"Prayer when words won't come"

Wow... I just ran across this quote, and it really resonated with me -- particularly the last sentence:

Oh my Father, I have moments of deep unrest--moments when I know not what to ask by reason of the very excess of my wants. I have in these hours no words for Thee, no conscious prayers for Thee. My cry seems purely worldly; I want only the wings of a dove that I may flee away. Yet all the time Thou hast accepted my unrest as a prayer. Thou hast interpreted its cry for a dove's wings as a cry for Thee. Thou hast received the nameless longings of my heart as the intercessions of Thy Spirit. They are not yet the intercessions of my spirit; I know not what to ask. But Thou knowest what I ask, O my God. Thou knowest the name of that need which lies beneath my speechless groan. . . . Thou knowest that because I am made in Thine image I can find rest only in what gives rest to Thee; therefore Thou hast counted my unrest unto me for righteousness, and has called my groaning Thy Spirit's prayer.

~ George Matheson, in Mosaic Holy Bible, 179 ~

I am a person who has trouble resting, who indeed fears resting lest I fail to "keep up" with my relationships and responsibilities. I love the thought that because I am made in the image of God, I can find true rest only in the things that please God. This gives me hope that in seeking rest, I am not lazy or irresponsible, for in seeking rest, I am seeking God and His righteousness. In seeking rest, I am seeking godly being.

Scary, but worth it (or so I am told...).

What do you say when words are not enough?

I imagine all of us have been in situations where the answers we've been given to life's tough questions simply aren't sufficient. Sometimes the truths we know, the truths we cling to -- like the fact that God is completely good, and faithful, and loving, the fact that He provides for our every need -- seem ludicrous.

I spent some time yesterday sitting with a couple who are facing a really, really difficult scenario -- the type of scenario that could completely destroy their hopes and plans. When I received the woman's phone call and decided to drop what I was doing and go be with her and her husband, I realized that I would be walking into a situation for which I was ill-prepared -- at least, for which I didn't have answers. Being in ministry, I suspect that this won't be the last time that happens...

So what do you do when you don't have answers? You sit. You listen. You encourage people to talk, you encourage them to be honest with themselves and with God. If needed, you ask hard questions. If not, you just... sit and be present with them. And you pray -- silently and aloud, for them and with them. Sometimes, answers aren't what people need. Sometimes, people just need you to be with them and to have faith FOR them. That's a huge part of ministry, whether formal or informal: believing for one another when we can't manage to believe on our own. Upholding one another when we need it most. Faith is the act of a community, not just an individual.

Last night, the woman faced an overwhelming situation, one that seemed to have the potential to crush her utterly, with honesty about her own lack of faith -- the disparity between what she knows about God (God is good) and what the situation seems to say about God (God is cruel). But even in the midst of her despair, anger, and confusion, she responded in faith: she desperately sought to turn TO God rather than away from him. And that's why she called me -- because she knew she didn't have the strength to turn to God on her own.

We often think that faith has to be unshakeable in order to "count" as faith -- we think that faith means that we ALWAYS have to believe whole-heartedly that God is who He says He is, who we've been taught that He is. But sometimes, a response of faith is simply wanting and trying to turn to God rather than away from Him.

Her response was honest: "I cannot believe."
Her response was faith-filled: "I desperately long to believe!"

And I had the privilege of being the one called to believe for her.

STOP working on your relationship with God

Bet that title caught your attention, eh?

Today I read an excellent blog posting by Richard Beck, a professor at Abilene Christian University. Beck's article, titled, "The Bait and Switch of Contemporary Christianity", argues that contemporary Christians often substitute certain spiritual activities, such as having a daily quiet time, going to church, and reading religious books (things we consider "working on our relationship with God") in place of actually trying to live as a "decent human being." In other words, a lot of us Christians work on our relationship with God on our own through certain accepted spiritual methods but fail to actually be transformed inwardly by God through these methods.

I think Beck is scarily accurate. In fact, I highly recommend that you read his article in full (see above link). I have met Christians who are borderline obsessed with working harder at praying, reading Scripture, practicing spiritual disciplines - at practicing personal devotional piety - yet who are more concerned about themselves than about their neighbors. Yet in Scripture, active love for God and active love for neighbor are intricately connected! And in my experience, both kinds of love, while ultimately inspired in us by the Holy Spirit, must be worked at -- practiced -- just as we have to practice playing the piano or throwing a football.

