's easier to think of ourselves as Sheep, Children or Friends of God. Belovedness carries a lot of weight that sometimes we aren't prepared to live with. BELOVED is what He calls us, though.
The assault on this identity sometimes comes at our own hands when sin arrives, as it always will. We listen to the voice, either our own, patterned by years of use, or the enemy's voice of accusation. The voice tells us that if we truly are Beloved, we would not do what we've just done. Sometimes we are reluctant to enter into confession and repentance thinking if we wallow in the guilt for a while we will be "cured" of our propensity towards the sin. Of course this is just one more lie we either tell ourselves or we listen to. Guilt-wallowing will do nothing to cure what only Grace can cure. We must always come back to Abba and His Grace when sin enters the realm of our identity.
There are times though, when we are trapped by something and we are in need of another Grace, the Grace of God's people, brothers and sisters who will listen and help us, who may need to come and gently correct and restore our shattered sense of identity.
It is this function, this activity I turn to now; the function we may offer to others of being a part of the royal priesthood of believers. How best may we come alongside a dear one who may be trapped in something too powerful for them to overcome without the Body of Christ coming alongside? At the core of this ministry is gentleness, a gentleness born out of humility, a humility born out of the notion we too may get caught in something too large for us to handle on our own.
It is a ministry of seeing, seeing what is going on; a ministry of listening, hearing what our friend is going through in all its details; a ministry of wisdom, taking care of what is said; a ministry of reconciliation, helping our weak brother to find their footing once again as a Beloved one. Anytime we are prompted to come alongside we need to be very careful in how we approach our friend. Care must be taken to not do violence to our brother. Let me say this again, care must be taken to not do violence to our brother.
How could we possibly do violence at this point? There are many ways and unfortunately I have seen this happen often. It occurs when we don't take the time to think carefully about how our weak friend may respond. What will be our strategy if they completely reject us with anger? It also happens when we are so convinced of an issue that we don't really listen well to how our weak friend found themselves in a point of bondage. It also occurs when we do violence to God's identity already bestowed on our weak brother.
At first glance this idea of violence may seem an overstatement, but Jesus made this last point when talking about murder in the Sermon on the Mount. He tells us that when we call a brother "Raca" (most translate this to mean "idiot") we have committed murder, we have done violence to God's identity for our brother.
In coming alongside a weak brother, we need to always be careful to address what we have observed in our friend's behavior, what have we seen that gives us cause for concern. Approaching from this point of view hopefully may open up dialog that will reveal what has trapped our friend; conversation that will give deeper insight into what is going on and what other factors, unknown to us, have brought our friend to needing some help. Wisdom then may flow into the conversation as the Spirit in us and the Spirit in our brother find common ground on which help and strength may be found.
The violence occurs when we jump ahead too quickly and begin to rename our friend's identity, often an identity that runs counter to who God has already called our friend. We must always remember our weak brother is still Beloved. Anything offered in the way of identity that does not support the core of Belovedness does violence to our brother and will probably shut the hoped for conversation of help down in anger.
As mentioned above, Paul tells us to go to another with gentleness because we too may fall into sin and need the ministry of "coming along side". I don't think he necessarily meant we may fall into the same sin our weaker brother has fallen into. What I do think he means is that if we do violence against the identity of our weak brother, we too may find ourselves being treated with the same sin of violence against our identity in Christ.
Belovedness must be guarded at all costs. It has been bestowed at a great cost by Abba, and is the source from which all wholeness flows. It is a wholeness we all crave and hunger for since we are all broken and in need of wholeness.
The ministry of "coming along side" demands care, wisdom and above all, God's love flowing through us to one in need.
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Assault
Recently, someone dear to me had an experience that caused them much hurt. They invited all their co-workers over to their home. Having stocked her table with food and drink she sat and waited. No one showed up. No one. As she told it, one person had said they wouldn't make it, but no one else expressed their regrets.
Any of us would have been deeply hurt. This experience for some would have dredged up all the old childhood hurts and fears that were imprinted during those crucial years. As adults we'd like to think we would be above such hurt and disappointment, but if we are honest with ourselves, we too would be deeply hurt.
This hit all the old hurts and they declared loudly to all who might see it on Facebook that she was a loser. Haven't we all had those experiences? Haven't we all struggled at some point in our life with that voice that screams we are a loser?
After a couple of weeks of prayer and thought I felt led to write. This is what I wrote (with some edits) :
"I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened with your girl’s night party. I need to say at the outset that what you did was brave, it is not an easy thing to offer hospitality. It is okay that you feel hurt deeply by what happened. Please see that you were brave and your actions were not something a loser would do. What we do when we offer hospitality is offer love. A loser can’t really do that.
We have an enemy whose main tactic is to assault our true identity in Jesus. This assault always starts in our family of origin and this is very true of me. I was never given good tools to face this assault, mostly because neither mom nor dad understood this truth. Dad would have considered this “religion” and he had that locked up in a strong box to keep it away from real life. Mom was so damaged from the assault on her she had little to offer to her children. I was left to find my own tools, a search that led into the enemy’s hands. He offered tools that seemed to fit my damage hands and heart. I turned on myself and learned to listen to his false narrative for me.
His whispered words may grow so comfortable to us that he’s now hidden behind the illusion that we are hearing our own thoughts. They are not. It is his assault on us that is designed to sound like us but really isn’t. Your declaration that you are a loser is not your voice, not your heart, not you.
What truly is there in you, your deepest place? I’m not sure I should define that. It’s a path of discovery for you and God to journey on. However, I will say He does not see you as a loser. How do I know? That message is a destructive message and destruction is not part of His voice for us. His voice is one of peace and delight, even in the midst of pain and the hurt that comes in this journey. It may be a gentle voice of reproof but never the destruction that “loser” offers.
This distinction gives us a firm clue about the voice that assaults us. What is the outcome of the voice, is it turmoil or peace? Is it what you really want to think or do you feel pushed and compelled to destruction by the thought? The enemy hides and pushes at the same time so when you sense turmoil, destruction and compulsion, chances are the thought is not of God nor your truest self; there is someone else in the room. Understanding this distinction of voice gives us insight into the first piece in the Armor of God, the belt of truth; truth of who God is and His voice, who you are in Him and who and what our enemy is up to.
What do I see in regards to the truth of who you are? I see a woman who was brave to do what she did, a woman who offered love and friendship, a woman who got deeply hurt at the rejection of this offering, a woman who needs to rest in the grace offered by our Father, a woman who can learn to treat herself with that same grace, a woman who can learn to hear better the kind and gloriously transformative voice of the Spirit that resides in her. I also see a woman who isn’t sure she believes all this.
So, learn to rest in Him. Let Him have the confusion you might feel now. Tell Him about how hurt you are. Allow Him entrance into this wound. As transformation begins, and it will, let Him have the wounds one by one as He reveals them. This may take some time but remember, we have an eternity with Him so this isn’t a sprint but a marathon.
He’s madly in love with you even if you don’t feel it. He’s never walking away from you because you’re not sure you will ever “get it”. He sees you, every single line and stroke of every single letter in every single word in every single sentence in every single paragraph of every single page of the story of your life. None of it, the good and the bad, will alter how crazy mad in love He is with you. He’s got this and will whisper into you what your heart yearns to hear. Stop and let some stillness seep into the cracks of your life, you will find Him there.
No, you are not a loser. This I know and I suspect much more is there in you but that is up to you and God to find. He’s got much better timing than I do but He wanted me to tell you all this and tell you, you are not a loser. You are brave. Bravery does not flow from losers."
As I wrote this and have reflected on this I know, not too long ago, I too felt I was a loser. It wasn't until I understood that through the full work of Christ I have a new heart that I could trust to hear a different narrative for me, a narrative spoken by the Spirit that indwells me. Until then, I didn't understand well the assault I had been under for the previous 51 years.
We who follow Jesus are hated and this enemy will do anything to keep us from the truth of who we are in Christ. We are redeemed and adopted into the family of God and by this adoption we have the authority of Jesus to stand against this enemy when he seeks to destroy by dredging up the old narrative he designed for us.
Think and ponder this wonderful truth, we belong to the Almighty God who has defeated the enemy.
Any of us would have been deeply hurt. This experience for some would have dredged up all the old childhood hurts and fears that were imprinted during those crucial years. As adults we'd like to think we would be above such hurt and disappointment, but if we are honest with ourselves, we too would be deeply hurt.
