Wholly Loving

He wants us to be like him: wholly loving toward ourselves and toward all beings.

                                                                                                                Julian of Norwich

Can love ever be carried to extreme? When I think about the term “wholly loving,’ that question comes to mind.

But when I look to God, I know the answer to that question. If love is truly love, pure love, it can never be too much. We can distort love in many ways, but pure love can have no excess.

Being a doormat for another is not love, because it is neither loving toward ourselves nor toward the person we allow to use us in that way. Allowing someone to use you, to denigrate and demand and control you is not encouraging them to become all that God wants them to be. Allowing such behavior lets a person live in their insecurity and fear, and actually encourages more such behavior, while at the same time diminishing your own sense of worth.

God does not love us this way. God does not oppress or shame or blame. God does not pressure us into certain behaviors or threaten us. God does not use fear to manipulate us. God is always loving us into life that allows us to be full, whole and alive in God.

Love is not needy, jealous, manipulative or possessive. Love does not traffic in shame or blame, but acknowledges failures and moves on, forgiving and apologizing when needed. Love knows the difference between apology and attention-seeking, between forgiveness and pridefulness. Love is all humility and no ego. Love looks with clear eyes and sees what is, which is that we are all beloved and clumsy, chosen by God for all eternity.

When we can know ourselves wholly loved by God, then we can rest in God’s love. We can love more like God loves, because we don’t need to manipulate or control others to receive love. And when we are wholly loving toward ourselves, we don’t allow others to diminish our worth to feed their insecurity.

Song of Praise

Revelation 4:1-11

Holy, holy, holy!

Creator God, you are holy!

In the orange fire of sunset,

in the vivid pink of sunrise,

in the indescribable blue of spring sky,

your glory bursts forth.

Holy, holy, holy!

Christ Jesus, you are holy!

In you, we see God’s heart for us—

love we cannot fathom,

patience filled with grace,

forgiveness that bids us live with joy.

Holy, holy, holy!

Spirit, you are holy!

In the stillness of early morning,

in the silence of a chapel,

in laughter, tears and love of community,

your presence is palpable.

Holy, holy, holy!

Wrapped in Trinity’s holiness

may we too be holy,

lifted by love to deep devotion,

challenged by grace to grow in grace,

filled with joy irrepressible.

Holy, holy, holy!

Confession

Isaiah 40

God, whose way leads through

wilderness, whose desert path

uproots us out of ordinary time,

forgive us when we choose

complacency over change,

ease over transformation,

numbness over attentiveness.

We prefer the false security of

easy answers, blame and prejudice

rather than the disciplines of

understanding, patience and

accountability.

Hold us in the desert long enough

to clear our vision, change our hearts,

gentle our judgments.

Hold us accountable even as you

hold us in your hand.

Flatten our mountains of pride.

Raise the ones we have despised.

Make our desert sojourn fruitful—

harsh enough to soften us, to turn

us to you in utter dependency,

so we will know that you show

your power in gentleness,

your strength in compassion,

your greatness in proximity.

Beginning

As we age, we may become reluctant to become a beginner. Yet the start of a new year is a good time to begin something new. Two years ago, I began to practice yoga. At 55, I was not as limber as I once was, but I took my clumsy, stiff self to yoga with regularity, and now I can bend in ways I couldn’t bend when I first went to yoga class. I still have much to learn, and am often reminded by yoga instructors to come to my mat with a beginner’s attitude.

This year, I am teaching myself to crochet. With a rainy start to the year, I had a great opportunity to devote some time to beginning this new practice. With clumsy fingers and a lot of patience with myself, I am slowly watching a dishcloth take shape.

New years invite us to new beginnings. Yet every day likewise offers us a fresh start. I am drawn to the early Christian monastics, those abbas and ammas of the desert. And as I think about beginning, I offer you a favorite saying of mine:

Abba Poemen said of Abba Pior that every day he made a new beginning.