Most likely, no Christian would deny that we are called to love other people. However, sometimes we have a blind spot when it comes to which is more important, "working on our relationship with God" or working on our relationships with our fellow human beings. God desires BOTH, and I truly believe that sometimes it is more pleasing to God for me to go spend time with another human being -- or even, as Beck suggests, to tip restaurant servers well -- than to pound out my relationship with God on my own, alone in my rooms. Remember Jesus' words (yes, I know they are out of context, but I think they still apply):

Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift (Matthew 5:23-24).

Relating with human beings does not replace our personal devotion, but neither does personal devotion replace our relationships with our fellow human beings!

Image found at http://wordincarnate.files.wordpress.com/2007/09/13-pharisee.jpg.

Trust and Discipleship

In looking through some church-related material that had magically piled up over the last few years, I ran across a photocopy out of a book by Brennan Manning called Ruthless Trust. My pastor probably handed out copies to our staff at one point and asked us to read it, but I had filed it away unread [sheepish grin], just one more casualty of the time-management wars.

But today, I had the time. So I read it. And now I want to buy the entire book and read it.

Here are some of my favorite quotes from the chapter:

...childlike surrender in trust is the defining spirit of authentic discipleship. And I would add that the supreme need in most of our lives is often the most overlooked--namely, the need for an uncompromising trust in the love of God. (4)

[Ethicist John Kavanaugh asks Mother Theresa to pray for him that he might have clarity.] She said firmly, "No, I will not do that." When he asked her why, she said, "Clarity is the last thing you are clinging to and must let go of." When Kavanaugh commented that she always seemed to have the clarity he longed for, she laughed and said, "I have never had clarity; what I have always had is trust. So I will pray that you trust God." (5)

We often presume that trust will dispel the confusion, illuminate the darkness, vanquish the uncertainty, and redeem the times. But the crowd of witnesses in Hebrews 11 testifies that this is not the case. Our trust does not bring final clarity on this earth. It does not still the chaos or dull the pain or provide a crutch. When all else is unclear, the heart of trust says, as Jesus did on the cross, "Into your hands I commit my spirit" (Luke 23:46). (6)

Though we often disregard our need for an unfaltering trust in the love of God, that need is the most urgent we have. It is the remedy for much of our sickness, melancholy, and self-hatred. The heart converted from mistrust to trust in the irreversible forgiveness of Jesus Christ is redeemed from the corrosive power of fear. (7)

Wallowing in shame, remorse, self-hatred, and guilt over real or imagined failings in our past [or present?] lives betrays a distrust in the love of God. (15)

I could go on. Granted, sometimes Manning is a bit saccharine for me, but this message of trust is exactly what I need to hear. And I suspect I'm not the only one...

Till All Our Strivings Cease: Reflections on a Four-Year Journey

Note: What follows is an article I wrote for the most recent student newspaper at TEDS, the "Graduate Scrawl."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“O Lord God, I am not worthy to be here. I fear to fail you, to go through this program without deepening in you. Forgive me for my lack of faith, Lord. May my efforts here show forth Your glory.”

With the words of this prayer, scribbled on a notecard during Orientation, I began my master’s degree at Trinity. Fearing failure. Fearing weakness. Longing to please God but fearful my own inadequacies would keep me from being “good enough.” Four years later, as I reflect back on my time at TEDS I can’t help but think of a well-worn vignette from C. S. Lewis’s Prince Caspian, when Aslan takes Eustace and strips off the dragon skin, transforming Eustace from a selfish, petty boy to a mature young man. I suspect I know exactly how Eustace felt–God has used the past four years to strip away some of the toughest layers of my own dragon skin so that I can minister as the person He made me to be.

Stripping the Outermost Layer: From “T” to “F”

One of the thickest layers the Lord has stripped away during my time at TEDS was my pride in my intellect. When I entered seminary, I saw myself primarily as a walking mind; I valued intellectual ability and rational thinking above all else. Imagine my horror when I took the Keirsey Temperament Sorter in “Personal Assessment” and discovered that I am a “Feeler,” not a “Thinker”! I took the test over and over, trying my hardest to be a “T” while still answering honestly. After all, I was destined to become one of the great academicians, dazzling the world with my theological treatises, NOT one of those “touchy-feely” counselor-types.