This hit all the old hurts and they declared loudly to all who might see it on Facebook that she was a loser. Haven't we all had those experiences? Haven't we all struggled at some point in our life with that voice that screams we are a loser?
After a couple of weeks of prayer and thought I felt led to write. This is what I wrote (with some edits) :
"I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened with your girl’s night party. I need to say at the outset that what you did was brave, it is not an easy thing to offer hospitality. It is okay that you feel hurt deeply by what happened. Please see that you were brave and your actions were not something a loser would do. What we do when we offer hospitality is offer love. A loser can’t really do that.
We have an enemy whose main tactic is to assault our true identity in Jesus. This assault always starts in our family of origin and this is very true of me. I was never given good tools to face this assault, mostly because neither mom nor dad understood this truth. Dad would have considered this “religion” and he had that locked up in a strong box to keep it away from real life. Mom was so damaged from the assault on her she had little to offer to her children. I was left to find my own tools, a search that led into the enemy’s hands. He offered tools that seemed to fit my damage hands and heart. I turned on myself and learned to listen to his false narrative for me.
His whispered words may grow so comfortable to us that he’s now hidden behind the illusion that we are hearing our own thoughts. They are not. It is his assault on us that is designed to sound like us but really isn’t. Your declaration that you are a loser is not your voice, not your heart, not you.
What truly is there in you, your deepest place? I’m not sure I should define that. It’s a path of discovery for you and God to journey on. However, I will say He does not see you as a loser. How do I know? That message is a destructive message and destruction is not part of His voice for us. His voice is one of peace and delight, even in the midst of pain and the hurt that comes in this journey. It may be a gentle voice of reproof but never the destruction that “loser” offers.
This distinction gives us a firm clue about the voice that assaults us. What is the outcome of the voice, is it turmoil or peace? Is it what you really want to think or do you feel pushed and compelled to destruction by the thought? The enemy hides and pushes at the same time so when you sense turmoil, destruction and compulsion, chances are the thought is not of God nor your truest self; there is someone else in the room. Understanding this distinction of voice gives us insight into the first piece in the Armor of God, the belt of truth; truth of who God is and His voice, who you are in Him and who and what our enemy is up to.
What do I see in regards to the truth of who you are? I see a woman who was brave to do what she did, a woman who offered love and friendship, a woman who got deeply hurt at the rejection of this offering, a woman who needs to rest in the grace offered by our Father, a woman who can learn to treat herself with that same grace, a woman who can learn to hear better the kind and gloriously transformative voice of the Spirit that resides in her. I also see a woman who isn’t sure she believes all this.
So, learn to rest in Him. Let Him have the confusion you might feel now. Tell Him about how hurt you are. Allow Him entrance into this wound. As transformation begins, and it will, let Him have the wounds one by one as He reveals them. This may take some time but remember, we have an eternity with Him so this isn’t a sprint but a marathon.
He’s madly in love with you even if you don’t feel it. He’s never walking away from you because you’re not sure you will ever “get it”. He sees you, every single line and stroke of every single letter in every single word in every single sentence in every single paragraph of every single page of the story of your life. None of it, the good and the bad, will alter how crazy mad in love He is with you. He’s got this and will whisper into you what your heart yearns to hear. Stop and let some stillness seep into the cracks of your life, you will find Him there.
No, you are not a loser. This I know and I suspect much more is there in you but that is up to you and God to find. He’s got much better timing than I do but He wanted me to tell you all this and tell you, you are not a loser. You are brave. Bravery does not flow from losers."
As I wrote this and have reflected on this I know, not too long ago, I too felt I was a loser. It wasn't until I understood that through the full work of Christ I have a new heart that I could trust to hear a different narrative for me, a narrative spoken by the Spirit that indwells me. Until then, I didn't understand well the assault I had been under for the previous 51 years.
We who follow Jesus are hated and this enemy will do anything to keep us from the truth of who we are in Christ. We are redeemed and adopted into the family of God and by this adoption we have the authority of Jesus to stand against this enemy when he seeks to destroy by dredging up the old narrative he designed for us.
Think and ponder this wonderful truth, we belong to the Almighty God who has defeated the enemy.
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Bench
Last Saturday I drove up to the Middle Fork of the Yuba river by myself. It is the place where our family and extended families with aunts and uncles and cousins would go and camp together. It was only about 35 miles from the home I grew up in but it always felt like a world away. The road was twisty and turny the last 15 miles but as the years went on the state highway department straightened out the road in places it was possible. There still is a steep and twisty climb into and out of the canyon that holds the South Fork of the Yuba. Every time I drive that road I think of my cousin David.
David and I were close from the very beginning with me being about 5 weeks older than he. He grew up in Napa but our families would get together often for holidays and other times. When we were both finishing up the 8th grade we hatched a plan, an adventure. We decided that summer we would buy 10 speed bikes and ride from my parents home to the Yuba river and camp by ourselves for a few days. Neither of us knew if our parents would agree but we gave it a shot. Surprisingly they agreed. To this day I have the letter David sent me, special delivery, with the envelope back flap saying, "She said yes!!!!!!" meaning David's mother.
It was a long ride up and we had a real adventure with a few days camping on the river we both loved.
As it happens, we both grew up and we grew apart. We rarely see each other. A few years ago David called me and wanted to get together. He drove to my house, we had lunch together and ended up on a park bench on the state capitol grounds. We talked for a couple hours. It was good.
I'm currently sitting on our front porch. We have a small round table and two inviting chairs. I've had more than one significant conversation with people in these chairs. It is one of my favorite places.
We use to have a bench out front. It was a good bench but only fit two people rather snugly. I didn't spend as much time out front as I do now but I liked the bench, I like benches in general. They seem to be a visual invitation by some unseen person to sit for a moment, alone or with someone.
I've noticed something lately about how we tend to speak of our relationship with God. It is more often than not centered around us learning something. I often hear, "I think God is wanting to teach me something in this situation." As I've noticed how often I hear similar phrases from many people I wonder if this is how He wants us to primarily think of Him? Is this the main way we've taught people to relate to God as the cosmic school teacher whose only goal is to get our lessons learned?
I've also noticed how often people mention that God is working on them over some issue in their life. It seems like we see Him as the cosmic trainer trying to make us better. I suspect we are complicit in this because we believe if we are better He will love us more. It only stands to reason that He will always be about working on us about something.
Then there are those who are just a mess, broken and they know it, shattered and laying in a heap. I hear from those folks the expectation that God primarily needs to put the pieces back together so they can get on with life. They expect He's mainly about scooping up the pieces and putting things back together, impatiently waiting for the next mess He will have to clean up. I think many in this camp think God is mostly put out with them as He waits for us to stop making the messes we often make.
I'm not saying He isn't this type of God, that He isn't interested in us learning, or our transformation or the broken messes we get ourselves into. These are important issues He is interested in. Rather I'm suggesting He might want to have a different relationship with us.
Picture a bench. Its a wide wooden bench with a curved back all painted white. Its situated on a slight rise giving anyone who sits a view of green grass rolling off into the distance. Large oak trees are dotted in the green field and in the distance is a soccer field. Behind it are several evergreens that give a gentle enclosure for the spot of invitation.
You've driven past this spot many times on your way to work and running errands but today you stop. You've had one of those days where your own stubborn broken places have reigned. Your mouth accurately reflected an attitude you are now ashamed of. It's old territory for you and you are weary of the cycle you find yourself in. You need to give yourself a little time before finishing the drive home. You take a deep breath and on the exhale you pray, "God, I can't do this anymore". It is then you notice the bench for the first time. "Had it always been there?", you ask yourself.
Unthinking you leave the car behind and make the short walk up the slope. You stand there at the bench and wonder if you dare take the time to sit, dare to expect God might be in this moment. Its then you notice the little desire creep into your mind and a voice, "Sit here with me". "Is it possible that He really wants to sit with me after the day I've had?" It seems almost scandalous but you sit and pour it all out to God.
Is it at all possible that God is saying, "Yes, I see all this, I know this pattern in you well and we will work on this but first things first. Just sit with me and know that you are loved, even the broken places that trip you up time and again. Just sit with me and let me love you, know you are loved. Now look up and see, take in this park. Notice the children playing soccer. Let me love you first before all other things that seem so pressing to you."
