Becoming Native

A year ago this week I finalized the purchase of my home in the North Carolina mountains. Though I didn’t actually move until June, I’ve been thinking this week about that memorable event of a year ago. Committing myself to a new place after forty-five years in one community is significant, and I didn’t do it gradually. I couldn’t afford nor did I want to have a vacation home and an apartment in Macon. Wherever I was living, I wanted to be all in, fully committed to a place.

As if to commemorate the purchase of my home, I discovered a Catesby’s Trillium blooming near the porch! First, I love trillium (who doesn’t) and second, the place it was blooming did not seem a hospitable place for it, so near to recent construction and all the debris that the builders left lying on the ground. I was so excited to discover it, and another one, not yet blooming, nearby. Along with the serviceberry, dogwood, and flame azaleas that have been blooming this spring, I am reveling in the colors and discoveries offered by the land here.

A few years ago my word for the year was “native.” When I shared that at work in our weekly staff meeting (we were all sharing our words for the year) I got a few chuckles. Someone said something about deodorant and I had to explain why the word chose me. I won’t go into detail now about how that word shaped my year, but since moving to North Carolina and committing to plant only native plants on this land I am tending, I’ve thought about the long-lasting impact of that word in guiding my life, and in ways that were totally unknown to me in the year I was living into it.

Living on land that for centuries had been the home of the Indigenous Cherokee people, I have a strong sense of responsibility to honor this bit of earth by avoiding non-native plant species, with the exception of daffodils a friend in Macon gave me prior to my move here. As the wild places in our nation are increasingly at risk of being damaged or lost, I want to do what I can to promote habitat for plants and the creatures that depend on them. I know I am not native to this land, being of European ancestry, but I want to live as though I was native, with a strong degree of love and care for this place that is giving life to me.

I’ve been moved by reading Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer, who is both a professor of environmental biology and an enrolled member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation. While my ancestry does not connect me to the Indigenous people of this land, I appreciate Kimmerer’s words that “for the sake of the peoples and the land, the urgent work of the Second Man (non-native peoples) may be to set aside the ways of the colonist and become Indigenous to place.”

The Catesby’s Trillium and the flame azalea blooming now and the mountain laurel that is just about to bloom all urge me to become Indigenous to this land that more and more feels like it is adopting me as its own. I hope to bloom here in this soil, just as they are.

Lizards, Snakes, and Spiritual Formation

 

I'm sharing a video post this week with some reptilian examples!

With

Whoever isn’t with me is against me, and whoever doesn’t gather with me scatters.

                                                                                                                                ---Matthew 12:30

I want to be with you, Jesus,

always,

every moment, every breath, every step,

every thought, every heartbeat, every blink of the eye.

I want to be in the flow of your grace—

gathering, drawing in, embracing with you the ones you love,

everyone.

Let my words speak love; center me in your heart.

May I be light and salt for you.

Show me your way,

your path, that I may not stray from it.

Let me not be scattered but gathered,

centered, content in you. Amen.

Freedom

I am becoming,

uncurling like a fern frond.

It isn’t easy to become

who you were created to be.

Rocks get in the way and you have

to be patient until something

(or someone) moves them

or until you become sure enough

of your destiny that you have the

strength to push them aside

or maybe both happen at once.

But then, ah then,

you stretch out your leaves—

free!

Thinking About Saints

This week we celebrate All Saints Day. In many churches, the names of those who have died in the past year will be read aloud in Sunday worship. We’ll think more intentionally about the Communion of Saints, the great cloud of witnesses that have gone before us. Some of these are friends and family members who loved us, affirmed us and supported us as they lived alongside us.

There are others whom we never met but who influenced us through their beliefs, their commitment, and the legacy they left the Church and the world. Some of these are canonized saints but many others are not.

Recently I profiled saints for a lunch and learn group at my church. I selected four saints. Certainly there were many others I could have chosen, but the four I selected included men and women from different time periods. Each had a unique story and made an impact on the Church based on their own gifts and voice.

Each was human, just as human as any of us are. The most well-known of the four I profiled, St. Francis of Assisi, went from living what today might be thought of as an upper middle class life, doing all the “right” and acceptable things that go along with such a lifestyle, to living as a beggar, because he took seriously three passages from the Gospel: Go, sell your possessions and give the money to the poor, take nothing for your journey, and if any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves.

Brendan the Navigator struck out on a sea voyage while in his eighties, following a leading from God, though he had already lived a life devoted to the Church. Hildegard of Bingen, who lived in Germany in the 1100s, was a prophet, physician, author and composer. While there has been controversy in modern times within some denominations about women in the pulpit, she did several preaching tours at the encouragement of the leadership of the Church. Therese of Lisieux only lived 24 years, and did nothing the world would consider spectacular, but she was faithful, performing the ordinary tasks given to her with love and self-effacement.

Looking at each of these, and many others, I am reminded that each represents a life lived with the desire to love and serve God. None of these was focused on accolades from others, but on living faithfully where they were and with the gifts God had given them. They lived life to the full, serving with the capacity they had, something we are all capable of doing. Surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, I am challenged to live to my capacity. I hope you are as well.

Doing Good vs Being Good

For the next few weeks, I’m facilitating a study at my church on the book Jesus for President, by Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw. As I’ve been reading their description of the Biblical prophets, I’ve thought about the difference in doing good and being good.

As Claiborne and Haw note, “The prophets are weird. They set themselves apart from the normalcy of civilization and its pattern of destruction and war. Their vocation is to interrupt the status quo.” When you think of some of the things the prophets did, you realize they were less concerned with appearances than many of us who call ourselves “church folk” are.