It wasn’t until my third year in seminary that I began to embrace being an “F”. By God’s grace, that year I enjoyed community and friendship as never before; for the first time in my life I found myself spending as much time with people as with my books. To my astonishment, I discovered that I actually love being with people, talking with people, listening to people, caring for people, even counseling people. In other words, I found I had a heart for ministry, not just a mind for theology.

Destroying the Deadliest Layer: From Striving to Resting

During my first two years at seminary, I worked over twenty hours a week, carried a full class load, participated on music teams in chapel and at church, ran four miles multiple times a week, helped to lead a student group, and slept an average of six hours a night. I was miserable, but I felt I couldn’t afford to spend time resting.

I resisted rest, fearing that if I stopped, I would fail – fail to earn As, to earn enough money, to earn approval from friends and professors, to keep in shape, … to please God. As hard as I worked, I was haunted by a deep, deep sense that I was never good enough and could never measure up to God’s standard for me. I knew in my head that my relationship with God relies more on His faithfulness than mine, but I was so fearful of spiritual complacency that I could not rest in His grace. I appended a string of “ifs” to “My grace is sufficient for you.”

But my frantic pace could not continue forever, and eventually my body rebelled. I was forced to rest and thus to face what I feared most: the silence of inactivity, where striving must cease. In that terrible silence, I have begun to learn the most basic and the most difficult lesson of all: grace. Following God is not a matter of doing or working hard but of continual surrender, learning to be dependent on Him and transformed by Him – being willing to submit as He strips the dragon-layers away.


Leaving the Layers Behind

As I prepare to graduate, less of a dragon than when I arrived, I am equal parts excited and scared. This “ministry” thing is still new to me – four years ago, I was merely a mind who eventually wanted to teach. I’m still getting used to the “new me,” the one who loves church work and treasures the deep privilege of rejoicing with those who rejoice and weeping with those who weep, the one who ministers not just in what she does but out of who she is. I still doubt my own abilities to “make it” in ministry, but I know that God has called me. And I am beginning to suspect that His strength just might actually be made perfect in my weakness.

Thinking Not Past Daily Bread

For some reason, I craved Scripture tonight. Maybe it was because I'd been glued to various entertainment-related screens for a good portion of the afternoon... For whatever reason, I needed something solid, something with depth, something that reached a deep place inside - even though I wasn't sure where exactly that place was located. In flipping through the New Testament (looking for a specific passage - I can't remember numbers for the life of me), I stumbled across exactly, exactly, exactly what I needed to read/hear from the Lord tonight.

You see, although it wasn't in the forefront of my mind tonight, I've been worried about... yep, you guessed it: money. Surprise, surprise. I've been praying and hoping and worrying about whether or not I can afford to continue working at my church as part-time staff, or whether I need to finally "grow up" and get a "real job." Music and church don't seem to count as "real jobs." I long to stay with the church community, doing the ministry I truly feel called to do - but is that simply naive? How do I know if staying here is a leap of faith or simply not being realistic? Lately, normal "life" matters of a few medical bills, needing (?) some new clothes, buying groceries, paying rent -- all those things have weighed upon me.

So tonight, this is the passage the Lord brought to me:

Matthew 6:25-34

"Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. [Ouch!] Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. [Living like that sounds amazing... I'm more likely to fear that trusting my heavenly Father to feed me will leave me hungry. And how does this relate to worldly wisdom about 401k's?] Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? [I don't really want to add hours. Now, if I could add dollars...]

"And why do you worry about clothes? [Because I feel exceptionally shabby lately!] See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you -- you of little faith? [Yep. That's me. I really do doubt. And I don't fully comprehend what it means to be more precious to God than a field lily.]

So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' [What about 'How will I ever afford to pay off my school loans?'] For the pagans run after all these things [So true, the world is full of people working hard to take care of themselves, desperate to provide for their needs and wants by careful planning and hard work] and your heavenly Father knows that you need them.