Is it at all possible that God first wants to be known by His love for us before all the other roles our needs thrust upon Him? Is it possible we can simply sit, side by side with Him on a bench letting our expectations of Him melt away?
David and I were close from the very beginning with me being about 5 weeks older than he. He grew up in Napa but our families would get together often for holidays and other times. When we were both finishing up the 8th grade we hatched a plan, an adventure. We decided that summer we would buy 10 speed bikes and ride from my parents home to the Yuba river and camp by ourselves for a few days. Neither of us knew if our parents would agree but we gave it a shot. Surprisingly they agreed. To this day I have the letter David sent me, special delivery, with the envelope back flap saying, "She said yes!!!!!!" meaning David's mother.
It was a long ride up and we had a real adventure with a few days camping on the river we both loved.
As it happens, we both grew up and we grew apart. We rarely see each other. A few years ago David called me and wanted to get together. He drove to my house, we had lunch together and ended up on a park bench on the state capitol grounds. We talked for a couple hours. It was good.
I'm currently sitting on our front porch. We have a small round table and two inviting chairs. I've had more than one significant conversation with people in these chairs. It is one of my favorite places.
We use to have a bench out front. It was a good bench but only fit two people rather snugly. I didn't spend as much time out front as I do now but I liked the bench, I like benches in general. They seem to be a visual invitation by some unseen person to sit for a moment, alone or with someone.
I've noticed something lately about how we tend to speak of our relationship with God. It is more often than not centered around us learning something. I often hear, "I think God is wanting to teach me something in this situation." As I've noticed how often I hear similar phrases from many people I wonder if this is how He wants us to primarily think of Him? Is this the main way we've taught people to relate to God as the cosmic school teacher whose only goal is to get our lessons learned?
I've also noticed how often people mention that God is working on them over some issue in their life. It seems like we see Him as the cosmic trainer trying to make us better. I suspect we are complicit in this because we believe if we are better He will love us more. It only stands to reason that He will always be about working on us about something.
Then there are those who are just a mess, broken and they know it, shattered and laying in a heap. I hear from those folks the expectation that God primarily needs to put the pieces back together so they can get on with life. They expect He's mainly about scooping up the pieces and putting things back together, impatiently waiting for the next mess He will have to clean up. I think many in this camp think God is mostly put out with them as He waits for us to stop making the messes we often make.
I'm not saying He isn't this type of God, that He isn't interested in us learning, or our transformation or the broken messes we get ourselves into. These are important issues He is interested in. Rather I'm suggesting He might want to have a different relationship with us.
Picture a bench. Its a wide wooden bench with a curved back all painted white. Its situated on a slight rise giving anyone who sits a view of green grass rolling off into the distance. Large oak trees are dotted in the green field and in the distance is a soccer field. Behind it are several evergreens that give a gentle enclosure for the spot of invitation.
You've driven past this spot many times on your way to work and running errands but today you stop. You've had one of those days where your own stubborn broken places have reigned. Your mouth accurately reflected an attitude you are now ashamed of. It's old territory for you and you are weary of the cycle you find yourself in. You need to give yourself a little time before finishing the drive home. You take a deep breath and on the exhale you pray, "God, I can't do this anymore". It is then you notice the bench for the first time. "Had it always been there?", you ask yourself.
Unthinking you leave the car behind and make the short walk up the slope. You stand there at the bench and wonder if you dare take the time to sit, dare to expect God might be in this moment. Its then you notice the little desire creep into your mind and a voice, "Sit here with me". "Is it possible that He really wants to sit with me after the day I've had?" It seems almost scandalous but you sit and pour it all out to God.
Is it at all possible that God is saying, "Yes, I see all this, I know this pattern in you well and we will work on this but first things first. Just sit with me and know that you are loved, even the broken places that trip you up time and again. Just sit with me and let me love you, know you are loved. Now look up and see, take in this park. Notice the children playing soccer. Let me love you first before all other things that seem so pressing to you."
Is it at all possible that God first wants to be known by His love for us before all the other roles our needs thrust upon Him? Is it possible we can simply sit, side by side with Him on a bench letting our expectations of Him melt away?
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
Friend
I grew up in a rural part of Nevada County here in California. Friends were few and hard to come by. A family moved in fairly close to us, a family with 5 kids. Kevin was #3, a year younger than I and we really hit it off. We would hike and ride our bikes all over the countryside following the many deer trails that laced around our hills. They moved away and back in our area three times through those wonderful years. To this day I remember Kevin's birthday, May 19th.
I didn't have any other friends growing up. I don't recall being bullied in school, I was just ignored. Outside of my friendship with Kevin, I was lonely. I really didn't learn well the skills of making friends so having good friends has always been difficult for me.
I'm sitting on my front porch thinking about the friends I do have and I long for easy friendships. For a few years I had another Kevin who lived 3 doors down from me. He would often come and ask to go for a walk or just sit with me and we would talk. We shared much of our lives as we talked. I trusted Kevin. Things fell apart between us and eventually he moved up to Washington. To this day I miss this second Kevin.
My closest friends are scattered, Indiana, Colorado, Pennsylvania, Florida, West Virginia, Texas and Saudi Arabia. These men know me well and we maintain our connections through a private Facebook page. I do long for them and wish geography was kinder to our relationships.
I have friends here but finding time is always difficult. I have one friend who meets with me weekly on Tuesday nights for dinner. Its a good friendship but I wish time was easier for us. At times dinner feels forced, something we've done now for over 10 years. He is the Executive Pastor at the church we attend so often our conversations revolve around church issues. I am no longer on the Elder Board so he often is careful about what is said. I understand but there is a bit of a barrier now that once was not there.
Years ago we had a couple we were close to. We spent a lot of time together and we could be spontaneous in getting together. I think I value friendships where we can be spontaneous and not have to work hard to carve out time together. That does something for my heart when someone will just want to be with me and it doesn't have to be something planned into a schedule.
This longing I feel tonight has caused me to remember something Jesus said to his guys that last night together in the Upper Room. He called them his friends. I wonder if telling them this meant as much to them as it would if I'd been there that night.
Friends. Its a word that has lost some meaning in our virtual culture. We have Facebook friends, my list of several spans most of my years with a few even from those years in elementary school and high school. But are they the kind of friends that Jesus was talking about that night? We almost dismiss Him saying this through the culture we find ourselves in. My friends from church are almost only seen through that context, either on Sunday morning or the weekly Bible study I lead. These are casual friends that have busy lives and are not able to offer to one another the kind of friendship I think Jesus was speaking of.
This kind of friendship cannot be casual. He offered an invitation to friendship with God. What He spoke of in those chapters in John (13-17) was an intimacy that can transcend all the barriers I sense in my earthly relationships. Geography and schedule offer no barrier to the friendship with God that we can have.
I have thought much about my own longing for friends. All those that have come and gone out of my life have given me a glimpse into the friendship offered by Jesus to me. As much as I desire friends who will simply come and be with me, warts and all, I realize Jesus, through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, is here with me as my friend.
As true as this is, I do think He desires for us to be good friends to one another. I realize my lack of skills in being a friend hinders some of my relationships. I am praying Jesus' friendship with me will help me to learn better how to be a good friend to those He has given me.
If you are reading this and know me personally, know that I love you and would love to have more time with you.
I didn't have any other friends growing up. I don't recall being bullied in school, I was just ignored. Outside of my friendship with Kevin, I was lonely. I really didn't learn well the skills of making friends so having good friends has always been difficult for me.
I'm sitting on my front porch thinking about the friends I do have and I long for easy friendships. For a few years I had another Kevin who lived 3 doors down from me. He would often come and ask to go for a walk or just sit with me and we would talk. We shared much of our lives as we talked. I trusted Kevin. Things fell apart between us and eventually he moved up to Washington. To this day I miss this second Kevin.
My closest friends are scattered, Indiana, Colorado, Pennsylvania, Florida, West Virginia, Texas and Saudi Arabia. These men know me well and we maintain our connections through a private Facebook page. I do long for them and wish geography was kinder to our relationships.