What a refreshing way to approach life. If we make a new beginning every day, we don’t carry the burden of guilt, shame and regret. Because of this, we can focus on God’s direction in our lives, rather than on ourselves—our failures and shortcomings. We accept God’s forgiveness and grace and rise to live and serve afresh each morning. And, at the end of the day, we let the day go, knowing that we begin again tomorrow.

New year’s resolutions are good, but when we fail at them, we often abandon them and fall back into old habits. If, instead, we could see tomorrow as a new beginning, we might come closer to implementing our desired changes.

When we live like Abba Pior, we live with freshness, hope and expectancy. Surely these are some of the childlike qualities that Jesus was thinking about when he taught us to have the faith of a child. Making a new beginning every day invites us to keep the gift of grace always before us. Instead of dwelling obsessively on the past, we can live and grow closer to the true self God created us to be.

Falling Down and Getting Up

At SoulFeast a couple of years ago, I remember hearing Trevor Hudson, a South African pastor say, “We fall down; we get up.” He was making the point that our lives are a journey, and that even when we think we have progressed, we still fall down. Our whole lives will be a process of falling down.

The key is the getting up part of this phrase. Falling down is part of our human condition, but getting up is what transforms us from the realm of miserable failure to that of hopeful saints. In getting up, we affirm God’s mercy toward us, and we live in grace, confident of our forgiveness.

I am being reminded of this because I had a recent, and still tender, fall. Not a physical fall, but an experience of selfishness where I hurt another. It is tempting to wallow in my wretchedness, and yet, if I choose that course, I turn away from God into my own self-centered guilt.

As much as I regret my behavior, I more regret the hurt I caused. My asking the person for forgiveness does not guarantee that they forgive me, and they are under no obligation to do so. Like Peter, when he denied Jesus three times, I’ve wept bitterly. But also like Peter, I get up and keep moving ahead.

We don’t like to see the ugly parts of ourselves. We would always rather think that we are “good” people, comparing ourselves to ax murderers and other folks who do heinous deeds. The reality is, though, that there is much junk within, and every now and then, it comes out and we fall. It’s why we need forgiveness. It’s why we need a Savior. It’s why grace is so transformative. Our ability to admit and not excuse our falling helps us to recognize that we are not so different than the ax murderer, and grace is available for us both.

Peter and Judas both betrayed Jesus, but while Judas could not get up from his falling, Peter did. Christ’s grace and forgiveness got him up and going. May it do so for me, and for us all when we fall down.

Creating Hospitable Holidays

Earlier this week, I spoke to a group about hospitality. As we enter a season where many of us will either open our homes to others, or be the guests of others, it seems a good time to reflect on hospitality as a spiritual practice.

Christian hospitality is more than good manners. Whether we are the hosts or the guests, we should assume a posture of humility and vulnerability. This is likely more obvious if we are the guest in the home of another, but it should also be the case if we are hosting another in our home. As the host, we assume the posture of a servant. As Parker Palmer suggests, we let the stranger be a stranger. Even if our guests are family members, we allow them the space to simply be themselves.

Yet many times, family gatherings can turn into efforts at manipulation and domination, not expressions of love and humble service. If you have shared a meal with family or friends, and the topic of conversation has turned to what someone either at the table or absent from it has or hasn’t done or should or shouldn’t do, you know it is not an open or welcoming place to be. That is especially true if you are the target of another’s criticism or manipulation, but even if you are not the target, such conversation is uncomfortable and uncaring (although it may be couched as being for one’s own good).

St. Augustine said, “The human race is inquisitive about other people’s lives, but negligent to correct their own.” He says this because some seemed to have a prurient interest in the sexual excesses of his life prior to his conversion. When holiday gatherings become opportunities for interrogation and criticism about the lives of family members either present or absent, hospitality is nonexistent. This is true even if the inquisition is framed as loving care or concern.

Augustine goes on to say, “A brotherly person rejoices on my account when he approves me, but when he disapproves, he grieves on my behalf.” True grief on behalf of another does not manifest itself in manipulation and criticism. May we practice such hospitality this season that others feel comfortable and welcome in our presence. Let us rejoice and grieve with those with whom we share space, not criticize, manipulate or interrogate them. Let us make space for grace and love.