WHOA! Stop right there! "Your heavenly Father knows that you need them." Wow - it never hit me like that before. Tonight, something about that phrase grabbed me - God knows that I need these daily things. All the "But's" I add won't change that.

But here's the kicker, the verse that hit me once again tonight:

"But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

If I am truly seeking after God's kingdom, seeking to follow Him and serve Him, He WILL provide for me. No conditionals here. Putting Him first is all that matters. That is not naivete: that is faith.

Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!

In honor of the Great Tridium, I'm posting a poem by one of my favorite poets, Denise Levertov.

Salvator Mundi: Via Crucis

Maybe He looked indeed
much as Rembrandt envisioned Him
in those small heads that seem in fact
portraits of more than a model.
A dark, still young, very intelligent face,
a soul-mirror gaze of deep understanding, unjudging.
That face, in extremis, would have clenched its teeth
in a grimace not shown in even the great crucifixions.
The burden of humanness (I begin to see) exacted from Him
that He taste also the humiliation of dread,
cold sweat of wanting to let the whole thing go,
like any mortal hero out of his depth,
like anyone who has taken a step too far
and wants herself back.
The painters, even the greatest, don't show how,
in the midnight Garden,
or staggering uphill under the weight of the Cross,
He went through with even the human longing
to simply cease, to not be.
Not torture of body,
not the hideous betrayals humans commit
nor the faithless weakness of friends, and surely
not the anticipation of death (not then, in agony's grip)
was Incarnation's heaviest weight,
but this sickened desire to renege,
to step back from what He, Who was God,
had promised Himself, and had entered
time and flesh to enact.
Sublime acceptance, to be absolute, had to have welled
up from those depths where purpose
drifted for mortal moments.

Looking back...

Most of you will probably NOT be surprised when I say that I am a self-reflective person. I'm one of those people who keep old journals and occasionally go back and read them. Sometimes, I find it hard to fall asleep until I get my thoughts down on paper. So imagine my delight when, while putting some old notebooks in boxes (let's hear it for a mid-semester move), I found my folder from a class I took my first year at seminary: "Personal Assessment and Introduction to Ministry." Now I realize that all you TEDS people probably just gave a big groan... but I actually enjoyed that class! This morning, I've been looking through my thoughts about myself and about ministry - written three years ago. It's pretty fascinating to see where God has brought me, three years later.

As part of my "Life-Line" project, which basically involved writing a spiritual autobiography, I wrote the following prayer in response to what I saw as I looked back at God's work in my life.

Lord God, Father Almighty, how often I have cried out to you! I look back at myself and I see desperation, I hear weeping. Yet I look back at you and I see faithfulness, I hear comfort. For before I could cry out, You knew me. Before I knew how prideful I was, You prepared humility for me. Before I knew how little I knew You, You knew me better than I will ever know myself, and You loved me. When my whole life was dedicated to serving myself, You were preparing me for service. When I struggled against Your plans for my life, You were persistent in pulling me in the right direction. And in spite of myself--in spite of my pride, my ambition, my independence, my snobbery--You saved me, You granted me faith, You breathed new life into me by Your Word and Spirit, and You transformed my life. I praise You, Lord!

Holy Trinity, I am unworthy. And even my self-doubt is lack of faith: I fear that You are not enough to cover my inadequacy. Yet You have taught me that You alone are enough! You alone save me by Your grace! You alone have raised me up and given me a calling as a precious gift! You have guided my every step! You created me with a unique personality and passion, and You chose to create me this way. When I hate who I am (Kyrie eleison!), You show me Your love and remind me that I am who I am for a reason... and You are shaping who I am to conform to the image You designed me to reflect: the image of You Son. I praise You, Lord!

"Forgiveness flounders because I exclude the enemy from the community of humans and exclude myself from the community of sinners."

Gotta love the Volf.

~Miroslav Volf, "Exclusion and Embrace: Theological Reflections in the Wake of 'Ethnic Cleansing,'" in A Spacious Heart: Essays on Identity and Belonging, 57.~

Collect

One of the best things about planning music for church is that I get a sneak preview of where the Lectionary will lead us each week. I find this week's Collect particularly powerful (from the BCP).