I have friends here but finding time is always difficult. I have one friend who meets with me weekly on Tuesday nights for dinner. Its a good friendship but I wish time was easier for us. At times dinner feels forced, something we've done now for over 10 years. He is the Executive Pastor at the church we attend so often our conversations revolve around church issues. I am no longer on the Elder Board so he often is careful about what is said. I understand but there is a bit of a barrier now that once was not there.
Years ago we had a couple we were close to. We spent a lot of time together and we could be spontaneous in getting together. I think I value friendships where we can be spontaneous and not have to work hard to carve out time together. That does something for my heart when someone will just want to be with me and it doesn't have to be something planned into a schedule.
This longing I feel tonight has caused me to remember something Jesus said to his guys that last night together in the Upper Room. He called them his friends. I wonder if telling them this meant as much to them as it would if I'd been there that night.
Friends. Its a word that has lost some meaning in our virtual culture. We have Facebook friends, my list of several spans most of my years with a few even from those years in elementary school and high school. But are they the kind of friends that Jesus was talking about that night? We almost dismiss Him saying this through the culture we find ourselves in. My friends from church are almost only seen through that context, either on Sunday morning or the weekly Bible study I lead. These are casual friends that have busy lives and are not able to offer to one another the kind of friendship I think Jesus was speaking of.
This kind of friendship cannot be casual. He offered an invitation to friendship with God. What He spoke of in those chapters in John (13-17) was an intimacy that can transcend all the barriers I sense in my earthly relationships. Geography and schedule offer no barrier to the friendship with God that we can have.
I have thought much about my own longing for friends. All those that have come and gone out of my life have given me a glimpse into the friendship offered by Jesus to me. As much as I desire friends who will simply come and be with me, warts and all, I realize Jesus, through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, is here with me as my friend.
As true as this is, I do think He desires for us to be good friends to one another. I realize my lack of skills in being a friend hinders some of my relationships. I am praying Jesus' friendship with me will help me to learn better how to be a good friend to those He has given me.
If you are reading this and know me personally, know that I love you and would love to have more time with you.
Monday, June 12, 2017
Ledger
Even after all these years I still enjoy watching Antiques Roadshow. If I ever could get tickets if it came back to Sacramento I have some pieces of furniture I would want appraised. One piece is an old armoire we purchased years ago when we lived in Minnesota. It stands a little over 6 feet, has a beautiful mirrored door with the original mirror. I put shelves in it and we use it for storage. I probably did some damage to its value by putting in the shelves but I still have the original shelf and hooks originally used for hanging clothes.
The other two pieces were formally owned by my wife's adoptive grandmother. A bureau with four drawers is thought to have been in her family for years and came over on a ship from Scotland. Its in pretty good shape, all original.
The other is a beautiful book case with three sliding glass doors with the original glass. It has "HFF 1904" carved in it. The story is that grandma's father, a prominent physician in Boston, was given it for payment of services rendered by a woman named Helen Francis French, thus the HFF. It has been passed down to several family members for several years. When my wife was a little girl the bottom shelves held her great grandfather's medical books from when he was in school.
Of course the value of anything is determined by market forces. Often on the show an appraiser has to tell someone the market has gone soft on something and the value has shifted downward. It is market forces at play that determine the value of anything.
Its all in the ledger, isn't it? We live in an era where value means everything and everything is for buying and selling.
Unfortunately this way of thinking has influenced how we think of our relationship with God. We tend to keep an internal ledger and we add or subtract to it based upon how we think we are doing. This ledger keeping is a feeble way to live though.
I recently came across a familiar phrase in a familiar passage, I Corinthians 13, "Love does not keep an account of wrongs." Most of us are familiar with this chapter and its incisive description and value of love. What struck me was how well do I love myself? I know the context is about how we should treat and love one another but I turned it inside and found I keep a ledger I hold against myself. We tend to keep a ledger of our sin, don't we? Perhaps what Paul might have also been saying is that we don't love ourselves well if we turn this chapter around and let it read us.
I am also reminded about what Jesus had to say about sin, some very specific sins He addressed in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew chapters 5-7. He really paints us into the corner doesn't He? If you call a brother an idiot, you've committed murder. Yikes! That hits close to home most days on my commute, its a bloodbath out there on the roads most days.
I am not suggesting here we be soft on our propensity to sin but I am saying that if it is true about confessing our sin and He is faithful and just and will forgive, then why do we still keep the internal ledger that we use against ourselves? What I am suggesting is that we stop keeping the ledger. It really does no good and is a poor way to decide how we are doing with walking with Jesus.
He said it was finished on the cross. If this is so, then why do we continue to hold these things against ourselves? He said it was finished, we too must accept that we are forgiven. Holding the ledger sets us up for more sin. It does not cause us to sin less.
What will keep us is following the first and greatest commandment, loving the Lord our God with all our heart, mind and strength. Falling in love with the author of love is what will keep us. The ledger does nothing.
The other two pieces were formally owned by my wife's adoptive grandmother. A bureau with four drawers is thought to have been in her family for years and came over on a ship from Scotland. Its in pretty good shape, all original.
The other is a beautiful book case with three sliding glass doors with the original glass. It has "HFF 1904" carved in it. The story is that grandma's father, a prominent physician in Boston, was given it for payment of services rendered by a woman named Helen Francis French, thus the HFF. It has been passed down to several family members for several years. When my wife was a little girl the bottom shelves held her great grandfather's medical books from when he was in school.
Of course the value of anything is determined by market forces. Often on the show an appraiser has to tell someone the market has gone soft on something and the value has shifted downward. It is market forces at play that determine the value of anything.
Its all in the ledger, isn't it? We live in an era where value means everything and everything is for buying and selling.
Unfortunately this way of thinking has influenced how we think of our relationship with God. We tend to keep an internal ledger and we add or subtract to it based upon how we think we are doing. This ledger keeping is a feeble way to live though.
I recently came across a familiar phrase in a familiar passage, I Corinthians 13, "Love does not keep an account of wrongs." Most of us are familiar with this chapter and its incisive description and value of love. What struck me was how well do I love myself? I know the context is about how we should treat and love one another but I turned it inside and found I keep a ledger I hold against myself. We tend to keep a ledger of our sin, don't we? Perhaps what Paul might have also been saying is that we don't love ourselves well if we turn this chapter around and let it read us.
I am also reminded about what Jesus had to say about sin, some very specific sins He addressed in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew chapters 5-7. He really paints us into the corner doesn't He? If you call a brother an idiot, you've committed murder. Yikes! That hits close to home most days on my commute, its a bloodbath out there on the roads most days.
I am not suggesting here we be soft on our propensity to sin but I am saying that if it is true about confessing our sin and He is faithful and just and will forgive, then why do we still keep the internal ledger that we use against ourselves? What I am suggesting is that we stop keeping the ledger. It really does no good and is a poor way to decide how we are doing with walking with Jesus.
He said it was finished on the cross. If this is so, then why do we continue to hold these things against ourselves? He said it was finished, we too must accept that we are forgiven. Holding the ledger sets us up for more sin. It does not cause us to sin less.
What will keep us is following the first and greatest commandment, loving the Lord our God with all our heart, mind and strength. Falling in love with the author of love is what will keep us. The ledger does nothing.
Monday, May 8, 2017
Shirt
Suppose you have a favorite shirt. When you first received it as a gift you really liked it. The color for you was perfect and it had the greatest pattern to it. New shirts have such a great feel to them and you wore it often. Mostly, at first, to nicer events. It wasn't a super dressy shirt but wearing it made you feel good, not so much special but you did know you looked good and felt comfortable wearing it.
As material often does, over time it became less "new" feeling but you still wore the shirt often. Maybe you no longer wore it for semi-dressy events but you could still wear it when going out with friends for a casual meal together. You just liked wearing it and it was hard not to reach for your favorite shirt hanging in your closet.
Other shirts came and went, cycled through your closet but you still would reach for this favorite one, even if just for wearing around the house. You knew it was looking worn and probably should be retired but you can't bring yourself to setting it aside permanently.
One day while cleaning out the garage you accidentally bump into something sharp and you feel your shirt catching and ripping a little hole in it. In horror you realize you'd reached for your favorite shirt that morning without even realizing it and now this favorite garment has a hole. Even though it is probably ruined you can't yet part with it and it is hung in your closet one more time.