The Grace of Self-Forgetfulness

And the second is like it: You must love your neighbor as you love yourself.               Matthew 22:39                                                      

Likely you are familiar with this verse, for it appears in some form in Matthew, Mark and Luke. It is not original with Jesus, though, for it first appears in Leviticus 19:18. As easy as the verse is to remember, it is not easy to practice. We have as hard a time loving our neighbor as we do loving self.

I have been reading Abandonment to Divine Providence
 by Rev. Jean-Pierre de Caussade S.J., which is a treatise on the sacrament of the present moment and a collection of letters to different people encouraging them to self-abandonment. Over and over again, de Caussade encourages the recipients of his letters to be gentle with themselves. He says that just as they treat others with gentleness and patience, they should extend the same treatment to themselves. 

We may balk at such instruction, but I believe that is because we equate self-love with self-indulgence. On the contrary, while de Caussade encourages gentleness toward self, he also urges the recipients of his letters to not be self-absorbed but instead to be self-forgetful. If we are beating ourselves up over our failures and inadequacies, we are exhibiting self-absorption. Being gentle and patient with ourselves, letting our failures drop like a stone in water, is actually self-forgetfulness. Far from self-indulgence, such patience recognizes that we are going to fail. That acknowledgement and acceptance of our limitations increases our dependence on God, de Caussade observes.

Gentleness with ourselves translates into gentleness with others. And when we accept that others will also fail, we can love them for who they are, failures and all. Such acknowledgment allows us to forgive others as we are also forgiven. In this gentleness and patience with ourselves and others, we can find rest for our souls.

Extending Compassion

I’ve been prayerfully reading through Isaiah for several months now. Recently I read these verses:

The land mourned; it wasted away;

   Lebanon was ashamed; it withered.

Sharon became like the desert,

   and Bashan and Carmel were dropping their leaves.   

                                                                                                Isaiah 33:9

The lack of care for humanity extends to the land as well, according to Isaiah’s prophecy. That makes sense, for how can true compassion be compartmentalized? How can you love one and not another? How can you care for people and not for animals or vice versa? Psalm 36:6 says: Your righteousness is like the strongest mountains; your justice is like the deepest sea. Lord, you save both humans and animals. How can you value the earth and not its residents? How do you love God and mutilate God’s creation?

Purposely and accidentally we have shielded ourselves from the consequences of our choices. We don’t always know the effects of our lifestyle and when we do know, we sometimes objectify the suffering we cause, as if that somehow makes it okay. When we label people as different from us (by sex, race, religion, age, lifestyle, etc.) we can justify our actions against them. When we objectify a person with a label, then we no longer see him or her as a child of God. When we commoditize flora and fauna, we lose sight of the care God took to create it and of the delicate balance of interconnectedness that we were charged to preserve. Our careless, self-important attitude leaves no quarter for true compassion or for the fullness of God’s love to flow through us for the benefit of a hurting world.

Who of us is not guilty? When we use electricity, someone’s nature is destroyed. Our mindless food choices means people and animals and land are often exploited and abused. When we push for cheaper products, the poor person in another country suffers for our benefit. The recent garment factory fire in Bangladesh should cause us to require accountability for the clothing we purchase. Our unwillingness to consider the consequences of our actions causes others to suffer and breaks God’s heart.

We may hide behind the notion that we are “good people,” but the suffering of lives that intersect with ours, if we stop to think about the reach of our choices, tells a different story. We are sinful people, and to glibly claim forgiveness continues to keep us skating on the surface of compassion, avoiding the deep woundedness that our lifestyle choices perpetuate. Ezekiel’s prophecy against the leaders of his day could be spoken to us in first world America: Doom to Israel’s shepherds who tended themselves! Shouldn’t shepherds tend the flock? You drink the milk, you wear the wool, and you slaughter the fat animals, but you don’t tend the flock. You don’t strengthen the weak, heal the sick, bind up the injured, bring back the strays, or seek out the lost; but instead you use force to rule them with injustice. (Ezekiel 34:2b-4).