Almighty and everlasting God, you are always more ready to hear than we to pray, and to give more than we either desire or deserve: Pour upon us the abundance of your mercy, forgiving us those things of which our conscience is afraid, and giving us those good things for which we are not worthy to ask, except through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ our Savior; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The Lectionary Page

Two Meanderings

"Literal Translation"

חֶסֶד
Be it mercy
or lovingkindness
or longsuffering faithfulness
or dumping ice cold living water
into gaping whiny mouths wanting Egypt,
return to dust for heaven's honey bread?

Three letters etched in a people's soul,
Three letters capturing inexpressibility,
Three letters marking boundary
between howling winds of nothingness--
violent anti-everything,
expansive, but contained--
and rippling waves of prairie grass and a sky the size of Texas,
endless glittering ribbons caressing ocean's end,
the digits of pi,
the air at dusk, husky, golden--
solid ground fades and infinite beauty impossible expands
into a single chapter to Corinth
and a familiar radiant body.

ARH 7.17.08


"I, a Sinner"

Forgive it, Lord, that I should--no, do--
boast in my successes, petty and profound;
My personality, four capital letters
spelling out how I just am
(yeah, me and Gandhi!);
my intellect, best of friends,
barricade, companion, spectacles;
My weaknesses, or my gift for masking them--
faith in my weakness, idolatry!

The cross, the cross?
words fail.
boasting ceases.
silence.
weight.
my words must die.
Crucify!

ARH 7.2.07

Small Faithfulness

God hath been alwayes found true in his word, most faithfull in his promises. . . . If God promiseth that he will give his only Sonne, that whosoever beleeveth in him shall not perish, but have life everlasting: his Sonne Jesus Christ shal be borne into the world at the appointed time, and undergoe the weight of Gods [sic] wrath for redemption of beleevers. Shall God then faithfully performe all his promises in so great matters, and be unfaithfull in lesser matters: oh let no such base conceit of the Almightie enter into our minds, as to thinke that he that spared not his owne Sonne, to performe his promises to us, will be so unmindfull of us in so small a thing."
[Alexander Whitaker, "Good Newes from Virginia," in Keith J. Hardman, Issues in American Christianity: Primary Sources with Introductions (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1993), 18-19. Emphasis added.]

The last sentence of this quote astounded me! Although if you asked me, I would never have said that I believe God is only faithful in or cares only about the "big things," the things that really matter (like salvation), the strength of Whitaker's assertion struck me as the exact opposite of my own assumption. I never thought about this angle, that if God is able to be faithful in "big things," how much easier (so to speak) it is for Him to be faithful in small things! Somehow, I am both significant and small in the kingdom of God -- and that comforts me greatly.

In the Light

"This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. If we claim to have fellowship with him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live out the truth. But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another..."

Some of you might be surprised that, in blatant defiance of all exegetical rules, I stopped in the middle of that verse (1 John 1:5-7). And yes, the words I left out, "and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin" are extremely important words! But tonight, those words, "we have fellowship with one another," hit me squarely in the middle of the forehead. If I hadn't been reclining already, I just might have fallen over!

If we are walking in the light, we have fellowship with one another. The only way our relationships are going to work is if we are walking in the light. Yes, wise counsel is good; yes, it is important to "work" on friendships and other relationships, but the bottom line is that if I am not walking in the light (as HE is in the light - yikes!), I will not be able to relate well with others. Quite the challenge: letting the light expose my darknesses and draw me forward to purer relationships. True, holy fellowship only comes through that light -- in all its dreadful purity and deadly perception.

Tasting Grace

I love attending a liturgical church. And I love receiving the Lord's Supper every week. That meaning of that ritual sinks deeper and deeper into my soul each time I come to the table, although I still feel that I understand what exactly happens in the Eucharist so little!

Today was one of those days that I felt like I really "got it" -- that just for a brief second, I understood the power of receiving the consecrated elements. It had been one of those Sunday mornings where the cares of the world just refused to stop following me around the sanctuary, bouncing on my shoulders and poking me in the mind so that it was hard for me to enter into worship, even while leading the music. But when it came time for me to receive the bread and wine up in front with the other musicians, something quietly extraordinary happened.