While shopping one day in Kohl's your eye spots a shirt very similar to your favorite shirt. It isn't exactly like it but the pattern is similar and the colors are very much like the one still hanging limply in your closet. You pick it up and feel it. The material is high quality, probably better than the original shirt you can't part with. It's a bit on the expensive side but throwing caution to the wind you purchase it and rush home.
Hanging next to the old shirt, this new one really does closely resemble your favorite shirt. You close the closet door and try to push the crazy thought out of your head. Call it crazy loyalty but you finally decide to do something almost unthinkable.
Taking both shirts out of the closet, you take a pair of scissors and cut out a small square of material out of the new shirt and sew it over the rip in the old shirt. The problem is, no matter how careful you were in sewing the patch onto the old shirt you realize too late; both shirts are now ruined.
Yes it is a crazy story and logic would keep one from actually doing such a thing, so why would Jesus offer such a similar story to his listeners? Of course it was never about the shirt or the material, something else was on His mind that day.
We would never do such a thing, would we?
He went on that day to tell about the futility of putting new wine in old wine skins. The old skins would eventually burst ruining the wine skin and wasting the wine. I love a good glass of wine and we live near hundreds of wonderful vintners so we often take an afternoon and do some wine tasting. Our modern production techniques no longer use wine skins for aging wine so the rest of Jesus' story might get lost if we don't stop to look past the burst wine skins and wasted wine of ancient wine making.
The kingdom He is illustrating in both these short stories is about newness. He didn't come to patch up the old nor would He pour the new life He offers into old wine skins. This is about redemption and transformation. We must become new creatures to contain the new life. His complete work offers not just new life but a transformation of who we are. Paul speaks of this when he tells us we are new creatures in Christ.
If this is true then why would we want to patch the old shirt with just a scrap of the new shirt? We do tend to do this, don't we?
As material often does, over time it became less "new" feeling but you still wore the shirt often. Maybe you no longer wore it for semi-dressy events but you could still wear it when going out with friends for a casual meal together. You just liked wearing it and it was hard not to reach for your favorite shirt hanging in your closet.
Other shirts came and went, cycled through your closet but you still would reach for this favorite one, even if just for wearing around the house. You knew it was looking worn and probably should be retired but you can't bring yourself to setting it aside permanently.
One day while cleaning out the garage you accidentally bump into something sharp and you feel your shirt catching and ripping a little hole in it. In horror you realize you'd reached for your favorite shirt that morning without even realizing it and now this favorite garment has a hole. Even though it is probably ruined you can't yet part with it and it is hung in your closet one more time.
While shopping one day in Kohl's your eye spots a shirt very similar to your favorite shirt. It isn't exactly like it but the pattern is similar and the colors are very much like the one still hanging limply in your closet. You pick it up and feel it. The material is high quality, probably better than the original shirt you can't part with. It's a bit on the expensive side but throwing caution to the wind you purchase it and rush home.
Hanging next to the old shirt, this new one really does closely resemble your favorite shirt. You close the closet door and try to push the crazy thought out of your head. Call it crazy loyalty but you finally decide to do something almost unthinkable.
Taking both shirts out of the closet, you take a pair of scissors and cut out a small square of material out of the new shirt and sew it over the rip in the old shirt. The problem is, no matter how careful you were in sewing the patch onto the old shirt you realize too late; both shirts are now ruined.
Yes it is a crazy story and logic would keep one from actually doing such a thing, so why would Jesus offer such a similar story to his listeners? Of course it was never about the shirt or the material, something else was on His mind that day.
We would never do such a thing, would we?
He went on that day to tell about the futility of putting new wine in old wine skins. The old skins would eventually burst ruining the wine skin and wasting the wine. I love a good glass of wine and we live near hundreds of wonderful vintners so we often take an afternoon and do some wine tasting. Our modern production techniques no longer use wine skins for aging wine so the rest of Jesus' story might get lost if we don't stop to look past the burst wine skins and wasted wine of ancient wine making.
The kingdom He is illustrating in both these short stories is about newness. He didn't come to patch up the old nor would He pour the new life He offers into old wine skins. This is about redemption and transformation. We must become new creatures to contain the new life. His complete work offers not just new life but a transformation of who we are. Paul speaks of this when he tells us we are new creatures in Christ.
If this is true then why would we want to patch the old shirt with just a scrap of the new shirt? We do tend to do this, don't we?
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Remember
Good Friday is nearly here and I am aware that too often we rush to the joy of Easter without some sober remembering of what happened that day.
My good friend Bill says that a big part of worship is remembering, remembering what we learn God has done in Scripture and what He has done for each of us personally. Hopefully those two knowings don't reside separately but rather reside intertwined in a way that draws us deeper into Him, into the awe of intimacy with the God who spoke all of this into existence.
I want to remember and honor what that Friday was so long ago, what it must have felt for His disciples and for those that loved Him. I also want to remember and honor the high cost the Incarnate God paid for my entrance, my adoption into His family.
I want to remember how, in the end of John 14, He says to the remaining 11, "Let's go". He was a man facing a horror none of us can imagine and I am sure He, as fully man, must have felt sick to His stomach, but He gathered up His band of followers and heads out for Gethsemane.
I want to remember how His heart desired to be attended by His dearest friends as He prayed there in the garden. I want to remember how He must have felt disappointed in those that could not stay awake as He prayed.
I want to remember His words pleading for this "cup" to be taken from Him but His submission, "Not my will, but yours". I want to remember He sweat drops of blood due to the anguish headed His way.
I want to remember that upon seeing the band headed to arrest Him, led by Judas, He asks peacefully, "Who do you seek" and when they say, "Jesus of Nazareth", He answered with the deep dignity of choice, "I am him who you seek". It is such a bold statement they have to ask again.
I want to remember Judas' kiss of betrayal and the scattering of all but a couple of disciples.
I want to remember the three trials, the questions and His willingness to hand Himself over to Rome.
I want to remember His beating, being spit upon, the scourging and the crown of mocking thornes He wore on His way carrying the instrument of His death, the cross.
I want to remember the nails, His nakedness, His suffering, His final words.
I want to remember and show solidarity with those who've gone before. I am thinking here of those gathered that day in the shadow of the cross, those that loved Jesus and could not believe what was happening. Could not believe it and yet could not set aside the fact He was hanging right before them dying as they wept in grief, shock and horror.
Yes, we know how this all ends, and in a few days they will as well, but I think it is important to remember that day as it was and identify with those that loved Jesus who had yet to fathom the next few days and the coming resurrection.
I also think about those who may have been smiling at the demise of the itinerate preacher who would not go away. The Pharisees had been plotting for some time for this day and it could not have worked out better for them. I doubt they were whoopin' and hollerin', that kind of behavior was beneath them, but sly smiles amongst themselves as they continued to whip the observant crowd into a frenzy would not be beneath them.
There probably were some there who were whoopin' and hollerin'. I imagine a whole host in the unseen world who gleefully watched this man's death. They might have been dancing around the foot of that cross. They thought they'd won.
Nowhere are we instructed to observe Good Friday in any particular manner. However, I do want to remind myself again of what my friend Bill teaches, remembering is a large part of worship. Traditionally we set aside one evening to remember with some sober respect the high cost paid for our redemption. It really comes down to perhaps one hour or 90 minutes out of an entire year where we corporately try to absorb what that day meant for the one suffering on our behalf and to show solidarity with those who loved Him and who were caught up as they watched Him die.
I remember with a sober respect what was done for us, and I also remember to show solidarity with those grieving that day.
My good friend Bill says that a big part of worship is remembering, remembering what we learn God has done in Scripture and what He has done for each of us personally. Hopefully those two knowings don't reside separately but rather reside intertwined in a way that draws us deeper into Him, into the awe of intimacy with the God who spoke all of this into existence.
I want to remember and honor what that Friday was so long ago, what it must have felt for His disciples and for those that loved Him. I also want to remember and honor the high cost the Incarnate God paid for my entrance, my adoption into His family.
I want to remember how, in the end of John 14, He says to the remaining 11, "Let's go". He was a man facing a horror none of us can imagine and I am sure He, as fully man, must have felt sick to His stomach, but He gathered up His band of followers and heads out for Gethsemane.
I want to remember how His heart desired to be attended by His dearest friends as He prayed there in the garden. I want to remember how He must have felt disappointed in those that could not stay awake as He prayed.