Until we cut through the calloused layer created by our limited vision, we cannot deeply know our forgiveness, for true forgiveness has to result in a changed life, a changed heart, a heart that knows that God lives in every person, every animal, every natural resource, every created thing. When we truly know that, we cannot help living differently. Until we know that, we crucify God time and time again by not honoring what God created and loves.

Lord God, creator of all that is, seen and unseen, help me to see you in every part of creation—people, animals, plants, and all else you created. Help me to live mindfully, making whatever choices I can to preserve your life in the world. Where I continue to crucify you by the lifestyle choices I cannot easily overcome, give me wisdom and prudence to lessen my dependence on these choices, a voice to speak out for changes, and courage and faith when such changes seem insurmountable. Give me a compassionate heart, even though I know that by asking for this, I am also asking for the ability to shoulder the pain and suffering of your creation, which is your pain and suffering. Give me the courage to carry your cross, which is carried daily by the poor and the exploited of all creation. Amen.

Yogurt Evangelism

A couple of years ago a friend of mine told me how to make my own yogurt. I don’t know how many people I’ve shared the recipe with. People are always amazed at how easy it is to make, and marvel at the process and the finished product. Even busy people can find time to make it, and while they may be skeptical at first, they all become believers once they try it.

I sometimes feel as though I’ve become something of a yogurt evangelist, telling others the good news that yogurt can be made easily and inexpensively. My experience with yogurt bears much similarity to the way I believe our faith is spread to others.

First of all, it’s based on personal experience. While we’ve all heard stories of mass conversions at conferences and revivals, I often wonder how well such conversions actually stick once the euphoria of the mountaintop is gone, and life returns to the nitty-gritty valley. I might have found the directions for making yogurt online, but without someone else’s personal experience to back it up, I likely would not have tried it. While the energy of a large group might propel me to try something new, let me get away from that setting and doubts and insecurities may creep in and prevent me from doing what I intended to do. But let me see the spark in another’s eyes, someone I know and respect, and I am more likely to follow through on my intentions, especially knowing that I can call that person for help when my enthusiasm wanes or I doubt my ability to persevere.

Second, it doesn’t require any fancy equipment or training. Making yogurt at home requires only a crock pot. Sharing your faith with others only requires that you tell what you know. You don’t need a tract or a script, you only need relationships—a relationship with God and a relationship with another person. But while that sounds simple, it isn’t easy to build authentic relationship with God or with others. Both take time and attention, the willingness and ability to listen, and the desire to put the relationship ahead of your own agenda. Making yogurt is simple, but it does require time and attention. Like relationships, it isn’t an instant process. In both relationships and yogurt-making, you must pace yourself. In either case, the process cannot be rushed.

Finally, things will not always go as you hope they will. I’ve had batches of yogurt fail, and I’ve had relationships with others become strained. My relationship with God has times of doubt and uncertainty. When my yogurt fails, I salvage it as best I can, because I don’t want to waste what I’ve worked to make. If I cannot salvage it, I at least try to learn from the failure, so I won’t repeat it. In my relationships with others, I ask forgiveness, I seek to understand where I failed and change, and always, I try to learn from the experience. In my relationship with God, I know that the failure is not God, but me. I ask for forgiveness and accept that I am forgiven and loved.

Making my own yogurt has changed what I spend on groceries because making it at home is more economical than buying it. My relationship with God has changed my life. The time I’ve devoted to developing a relationship with God has helped me to fall in love with God. Being in love with God increases my love for others. As I grow in my love for others, evangelism just naturally happens. 

Missing the Messiah

When everyone was expecting a militant messiah, God came to us in a baby named Jesus. As he grew and began his ministry, people had a hard time believing he was the Messiah because he did everything the opposite of what the people expected. Instead of overthrowing the Roman rule, he instructed his followers to love their enemies. When his hometown rejected him, he did not retaliate, or call down fire on them, or ask his disciples to attack them. And when he knew that the Roman soldiers had come for him, to crucify him, he healed the ear of the one whom his disciples injured. With his dying breath, he sought forgiveness, not retaliation.

