Wrestling with Scripture

Recently, I posted a scripture on Facebook from the devotion I was reading, and a comment about the challenge of trying to follow the example of God that was reflected in the verse I posted. Because it was about loving and caring for immigrants, I received several comments that were on the argumentative side. 

I was reminded in reading the comments how we are often made uncomfortable by scripture. It challenges us, it offends us, it invites us to wrestle with it. And there is value in that. If we aren’t finding ourselves challenged by scripture, if we’re not questioning and discussing and wrestling with it, then we aren’t growing. We’ve removed ourselves from the process of becoming stronger in our faith.

I remember hearing a story about trees that were grown under a dome, where there was no wind, no environmental challenges that could impair or otherwise affect their growth. The trees grew straight and tall, but they had no strength. Because they hadn’t been challenged by wind or storms or even changes in temperature, they were weak and spindly. Sure, a tree in the wild is subject to a lightning strike or being blown over in a storm or bent over in an ice storm, but the challenges it faces also makes it more durable, able to withstand difficulty.

Somewhere along the way, we decided that we had to be certain about everything. Maybe it’s just basic human nature to want everything to be black and white, wrong or right, good or bad. But if you’ve lived any length of time at all as a thinking person, you will find such dualities don’t hold up. There is always more than meets the eye. Certainty is a bit like living in a dome. Our unwillingness to wrestle and be challenged by scripture makes us weak and spindly Christians, Christians whose faith won’t hold up when times are difficult.

Certainty and faith are opposites. Doubt is not the enemy of faith, rather it is the wind, the storm, the season changes that enable our faith to get stronger and grow. Doubt can cause us to turn away, the spiritual equivalent of a tree being blown over in a storm, but doubt is not fatal to faith the way certainty is.

I’m glad people engaged with the Facebook post I made. It was an opportunity for me to reflect on views different than my own, and I hope the commenters did likewise. In reflecting and wrestling and pondering, there is opportunity to grow. And at the very least, we should be able to listen to one another with grace and patience.

When have you wrestled with scripture or theology in your own life? How has that affected your faith?

 

Rejoicing in Rest

 

Rest is a four-letter word to most of us, whether we admit it or not. It is such a foreign concept to those of us in western culture that we don’t really believe it’s possible. I can back that up with a couple of real-life examples.

Years ago, I was the teacher for a young adult Sunday school class. The class was mostly young professionals, without children, and some who were in law school or medical school. We were using a book that explored different spiritual practices. There was no pushback against the ideas of prayer or fasting or service or generosity or even silence. But when we got to sabbath, you’d have thought I was suggesting sacrificing animals on the sanctuary altar! We looked at the scriptures in Leviticus about a sabbath year. I asked the class, “Could you go an entire year without working, trusting that God would provide what you needed?” The outrage was swift and loud. I heard the phrase “Protestant work ethic” and comments about God’s expectation for us to work. I could testify that among that group, there were no young adults willing to be slackers!

Yet the aversion to sabbath was just as strong among a group of retirees I later led through a book study using Barbara Brown Taylor’s An Altar in the World. All was well until we hit the chapter on sabbath. When I asked this group if they could go an entire day (not a year, just one day) without working, or making anyone or anything else (even their car or phone or computer) work, the pushback was just as strong as what I’d encountered in the young adult class.

We act as if rest would kill us.

Rest is an anathema to us. A last resort. Something we often only do when our bodies break down and insist on it.

Imagineifeverythingwewrotewaswrittenwithoutspacesorpunctuationhowwouldyoubeabletoeasilyreadanydocument? We use spaces to understand the written word. We use punctuation to convey the emotion of a message. If there are no pauses, if every word is run together, how long before you actually get frustrated and give up trying to read a document?

Pauses, rests in musical notation, punctuation—all of these are needed to convey an understandable message. If our lives are a message to God, if we seek to live lives that are praising God, how will our praise be understood if our lives are simply one thing after another without any pause? Jesus rested. Even in the press of people seeking healing, he took time away to renew himself. When we refuse to rest, we are actually saying with our lives that we are better than Jesus.

I do not have this all worked out in my life. It’s a constant challenge for me to accept the gift of rest. A recent move, which has given me a more open schedule, has caused me to confront my own discomfort with rest. I am continually reminding myself that I don’t have to fill every empty moment with activity. The struggle is real, and I keep telling myself that “no” is an acceptable answer.

Rest will not kill us. On the contrary, we need to learn to rejoice in rest. To gladly do nothing, to dispel any guilt or shame at being “nonproductive.” Who knows what might change for us if we simply spent an afternoon or even fifteen minutes watching clouds or sitting by a stream? To make the time to simply enjoy being alive and part of the world—what an act of praise to God!