I want to remember His words pleading for this "cup" to be taken from Him but His submission, "Not my will, but yours". I want to remember He sweat drops of blood due to the anguish headed His way.
I want to remember that upon seeing the band headed to arrest Him, led by Judas, He asks peacefully, "Who do you seek" and when they say, "Jesus of Nazareth", He answered with the deep dignity of choice, "I am him who you seek". It is such a bold statement they have to ask again.
I want to remember Judas' kiss of betrayal and the scattering of all but a couple of disciples.
I want to remember the three trials, the questions and His willingness to hand Himself over to Rome.
I want to remember His beating, being spit upon, the scourging and the crown of mocking thornes He wore on His way carrying the instrument of His death, the cross.
I want to remember the nails, His nakedness, His suffering, His final words.
I want to remember and show solidarity with those who've gone before. I am thinking here of those gathered that day in the shadow of the cross, those that loved Jesus and could not believe what was happening. Could not believe it and yet could not set aside the fact He was hanging right before them dying as they wept in grief, shock and horror.
Yes, we know how this all ends, and in a few days they will as well, but I think it is important to remember that day as it was and identify with those that loved Jesus who had yet to fathom the next few days and the coming resurrection.
I also think about those who may have been smiling at the demise of the itinerate preacher who would not go away. The Pharisees had been plotting for some time for this day and it could not have worked out better for them. I doubt they were whoopin' and hollerin', that kind of behavior was beneath them, but sly smiles amongst themselves as they continued to whip the observant crowd into a frenzy would not be beneath them.
There probably were some there who were whoopin' and hollerin'. I imagine a whole host in the unseen world who gleefully watched this man's death. They might have been dancing around the foot of that cross. They thought they'd won.
Nowhere are we instructed to observe Good Friday in any particular manner. However, I do want to remind myself again of what my friend Bill teaches, remembering is a large part of worship. Traditionally we set aside one evening to remember with some sober respect the high cost paid for our redemption. It really comes down to perhaps one hour or 90 minutes out of an entire year where we corporately try to absorb what that day meant for the one suffering on our behalf and to show solidarity with those who loved Him and who were caught up as they watched Him die.
I remember with a sober respect what was done for us, and I also remember to show solidarity with those grieving that day.
Saturday, February 18, 2017
Wisteria
Several years ago we planted a couple of wisteria plants to grow up and over an arbor over the patio outside my mother-in-laws bedroom. I really didn't want the plants. Wisteria is very invasive and, in my opinion, shouldn't be planted near any structure or small, slow moving children. It will simply take over if you don't keep it in check. It is pretty though, and does a good job of shading the sliding glass door that leads out of mom's bedroom keeping her room cool in the summer.
Three weeks ago tomorrow we had a rain-free day so I got out my ladder and hacked away at the dormant wisteria. We got it hacked back to the point where I probably won't have to worry about it much during the growing season. I didn't think much about the pulling, hacking and stretching I was doing to get the wisteria in check until the next day at work. All of the sudden my lower back seized up and I soon realized I was in trouble as I was unable to stand straight up.
I worked cautiously through the rest of the week but my back was not getting better, it was getting worse so I ended up at my doctor's office on the Monday a week after the wisteria wrestling project. He gave me some muscle relaxers and put me on some restrictions for work.
I am not a patient patient. I don't really like to be waited on when I don't feel well and I've found myself the last three weeks needing help. My wife has been wonderful through these weeks of semi invalid-ness.
I had a conversation this past week with my Spiritual Director about some of this and while we were talking I was reminded of something. About 14 months ago my wife had her knee replaced. I became her main caregiver through her recuperation and I was reminded this week at how happy it made me to help her with so much she could not do. My recent bout of insufficiency due to my back and my reluctance to accept the help I've needed brought home some lessons.
My reluctance to ask for and accept help during these weeks has probably made it harder for my wife and others who've offered help to actually give me the assistance I need. My attitude probably robs others of some of the joy I experienced while helping my wife last year.
My Director pointed out that God has joy in helping us in our insufficiency. How often do we block enjoying His joy by our insistence in denying we are insufficient? I think at times we try to hide our insufficiency from Him when all along He accepts, no, He welcomes our insufficiency into the relationship with Him.
I think we also believe His goal in the relationship is to make us more sufficient, that times where we are face to face with our insufficiency are meant to teach us something. God is a great teacher but is that all He is up to when He encounters us? Yes, there are times He wants us to learn something new but I think we do a disservice to the heart of our relationship if that is what we primarily think He wants. He is not always a school teacher intent solely on teaching.
Perhaps I need to learn to simply be with Him, enjoy His beloved gaze when I can only bring my insufficiency to the table of feasting He invites me to. I want to hide the insufficiency but He is calling me to lay it all out there before Him and let me be loved by Him in my insufficiency.
We are giving serious thought to taking out the wisteria and replacing it with something a little less invasive but I don't want to forget this helpless feeling I've experienced and the idea that I am deeply loved in my helplessness.
Three weeks ago tomorrow we had a rain-free day so I got out my ladder and hacked away at the dormant wisteria. We got it hacked back to the point where I probably won't have to worry about it much during the growing season. I didn't think much about the pulling, hacking and stretching I was doing to get the wisteria in check until the next day at work. All of the sudden my lower back seized up and I soon realized I was in trouble as I was unable to stand straight up.
I worked cautiously through the rest of the week but my back was not getting better, it was getting worse so I ended up at my doctor's office on the Monday a week after the wisteria wrestling project. He gave me some muscle relaxers and put me on some restrictions for work.
I am not a patient patient. I don't really like to be waited on when I don't feel well and I've found myself the last three weeks needing help. My wife has been wonderful through these weeks of semi invalid-ness.
I had a conversation this past week with my Spiritual Director about some of this and while we were talking I was reminded of something. About 14 months ago my wife had her knee replaced. I became her main caregiver through her recuperation and I was reminded this week at how happy it made me to help her with so much she could not do. My recent bout of insufficiency due to my back and my reluctance to accept the help I've needed brought home some lessons.
My reluctance to ask for and accept help during these weeks has probably made it harder for my wife and others who've offered help to actually give me the assistance I need. My attitude probably robs others of some of the joy I experienced while helping my wife last year.
My Director pointed out that God has joy in helping us in our insufficiency. How often do we block enjoying His joy by our insistence in denying we are insufficient? I think at times we try to hide our insufficiency from Him when all along He accepts, no, He welcomes our insufficiency into the relationship with Him.
I think we also believe His goal in the relationship is to make us more sufficient, that times where we are face to face with our insufficiency are meant to teach us something. God is a great teacher but is that all He is up to when He encounters us? Yes, there are times He wants us to learn something new but I think we do a disservice to the heart of our relationship if that is what we primarily think He wants. He is not always a school teacher intent solely on teaching.
Perhaps I need to learn to simply be with Him, enjoy His beloved gaze when I can only bring my insufficiency to the table of feasting He invites me to. I want to hide the insufficiency but He is calling me to lay it all out there before Him and let me be loved by Him in my insufficiency.
We are giving serious thought to taking out the wisteria and replacing it with something a little less invasive but I don't want to forget this helpless feeling I've experienced and the idea that I am deeply loved in my helplessness.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Sauce
If I have a hobby, and I'm not sure I do, it would be cooking. Gail and I belong to a gourmet supper club with three other couples who all enjoy cooking, good wine and are also common in our love for Jesus. We've been meeting quarterly for about 20 years now. I get so excited when we've set a date and the days are ticking by getting us closer to our evening together. We are scheduled for next Saturday the 11th. We are taking appetizers and the evening is centered around France. Oh boy!
My favorite thing to do in the arena of cooking is making a sauce. There is something about putting together a complex sauce that really satisfies me. Mexican Mole is one of those sauces that is one I find especially satisfying but it doesn't come together without some pitfalls. I am not one of those cooks who just "wings it" with a sauce, I prefer to have a recipe to go by and for Mole I use Rick Bayliss' recipe out of a book of his I own. It involves about 17 different ingredients and several steps to cook it to perfection. It is about a half day endeavor for me.