Sadly, many of us are still looking for that militant messiah. In fact, we’ve so perverted the Jesus whose birth we have just celebrated that we have blamed him for the killing of innocent children in Newtown Connecticut. For what else do you call it when you say that the reason this senseless attack occurred is because God was evicted from public schools? If Jesus is the visible example of the invisible God, if the will of God and Jesus are one and the same, if we believe in one God, and that Jesus is the Word made flesh, then we are accusing Jesus of killing these children when we say that this attack is the result of a retaliatory God.

How can you reconcile the Jesus who loved children (Mark 10:13-16), who forgave those who killed him (Luke 23:24), with a Jesus who perpetrates the killing of children? We run a grave risk when we attribute our human propensity to retaliation to the one who told us to turn the other cheek. It makes me sick to read the distorted way that many have blamed this terrible evil on the One who is Love, the One who is Light, the One who did not retaliate against those who killed him.

When the magi came looking for the King that was Jesus, the Jewish scholars were surprised. This baby was born right under their noses and they missed the significance of his birth. We have once again celebrated his birth, and I’m afraid we too have missed the significance of his birth and his life because we are still looking for a militant messiah, one who will smite our enemies and lift us high, instead of one who calls us to love our enemies and preached that the last will be first.

Creation, Destruction and Discipleship

It is always easier to destroy things than to create them. Creativity always takes longer than destruction.

I heard these comments in a workshop I attended recently. I thought about the implications of this observation and how we, as a culture, put so much emphasis on productivity. Creativity seems to me to be at the opposite end of the spectrum from productivity. Maybe that is why we tend to be destructive—to ourselves and to others. It is what is rewarded, because productivity is more akin to destruction than to creation.

Think about what it takes to bring a baby to birth. It’s a nine month process just to get a baby to the point where it can live outside its mother’s womb. It is even longer before the baby grows up enough to be able to take care of its own needs. While creation arguably takes more than the nine months prior to birth, death can happen instantly.

Because creation takes time, it also requires patience. But in our culture, we want instant, and instant means that creation may not get the time and attention needed to take root and flourish.

This is true with discipleship. In the early church, those who wanted to be baptized and join the church went through a season of preparation, usually during Lent. That time of preparation gave time for a person to learn about God and themselves, and to recognize that they were only beginning a faith journey. Baptism was not the end of the journey, but only the beginning.

Contrast that with the way many of us view baptism and church membership today. It’s an instant process, consumer oriented, and often seen as the end rather than the commencement of a lifelong journey of discipleship. As a result, some in the church think that discipleship is defined as membership and nothing more.

When church is something we consume rather than the place where we learn to pour out our lives in sacrifice, then the level of commitment to a church family is low. If you can’t consume what you like, you leave and go where your “needs” are met. I read somewhere that church is the one place where you learn to work and live with folks different from you. That’s one way of learning discipleship. Learning to forgive, to be patient, to put others ahead of self, to give, to be accountable, to be humble—these are all lessons learned best with those who are different than us. It is when each of us rubs each other’s raw and sharp edges that we learn discipleship.

In a sense, there is destruction involved in creation. The old must die for the new to be born. The consumer mentality must die for the sacrificial mentality of discipleship to be born. Just as we see the pattern of death and resurrection in Jesus, we also must live into that same cycle of death and resurrection if we are to grow as disciples.

Cracked Pots

Some years ago in a small group study, we were given a piece of clay and told to make a pot. Some created attractive, symmetrical vessels, while others of us (myself included) brought out of our clay something less attractive, more misshapen and lopsided. Mine reminded me of a pot I made as a child. My clay skills had not improved over the years.

Once our pots were made, we discovered that they were to hold a small tea light candle. At this point, I realized that the most artistic and attractive pots did no better job at holding the candle than my own lopsided creation! That was a good lesson for me, reminding me that I should not compare myself with others, for we are all created by God, and given different gifts, abilities and appearances.