It was as if during the whole service up to that point, I had been seeing and moving through a viscous liquid that held me back, but when the bread was offered to me with the words "This is the body of Christ, the bread of heaven" and the priest's eyes looking directly into mine, suddenly the air around me was pure again. "Lord, I receive you -- all that you desire to give to me, all that is mine already in Christ -- Lord, heal me, strengthen my faith, fill me, thank you." The communion bread was sweet, soft, a slightly larger morsel than usual -- today, I could literally taste the Spirit speaking, "See? I do not skimp on the gifts I give to you. Taste my grace. You do not need to plead with me for crumbs. Receive my healing." And the communion wine, offered to me by the catechist, had never tasted so wonderful to me as it did today.

Truly, truly we sang, "Taste and see, taste and see the goodness of the Lord."

Thomas Merton's Prayer

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

From Thomas Merton, "Thoughts in Solitude," heard during sermon this morning, found online here.

How Long

This heaviness upon my soul--
absorbed
original

echoes of the martyrs' blood-stained voices
groaning bodiless for justice.

These cries belie the promise of spring--
autumn leaves pressed by winter's heavy hand
losing themselves
resurrected in flowerbeds.

Where are the daffodils?
How long
oh Lord?

~ARH, 04.18.08~

"More than just the passive suffering of an innocent person, the passion of Christ is the agony of a tortured soul and wrecked body offered as a prayer for the forgiveness of the torturers. No doubt, such prayer adds to the agony of the passion. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer saw clearly, forgiveness itself is a form of suffering . . . ; when I forgive I have not only suffered a violation but also suppressed the rightful claims of strict restitutive justice. Under the foot of the cross we learn, however, that in a world of irreversible deeds and partisan judgments redemption from the passive suffering of victimization cannot happen without the active suffering of forgiveness." (Volf, Exclusion and Embrace, 125)

"The active suffering of forgiveness" - I think this is deeply true. How hard it is at times to give up our desires for vengeance, making the other feel pain as we have felt, or even for visible justice, seeing the other punished for wrongs done to us. But there are times when justice here on earth is not possible. This doesn't give us an excuse to pardon injustice, but we must also recognize that our own puny ideas of what justice looks like are not equivalent to God's justice. Is it possible to forgive those who do not even acknowledge they have done wrong, who on the contrary are deeply convinced that they are the victims? I think it is, but it is only possible in Christ.

"When one knows that the torturer will not eternally triumph over the victim . . . , one is free to rediscover that person's humanity and imitate God's love for him [sic]. And when one knows that God's love is greater than all sin, one is free to see oneself in the light of God's justice and so rediscover one's own sinfulness." (124)

That's exactly the point - none of us are fully innocent. Ever. Once again, this does not excuse injustice, but it also should relativize our "righteous indignation." I am never in a position to judge and condemn another, for we are all equal as we fall at the foot of the cross. Handing over my demand for justice to the One who is completely Just, completely Loving -- this is the painful power of forgiveness.

Brief Thought for the Day

"The distance [from our own cultures] forged by the Spirit of new creation . . . entails a judgment against evil in every culture. . . . The judgment must begin, however, 'with the household of God' (1 Peter 4:17)--with the self and its own culture. . . . Similarly, those who seek to overcome evil must fight it first of all in their own selves."

~Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace (52)

As I was reading today, this quote particularly captured my attention. First, I appreciated that Volf was able to affirm that Christians are called to be BOTH drastically accepting of others (the Holy Spirit "creates space in us to receive the other" - 51) AND holding onto moral judgments of right and wrong. Most of us seem to deemphasize one or the other, but both together are Christian.

Second, the biblical statement, "judgment begins with the household of God" hit me powerfully. Do we take this seriously? Yes, we preach piety and moral values, but do we really engage in the hard work it takes to root out deep seated evils from ourselves and our communities? Do we preach at those who lack the Spirit, condemning them for their "evil ways," while we who have surrendered to the Spirit's claims walk blindly in the darkness? I fear that too many in American churches have a "form of godliness" while denying its power. . .

What do you think?

Mingled Waters

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they shall see God."

There is a deep brokenness to life. Some days I know it more than others. Some days I feel the Fall like a dull ache, a heaviness upon my chest. Some days, I find it easy to mourn with those who mourn and weep with those who weep, because my whole being is tuned to that inexpressible groaning of creation and our common longing to be whole again.