One thing about my cooking is I tend to be a bit messy. The first time I made Mole was for our supper club and it was particularly messy. You have to cook it once with one mixture then add a second mixture for more cooking. It tends to plop and splatter with a thickness slightly less thick than ketchup. I was using a screen over the pot to keep the splats of dark brown sauce contained. When I tipped the bowl of the second mixture to add to the pot of cooking sauce, it slipped out of my hands and the bowl landed perfectly in the cooking pot. As if in slow motion, the lazy liquids came together forcefully and then continued upward into an impossibly large splat that now proceeded to decorate the stove, cabinet above the stove, counter, me and the floor with spicy, partially cooked Mole. Just then I heard my wife came out of our upstairs bedroom after an afternoon nap and I said, "Do not come into the kitchen".
Eventually I got it all cleaned up and finished with a sauce that was proclaimed by my friend Syd as delicious that evening. As I recall, he said something about wanting to pick up his plate and lick it.
There isn't a chicken pot pie that I've met that I didn't enjoy, even those cheap Banquet ones you can find at the super market. In fact, I had a wonderful one last Friday evening at my friend's home. Tom and Karen, thanks again for a wonderful meal and evening together.
I have a very good recipe I've used a couple of times for chicken pot pie. It starts with cooking a whole chicken in a large stock pot along with a whole onion, celery, carrots and various spices tied up in a cheesecloth bag. Once the chicken is cooked, I remove the chicken, all the vegetables and the bag of spices and then simmer the broth in the pot until it cooks down to a mere 3 cups. The broth is used for the base for the gravy for the pie; all those flavors have been condensed down into a very rich tasting sauce. I made this pie for our supper club one night when we were having a "comfort food" themed evening.
When I think about that broth simmering down, leaving the essence of the chicken, vegetables and spices I think about Jesus and His ministry during His time physically on earth. What if you could reduce down all His words, actions, His death, resurrection and ascension into one singular idea, thought? What you would have is LOVE. You would still have all the rest of the themes He proclaimed but mainly I think you would come to LOVE. Take a minute and think about this and see if you come up with the same idea.
John records in detail Jesus' last evening with is disciples in chapters 13 - 17. It is such a rich passage. I think you could put together Matthew chapters 5 - 7 with the five chapters in John and you can have a pretty clear idea of who Jesus is. Oh, but I digress a bit here.
John 13: 35 & 36 is where I am landing on: " A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another". (You English teachers could help me out here, I never know where to put the period, before or after the quotation mark? Oh but I digress again.)
Some time in 2013 I sensed God asking me to extricate myself out of the political conversations that were just beginning to swirl, especially in the arena of social medias. I only participate occasionally on Facebook but I am aware of other arenas where conversations take place. Specifically I sensed Him asking me to step out of the coming 2016 fray that we found ourselves in by considering not voting. Frankly, it was a hard thing to even consider. I sensed Him asking to guard my heart by stepping out of the conversations that had not even really begun in earnest. After about a year and a half of praying over this I decided I would honor His request and I decided to sit out this election cycle we've "sort of" just finished. I know all of the arguments against this and I am not offering this here to engage in discussing this decision with any of those who may read this. It is simply just a backdrop for what I want to say here. The end result is this; while I do have thoughts and opinions about where we are as a nation politically, I've been able to keep my heart out of this present place many of us find ourselves in.
This is not easy. I have friends on several sides of the present great divide we are in right now. Many feel it important to voice their thoughts through posts and re-posts of articles and pithy little comments. That is all well and good for those that feel so led. It does concern me though that characterizations are made often with the broad brush of opinion that does little to convince those with opposing views. Often I read a harshness that only divides, and these comments often come from those that are Christ followers.
In light of the passage I quoted above, this grieves me. In Jesus' opening of what we call the Sermon on the Mount He notes nine "Blessed ares" with the seventh being, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God". It makes me wonder how we, who follow after our elder brother Jesus, are to be peacemakers in the present great divide we now find ourselves in.
Recently while meeting with a spiritual direction client, my client made a passing reference to the recent election. It was a statement that prompted me to think of reasons to refute the comment but I decided to opt out of the statement and let the conversation flow. Had I decided otherwise, all direction would have stopped. In retrospect, I see I will probably never continue that portion of the conversation. It would needlessly divide.
I think about what Jesus said about love as a new commandment given that night as recorded by John. How are we to love when we are, at times, so deeply divided? I think it means we lead with love, not our held opinions regarding our recent election.
I know this may sound like a rebuke, I don't intend it to be that. I simply am asking all of us who consider ourselves to be Christ followers to think about leading with love.
However, leading with love does come at a cost. It means remaining silent at times, choosing to love out of silence rather than engagement. It has meant that at times I have been dismissed. It has meant that relationships have become strained to the breaking point.
It also means learning to trust that God is in charge during these tumultuous times with opinions heated by events we may or may not agree with. Keeping my eyes on this fact, God is in charge, has become a deep exercise in faith.
I don't want to be known first by what I believe politically. I want to be known as a man who first loves God and loves others. My political views are totally unimportant if I am to lead first with love.
My favorite thing to do in the arena of cooking is making a sauce. There is something about putting together a complex sauce that really satisfies me. Mexican Mole is one of those sauces that is one I find especially satisfying but it doesn't come together without some pitfalls. I am not one of those cooks who just "wings it" with a sauce, I prefer to have a recipe to go by and for Mole I use Rick Bayliss' recipe out of a book of his I own. It involves about 17 different ingredients and several steps to cook it to perfection. It is about a half day endeavor for me.
One thing about my cooking is I tend to be a bit messy. The first time I made Mole was for our supper club and it was particularly messy. You have to cook it once with one mixture then add a second mixture for more cooking. It tends to plop and splatter with a thickness slightly less thick than ketchup. I was using a screen over the pot to keep the splats of dark brown sauce contained. When I tipped the bowl of the second mixture to add to the pot of cooking sauce, it slipped out of my hands and the bowl landed perfectly in the cooking pot. As if in slow motion, the lazy liquids came together forcefully and then continued upward into an impossibly large splat that now proceeded to decorate the stove, cabinet above the stove, counter, me and the floor with spicy, partially cooked Mole. Just then I heard my wife came out of our upstairs bedroom after an afternoon nap and I said, "Do not come into the kitchen".
Eventually I got it all cleaned up and finished with a sauce that was proclaimed by my friend Syd as delicious that evening. As I recall, he said something about wanting to pick up his plate and lick it.
There isn't a chicken pot pie that I've met that I didn't enjoy, even those cheap Banquet ones you can find at the super market. In fact, I had a wonderful one last Friday evening at my friend's home. Tom and Karen, thanks again for a wonderful meal and evening together.
I have a very good recipe I've used a couple of times for chicken pot pie. It starts with cooking a whole chicken in a large stock pot along with a whole onion, celery, carrots and various spices tied up in a cheesecloth bag. Once the chicken is cooked, I remove the chicken, all the vegetables and the bag of spices and then simmer the broth in the pot until it cooks down to a mere 3 cups. The broth is used for the base for the gravy for the pie; all those flavors have been condensed down into a very rich tasting sauce. I made this pie for our supper club one night when we were having a "comfort food" themed evening.
When I think about that broth simmering down, leaving the essence of the chicken, vegetables and spices I think about Jesus and His ministry during His time physically on earth. What if you could reduce down all His words, actions, His death, resurrection and ascension into one singular idea, thought? What you would have is LOVE. You would still have all the rest of the themes He proclaimed but mainly I think you would come to LOVE. Take a minute and think about this and see if you come up with the same idea.
John records in detail Jesus' last evening with is disciples in chapters 13 - 17. It is such a rich passage. I think you could put together Matthew chapters 5 - 7 with the five chapters in John and you can have a pretty clear idea of who Jesus is. Oh, but I digress a bit here.
John 13: 35 & 36 is where I am landing on: " A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another". (You English teachers could help me out here, I never know where to put the period, before or after the quotation mark? Oh but I digress again.)
Some time in 2013 I sensed God asking me to extricate myself out of the political conversations that were just beginning to swirl, especially in the arena of social medias. I only participate occasionally on Facebook but I am aware of other arenas where conversations take place. Specifically I sensed Him asking me to step out of the coming 2016 fray that we found ourselves in by considering not voting. Frankly, it was a hard thing to even consider. I sensed Him asking to guard my heart by stepping out of the conversations that had not even really begun in earnest. After about a year and a half of praying over this I decided I would honor His request and I decided to sit out this election cycle we've "sort of" just finished. I know all of the arguments against this and I am not offering this here to engage in discussing this decision with any of those who may read this. It is simply just a backdrop for what I want to say here. The end result is this; while I do have thoughts and opinions about where we are as a nation politically, I've been able to keep my heart out of this present place many of us find ourselves in.