But that was not the lesson of this exercise. When we placed the candles in the pots, lit the wicks and turned out the lights, we discovered how ineffective our pots were as lanterns. Other than a small amount of light coming from the tops of the pots, we could not see much. The sturdy clay walls held the light in.

You may remember the story of Gideon and how, with only 300 men, he overtook the Midianites (Judges 7). The men each had a trumpet and an empty jar, with a torch inside each jar. Gideon instructed the men to blow their trumpets when he blew his trumpet and then to smash the jars so that the torches would shine brightly.

The problem with our pots was that they did not allow our lights to shine very brightly. The pots were well constructed, but opaque. How much of my life have I tried to construct my life as a sturdy, impervious vessel, able to withstand the various bumps and blows that life throws my way? My very effort to create a strong pot out of my life prevents Christ’s light from shining through me. Like the men of Gideon’s army, my jar must be broken open for light to shine out. But, oh, how we resist being broken open!

A life lived outside-in tries to construct a sturdy structure to prevent brokenness. If my attempts to be Christlike focus only on outward effort, I may get so caught up in “works” for God that I don’t let God inside nor do I let the light of Christ shine out of me.

A life lived inside-out understands that the light is the most important thing and must be allowed to shine. The structure thus must be fragile, permeable, cracked and broken so that the light can shine out. That is not necessarily encouraging to us, because we want to avoid suffering and brokenness. But what God wants from us is not rigidity. God is looking for cracked pots. They are the only pots that can be light for a dark world.

Accepting My Ordinariness

Saturday evening, when the Sabbath ended, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome went out and purchased burial spices to they could anoint Jesus' body. Very early on Sunday morning, just at sunrise, they went to the tomb. . . 
When they entered the tomb, they saw a young man clothed in a white robe sitting on the right side. The women were shocked, but the angel said, "Don't be alarmed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He isn't here! He is risen from the dead! Look, this is where they laid his body. Now go and tell his disciples, including Peter, that Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you before he died."
                                                                                                Mark 16:1-2, 5-7


When the angel gave the women his instructions, he singled out Peter. I believe it was a way of letting Peter know he was still loved. He had not been laid aside because of his denial of Jesus.


Contrast the difference between how Judas and Peter handled their sin toward Jesus. Judas could not get over it and commits suicide. Peter moves ahead and remains in his role as a disciple. Peter becomes the leader of the disciples despite having denied Jesus. He can preach forgiveness because he has experienced forgiveness. His failure strengthened his message. Judas could have also had a powerful message of redemption but he could not get over himself and his selfishness cost his discipleship.


Jesus had chosen both men to be his disciples, but only Peter kept his focus on Jesus. Judas was self-absorbed and it was this that cost him his life, not his betrayal of Jesus.


This is a powerful lesson for me. I can put so much pressure on myself that I am unable to see the grace and forgiveness that is always available to me. My self-focus keeps me from focusing on God, so I overstate my own failures just as I overrate my own righteousness. 


I have a friend who observes that we have a hard time accepting that we are ordinary. Peter was able to accept his ordinariness, and because he did, God did great things through him. Judas could not accept being ordinary, and God could not work through him. 


Lord, help me accept my ordinariness, and to keep my focus on you and your greatness. Amen

Dust and Ashes

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The phrase is familiar, but as I heard it said over me tonight at the Ash Wednesday service, it hit me how ordinary and vulnerable we are. I don't want to think of myself as dust and ashes, things we don't find particularly appealing or likable. But like the palm branches that are burned to make the ashes for our foreheads, we go from life to death, and then are either buried or cremated, becoming dust or ashes ourselves.

We are fragile and finite, although we expend much effort and money to be strong and immortal. Ash Wednesday calls us to remember that for all our wishing for invincibility and beauty, we are merely a dirty smudge, weak and fallen, totally dependent on the One who became flesh, who became as we are, so we might become as he is. My broken and sinful self needs this Savior, for I am but dust and ashes.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.