Today was one of those days. Heavy thoughts and conversations from the past few days sunk into my body overnight, and I woke with grief. With awareness of my own sins and failures as well as awareness of the tragic gaps between us and others, some of our own making, some that just . . . appear. I came to church dwelling very much in Lent.

At church, music rehearsal was dominated by the absence of our sound technician and corresponding problems, particularly since we use an electric keyboard rather than an actual piano. No sound = no keyboard. I was actually expecting a few snafoos during the morning, since our pastor was out of town, so I wasn't surprised. We never actually accomplished a full sound check, so when the service began, it was difficult for us musicians to hear one another -- Muffled notes in the sanctuary, my own voice and the rhythms of guitar close by.

The confirmation class that met before the service lasted until about 3 minutes before the service begins, making me antsy about getting upstairs and preparing to begin.

With a visiting preacher often comes a few other bumps in the liturgical road. Today, the pastor accidentally prepared a sermon from 2 Samuel 16 rather than 1 Samuel 16, so that the Old Testament reading that appeared in the bulletin did not match the sermon.

Somehow the third verse of the closing song did not get printed in the bulletin, so Elisa and I sang an inadvertent duet.

Why this litany of "failures" during corporate worship? Because despite these glitches, God made His presence known. Despite the poor monitor levels, the congregation was engaged in singing. Despite the Samuel mix-up, God's word was preached in power. Just as God worked in the service in spite of our human errors, so God works in us in the midst of our brokenness.

There is always a brokenness inherent in anything we do in this life, whether we are aware of it or not. In times when things run smoothly, it is easy for pride to take us captive so that we congratulate ourselves on our own competence, whether in our "excellent worship," or the "practical wisdom" we graciously extend to our friends, or our superior business sense, or our self-awareness ("why can't others simply be considerate like me?").

Pride does not lean on God's grace. For this is what makes me thankful for the days in which I dwell in brokenness: the deeper my sense of the brokenness, the greater my sense of God's grace. God has not abandoned us to brokenness. God does not disregard our pain, our failed relationships, our damaged emotions, our deluded thoughts. There is healing, joy that we only experience to the extent to which we have known the pain. Without brokenness, we would not see the radiance of redemption.

There is an undercurrent of deep sadness in life, but that mournful stream empties out into the vast, broad, deep, wide River of Life. Right now, the two streams are mingled, and as I drink from the river, I must taste both bitter and sweet.
But someday, ahh! someday . . .

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us."

Gimme that Old-time Angst

Today, as part of a class assignment, I got out a couple of journals from my undergrad days. For those of you who journal, you know how startling it can be to look back at what you wrote, to go back in time and re-live formative moments, to feel strong emotions pass through you like ghosts, not-to-be-ignored.

Before this morning, it had been awhile since I'd opened these journals, written primarily as part of my "quiet times" in undergrad, beginning my sophomore year. I tend to idolize that time in my life as the season in which I was most disciplined, most faithful to God in my personal life , and growing the most in faith. Since graduating from Wheaton, my memories of those years have haunted me, a reminder that at one time I was more disciplined, more faithful... and more in God's favor than I am now. Twisted belief, I know, but deeply rooted.

But I had forgotten how much angst filled those years. Browsing through my journals this morning, I was shocked to look at my soul and see desperate striving rather than deep confidence in God's grace. Now, I am aware that living in Grace is a fundamental struggle for me, but I had forgotten how much I was trapped in despair, striving, and guilt during those years I have idolized. I confess, I feel a bit shaken! I know I've said it before, but I am glad it is Lent - I suspect I have some idols of which to repent.

As I was reading my journals, I came across an overlooked angsty poem (not even sure it could be called a poem - maybe a poetic fragment). It's a bit rough, but I'd like to share it anyway.

Father, where is the prayer I know should be
Subsuming me, consuming me
like that old burning bush?
Is this word a prayer?
or just me, communing with my ache,
hollow poetry -- self-cannibalism,
self-starvation?
Give me those prayer lenses and
the frame of Your Son--
The new perspective for the new creation.

God's grace -- great mystery.