Easter Dinosaur

I see you there on the grocery shelf

among all the other half-price items,

which today consist entirely of Easter candy,

looking simultaneously fierce and forlorn, out of place.

What brought you to this, you who are no

chick or bunny, no fluffy traditional Easter creature?

You possess a story unknown to me;

I am left to create my own story about you,

Easter dinosaur.

Rabbit-Foot Clover

Many years I didn't notice you

growing chiefly in neglected city spots:

sidewalk cracks, patches of overgrown grass,

near derelict buildings. Common as dandelion,

equally overlooked. It took a slow, contemplative walk

for you to get my attention, fuzzy spot of cheer.

I fell in love, took you home, enjoyed you more than

the showiest bloom.

To find you each spring delights me,

your persistence, willingness to grow anywhere,

especially inhospitable places. You possess

strength and beauty of wildness.

I want to be like you.

The Vulnerability of Open Space

 And you find your soul, and greatness has a defender. . .

From “People Like Us,” by Robert Bly

I claim to want to find my soul, yet today

and tomorrow stretch before me with minimal agenda.

Instead of joy, I feel fear. The vulnerability of open space

is like being on a treeless plain exposed to enemies

who come to do battle. 

Is this more true than I realize?

Are the enemies my own fears and longings

kept at bay by my busyness?

Outward silence and solitude don’t mean

I’m alone and quiet. There is a cacophony within;

I feel like the Gerasene demoniac. Legion is my name.

I want to find my soul. I want to be well. Down deep,

beneath the inner noise, I know this is true.

You have made me for greatness, for largeness,

for fullness of joy. Free me from the noise within me.

Let me hear the song you sing to my soul.

A Meaningful Lent

“Stop collecting treasures for your own benefit on earth, where moth and rust eat them and where thieves break in and steal them. Instead, collect treasures for yourselves in heaven, where moth and rust don’t eat them and where thieves don’t break in and steal them. Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6:19-21

Included in one of the readings for Ash Wednesday, these particular verses set me thinking about past Lenten disciplines that helped me focus on collecting treasure in heaven, the practices that had staying power with me and helped me know myself and God better.

One year I took on the practice of writing a poem each day. That practice helped me to pay attention, both to what was happening around me and to what was happening within me. After all, I needed something to write a poem about. I found the practice so helpful in paying attention that I adopted for this year, to help me live into the word that is guiding me in 2023.

Another year, I worked through a Lenten book called Simplifying the Soul. What made this practice significant is that some of the exercises it suggested revealed to me attachments of which I was not aware. I learned a lot about myself working through that book. 

Years when I gave up chocolate or desserts or similar things did not have the lasting effect that these practices had. However, the year I let someone talk me into giving up coffee I found myself resentful. I learned that year not to allow anyone else to determine what my Lenten discipline should be!

The year that likely was the hardest, and yet the most transformational, was the year my practice was to not defend, justify, or explain myself when my words or actions were misconstrued. My then-husband frequently accused me of motives that had never crossed my mind, and when I would try to clarify my actions to him, things would escalate. Choosing this discipline for Lent meant I absorbed the accusations and twisting of my motives. It was so hard. 

Our natural response is to want to be understood, to be seen for who we are. To keep quiet reminded me of Isaiah 53:7: He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.

As hard as the practice was, there was less conflict in our home because I chose to keep silent. Additionally, keeping silent allowed me to see more clearly that his behavior wasn’t simple misconstruing of my actions but a form of verbal abuse. Because I wasn’t allowing myself to be drawn into an argument, I came to recognize something I hadn’t previously.

Obviously, not every Lenten discipline has had the impact that these three did. But taking the time to consider how I want to grow, how I want to be made different beyond the season of Lent, is, for me, laying up treasure in heaven. So I give careful consideration each year to the Lenten practice I will adopt, knowing this season of Lent is a chance for God to create a clean heart in me.

I invite you to pray and consider carefully how your Lenten discipline can help you lay up treasure in heaven. Blessings on your Lenten journey.

At Home

Jesus answered, “Whoever loves me will keep my word. My Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.” John 14:23

I look around my home, how it reflects me,

the books, the artwork, the colors, the plants,

the open windows that let me see out and invite light inside,

the memories and people represented in items displayed,

the love that fills this space and fills me too.

It is good to be home, to let myself be expressed here.

I wonder what God thinks as God looks around within me?

I hope that what God sees stirs such fondness as I feel,

looking around my home.

Since God created me, I believe God does look with fondness

at God’s home within me.