Words That Kill

One morning this week, while reading Mark 15:12-21, verse 16 caught my attention: The soldiers took Jesus into the courtyard of the governor’s headquarters (called the Praetorium) and called out the entire regiment. Jesus has been tried before Pilate, and the soldiers now have time to have some sick fun with Jesus before his crucifixion. So that no one misses out on the “fun” they gather the entire regiment. I had not noticed that detail in previous readings of this passage. Did all the soldiers who were called up want to be there? Did they all enjoy mocking Jesus? Or were there those who were uncomfortable with the events but failed to speak up? And then, I found myself among them, the events of an earlier day flooding my mind.

I was with friends when some of them began talking about local news and politics. Displeasure with the actions of some of our leaders was expressed, accompanied by derogatory remarks. It certainly wasn’t any worse than what you hear in the media, but I don’t think anyone commenting would have made such remarks to the leaders’ faces. While I didn’t engage in the conversation, I said nothing to discourage it. Reading about the treatment of Jesus at the hands of the Roman soldiers, I realized that I was no better than they were. My silence did nothing to remedy the situation, just as their silence did nothing to end the abuse of Jesus.

We are told in Genesis that we are created in the image of God. Therefore, when I speak ill of another, I am speaking ill of God. When I mock another, I am mocking God. No wonder Jesus says these words in the Sermon on the Mount: “You have heard that our ancestors were told, ‘You must not murder. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment.’ But I say, if you are even angry with someone, you are subject to judgment! If you call someone an idiot, you are in danger of being brought before the court. And if you curse someone, you are in danger of the fires of hell.” (Matthew 5:22)

Cursing God was a big deal according to Jewish law, but Jesus reminds me that when I say ugly words about another human being it is no different than saying the same thing about God! Notice that Jesus didn’t limit this to certain people—so I don’t get a free pass to criticize those of other denominations, or no denominations, or even non-Christians.

However, should I be able to muster up the courage to speak up in defense of the person or group being criticized, whatever I say must be said in the spirit of love and gentleness, otherwise, I run the risk of murdering the offender, becoming an offender myself. Speaking the truth in love is not an easy task! Shane Claiborne, in The Irresistible Revolution  puts it this way: “When we look through the eyes of Jesus, we see new things in people. In the murderers, we see our own hatred. In the addicts, we see our own addictions. In the saints, we catch glimpses of our own holiness. We can see our own brokenness, our own violence, our own ability to destroy, and we can see our own sacredness, our own capacity to love and forgive. When we realize that we are both wretched and beautiful, we are freed up to see others the same way.”

If I can look through the eyes of Jesus, I can see God in others and in myself, and maybe, just maybe, I can honor and love God in them and in myself, and in so doing, not only begin to act more Christ-like but also begin to see the Kingdom of God in the world right now.

Expectations

If expectations were rocks, I’d have a sack so full, it would be straining at the seams! Sadly, it’s not the expectations of others that fill my sack, but my own expectations of myself. I overcommit and overschedule. I tell myself to go slow while at the same time adding another item to my to-do list. I expect to get things right and get things done—perfectly (or close to it) and on time.

Thankfully, God’s expectations of me are not as demanding. I’ve been preparing this week’s Sunday school lesson, and it is reminding me of that. Psalm 103 puts it in perspective: For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust. My own unrealistic expectations and resulting failures are met by God, not with condemnation, but with grace and love.

God is not into finger pointing and guilt trips. While we in our weakness make ourselves and others feel guilty and inadequate about shortcomings and failures, God never does. Jesus’ sacrifice proves that God is a God of grace, not guilt. Guilt separates us from God, causing us to focus on our unworthiness instead of the infinite, unending love God has for us. God is so in love with us that nothing we do can separate us from his love. Nothing.

I don’t think I should abuse God’s love by saying it doesn’t matter how poorly I follow the example of Jesus. A healthy awareness of my “dustiness” is a good thing, but not as a club to beat myself up with. That’s the reason for repentance and God’s forgiveness. Out of my gratitude for that forgiveness, I want to turn away from those behaviors that are incongruent with what I say I believe, yet always with the knowledge that growing in Christlikeness is a lifelong journey—a journey full of stumbling on the rocks of expectations.