This is not easy. I have friends on several sides of the present great divide we are in right now. Many feel it important to voice their thoughts through posts and re-posts of articles and pithy little comments. That is all well and good for those that feel so led. It does concern me though that characterizations are made often with the broad brush of opinion that does little to convince those with opposing views. Often I read a harshness that only divides, and these comments often come from those that are Christ followers.
In light of the passage I quoted above, this grieves me. In Jesus' opening of what we call the Sermon on the Mount He notes nine "Blessed ares" with the seventh being, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God". It makes me wonder how we, who follow after our elder brother Jesus, are to be peacemakers in the present great divide we now find ourselves in.
Recently while meeting with a spiritual direction client, my client made a passing reference to the recent election. It was a statement that prompted me to think of reasons to refute the comment but I decided to opt out of the statement and let the conversation flow. Had I decided otherwise, all direction would have stopped. In retrospect, I see I will probably never continue that portion of the conversation. It would needlessly divide.
I think about what Jesus said about love as a new commandment given that night as recorded by John. How are we to love when we are, at times, so deeply divided? I think it means we lead with love, not our held opinions regarding our recent election.
I know this may sound like a rebuke, I don't intend it to be that. I simply am asking all of us who consider ourselves to be Christ followers to think about leading with love.
However, leading with love does come at a cost. It means remaining silent at times, choosing to love out of silence rather than engagement. It has meant that at times I have been dismissed. It has meant that relationships have become strained to the breaking point.
It also means learning to trust that God is in charge during these tumultuous times with opinions heated by events we may or may not agree with. Keeping my eyes on this fact, God is in charge, has become a deep exercise in faith.
I don't want to be known first by what I believe politically. I want to be known as a man who first loves God and loves others. My political views are totally unimportant if I am to lead first with love.
Monday, January 9, 2017
Paint Stripper
Some time ago we gave up cable TV but most of my favorite shows when we had cable were on HGTV. Rehab Addict was one show that I always found entertaining. Not only is it taped in my former adopted hometown of Minneapolis, I simply love what Nicole does to old homes. Restoration of down and out homes to their former glory does something for my heart. If I could afford it, I would love to live in something older. When we lived in San Francisco we lived in four different apartments that had that old charm often shown in the homes she restores.
One thing that amuses me is when she attacks a piece of painted wood, either woodwork or an old door. She uses stripper and starts the laborious job of stripping off the layers of paint. What amuses me is the touch of editing. The show would lose much of it's charm if they showed how long and how hard it is to strip off the paint, even with the aid of chemical paint stripper. They simply shut the cameras down and the real work begins. Then cut to the next scene where the newly refinished woodwork or door is shown in its restored glory.
There are a couple of themes that come to mind as I write this. The first involves paint stripper. I've used it several times in the course of home improvement projects. The thick orange liquid is quite something as it bubbles away layers of paint. It is messy and hard work as the caustic chemicals do their work.
It has made me wonder about the times stripper has been needed in my own heart. I am thinking of grief, fear and pain as strippers used to get down to something more real, more lasting. We spend an inordinate amount of time avoiding these things and often think something is wrong when our lives are disrupted by the inevitable grief, fear and pain that will come.
Fear is one of those things we especially hold in suspicion. Yes, perfect love does cast out fear but when we are assailed by fear we think something is wrong with us, we begin to treat ourselves less than graciously. We sometimes attempt to deal with fear by repeating the mantra, "Perfect love casts out all fear". Unfortunately this mantra does not work. There is truth there but it is misappropriated by the use of it as a verbal panacea for what we fear.
Maybe though, fear is something to be heeded, something is there that should be listened to. Perhaps we should invite the fear knowing that we belong to a Father who is greater than whatever is causing the fear. If we push it aside we might miss something important our Abba wants to deal with. Perhaps it would be wiser to ask ourselves what it is that we fear and then invite Jesus into the fear and see where He might lead us to resolve what underlies the fear. His perfect love will then release the fear.
Recently I've been dealing with grief. I've written previously about my mother's passing in July. This holiday season we've just passed through brought up many memories that were painful in their recollection due to mom's death. The family I celebrated with in that house on Lime Kiln Road is nearly gone with only memories left along with one sister. It was lonely at times as those memories settled in. Oh yes, I do have a family, my children, grandchild, mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, my sister and my dear wife are my family but I longed for one more glimpse into Christmas with my mom, dad and sisters in our home. The grief has made me long for home, the real home we Christ followers are promised by our elder brother Jesus. Had I not allowed the grief of this first Christmas without my mother to surface I might not have found this sacred longing for my true home. The paint stripper of grief did a good work for me.
The other theme I see is that of restoration. I am often confronted with my need for a deep restoration of "something". I am often not sure what it is but somewhere underneath all the paint is something to be restored. While I might not know exactly what it is that will emerge from the cocoon of paint, I can trust the love of God to bring out something of His image in me, after all, we were made in His image, to reflect His glory. We are the sons and daughters of the Most High seated alongside our brother Jesus who has redeemed us.
Just as stripping paint off old wood is hard work, allowing fear or grief to strip us also may be hard work. It gets messy and painful at times but I can trust my loving Abba with my heart in difficult times of grief or fear.
One thing that amuses me is when she attacks a piece of painted wood, either woodwork or an old door. She uses stripper and starts the laborious job of stripping off the layers of paint. What amuses me is the touch of editing. The show would lose much of it's charm if they showed how long and how hard it is to strip off the paint, even with the aid of chemical paint stripper. They simply shut the cameras down and the real work begins. Then cut to the next scene where the newly refinished woodwork or door is shown in its restored glory.
There are a couple of themes that come to mind as I write this. The first involves paint stripper. I've used it several times in the course of home improvement projects. The thick orange liquid is quite something as it bubbles away layers of paint. It is messy and hard work as the caustic chemicals do their work.
It has made me wonder about the times stripper has been needed in my own heart. I am thinking of grief, fear and pain as strippers used to get down to something more real, more lasting. We spend an inordinate amount of time avoiding these things and often think something is wrong when our lives are disrupted by the inevitable grief, fear and pain that will come.
Fear is one of those things we especially hold in suspicion. Yes, perfect love does cast out fear but when we are assailed by fear we think something is wrong with us, we begin to treat ourselves less than graciously. We sometimes attempt to deal with fear by repeating the mantra, "Perfect love casts out all fear". Unfortunately this mantra does not work. There is truth there but it is misappropriated by the use of it as a verbal panacea for what we fear.
Maybe though, fear is something to be heeded, something is there that should be listened to. Perhaps we should invite the fear knowing that we belong to a Father who is greater than whatever is causing the fear. If we push it aside we might miss something important our Abba wants to deal with. Perhaps it would be wiser to ask ourselves what it is that we fear and then invite Jesus into the fear and see where He might lead us to resolve what underlies the fear. His perfect love will then release the fear.
Recently I've been dealing with grief. I've written previously about my mother's passing in July. This holiday season we've just passed through brought up many memories that were painful in their recollection due to mom's death. The family I celebrated with in that house on Lime Kiln Road is nearly gone with only memories left along with one sister. It was lonely at times as those memories settled in. Oh yes, I do have a family, my children, grandchild, mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, my sister and my dear wife are my family but I longed for one more glimpse into Christmas with my mom, dad and sisters in our home. The grief has made me long for home, the real home we Christ followers are promised by our elder brother Jesus. Had I not allowed the grief of this first Christmas without my mother to surface I might not have found this sacred longing for my true home. The paint stripper of grief did a good work for me.
The other theme I see is that of restoration. I am often confronted with my need for a deep restoration of "something". I am often not sure what it is but somewhere underneath all the paint is something to be restored. While I might not know exactly what it is that will emerge from the cocoon of paint, I can trust the love of God to bring out something of His image in me, after all, we were made in His image, to reflect His glory. We are the sons and daughters of the Most High seated alongside our brother Jesus who has redeemed us.
Just as stripping paint off old wood is hard work, allowing fear or grief to strip us also may be hard work. It gets messy and painful at times but I can trust my loving Abba with my heart in difficult times of grief or fear.
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