Hosea married a prostitute. Isaiah walked around naked for three years. Ezekiel cooked over human dung, which violated Israel’s purity codes. They would not have been called “good” by the culture in which they lived. But they lived lives of obedience to God, in contrast to the “good people” who fit in by following “the rules.”

The prophets focused on doing good. They were in close communion with God, and they trusted God even when God called them to do what put them at odds with those in positions of power. Claiborne and Haw say, “It can embarrass us to read of their antics, but what they do is not nearly as embarrassing as the things we do, which their actions expose so we can see that another future is possible.”

We become desensitized to evil when evil promotes our “good” agenda. Rabbi Abraham Heschel says: “To us a single act of injustice—cheating in business, exploitation of the poor—is slight; to the prophets it is a deathblow to existence; to us, an episode, to them, a catastrophe, a threat to the world.” We rationalize all sorts of things when it serves our purposes to do so. Cheating in business can be excused as needed to take care of our family. Slandering another may be our way to preserve our reputation so we can continue to use our influence “for good.”

The prophets, ancient and contemporary, remind us that when pride, power and self-preservation become our gods, being good becomes more important than doing good, and whatever good we actually accomplish is not pleasing to God, who honors the powerless, not the prideful.

Letting Go

I have a hard time remembering that I cannot control much (if any) of what happens to me. It’s one of those things I know, but I still get frustrated when things don’t go as I think they should.

It hit me last week. One of those “A-ha” moments as I recalled the most familiar part of the Serenity Prayer:

God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.

There is more to the prayer than these lines, but there is plenty here. And while it is a prayer I am familiar with, last week it went from my head into my heart.

The persistent theme of my life lately has been letting go. In my reading, journaling and in multiple instances of life I have encountered the prompting to let go. Suddenly last week, the beginning lines of the Serenity Prayer hit me like something I was hearing for the very first time.

To accept what I cannot change, not grudgingly, but with peace, is a challenge. When I get frustrated at another’s behavior, when the actions I’ve undertaken with pure motives are misunderstood and criticized, being able to let go with serenity requires discipline.

In a recent discussion I was reminded of one way Jesus did this. When a rich man comes to find out what he must do to inherit eternal life, Jesus tells him to sell all he has and give the money to the poor and then follow Jesus. The man goes away sad.

Jesus lets him go. He does not run after him, even though Mark 10:21 says that Jesus loved him. Jesus lets him make his own decision, even though the man’s decision is to walk away. Sometimes love looks different than our expectations. One might think that if Jesus loved the man so much, he would run after him and try to make sure the man understood the cost of his decision. But Jesus gives him the freedom to make his own choice.

In her book, Kitchen Table Wisdom, Rachel Remen contrasts attachment and commitment. I think what she says is relevant to being able to let go, to accept what I cannot change. She says that attachment closes down options, while commitment opens them up. Attachment leads to entrapment, while commitment leads to greater degrees of freedom.

Jesus was committed to the rich man, but not attached to him. The rich man was not committed, but instead was attached to his reputation as a moralistic rule follower and to his possessions, and this limited his options. He was entrapped by his image and his stuff. Jesus loved the man enough to give him the freedom to remain attached. This way of love may not seem like love to us, but time and again Jesus gives people the openness to choose for themselves. If we love as Jesus did, our hearts and lives and love become more open, and we may be better able to let go and accept what we cannot change.

Slow Small Steps

One of my favorite stories of the desert abbas and ammas reminds me of the slowness and smallness of progress in spiritual growth. A hermit told a brother who was discouraged about his lack of progress in keeping the monastic rule about a father who told his son to clear a field. The son, discouraged at the amount of thorns and thistles, lay down and slept instead. His father found him asleep and asked him why he had done nothing. The son said the task was larger than he could do, but the wise father said that if he would clear only the place he slept each day, the work would advance slowly and the son would not lose heart.

We sometimes think we are not progressing because we don’t clear our inner field all at once. The spiritual journey, however, is not a sprint but a marathon. The thorns and thistles have to be cleared away a little at the time. I’ve been reminded of this as I’ve been reading through Paul’s letter to the Galatians. In chapter 6, Paul encourages the Galatian Christians to not grow weary in doing good. As I reflected on that verse this morning, I saw within myself the thorns and thistles of a lingering resentment. My first inclination was to berate myself for the resentment, but then I thought about story about clearing the field, and I realized that this was the “patch” that needed my attention at this moment.

We live in a culture that does not value slowness and smallness. Consequently, we get discouraged when the only way forward is through slow, small progress. I’ve seen it with folks who are recovering from surgeries or health issues and I’ve also seen it in people who have had a significant spiritual awakening. We tend to grow impatient and frustrated when healing is prolonged and when the spiritual high has descended into ordinary time. And when we come upon an inner patch of thorns and thistles, we may choose to shrug our shoulders and go to sleep, preferring to numb ourselves against the acknowledgement that we are not all we imagined ourselves to be.

I’m grateful that God’s expectations of us do not move at our Western culture’s go-go pace. Grace is about slow, small progress. I won’t even say it’s about steady progress, because the journey of spiritual growth is not linear. It happens in its own time, but it only happens if we keep at it.

Oscar Romero and Lives that Become the Gospel

How do we live lives that become the gospel? Today is the 35^th anniversary of the death of Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador, martyred while celebrating Eucharist in a hospital chapel. Martyred because he spoke out against an oppressive and brutal government.

We don’t live lives that become the gospel by complaining that we are “oppressed” when, financially able to have health care, we seek to deny such coverage for those unable to afford it.

We don’t live lives that become the gospel by the name-calling of those with whom we disagree or by supporting media figures who engage in such behavior.

We don’t live lives that become the gospel by consuming more resources than we need and supporting with our purchasing power the oppression of others who are trapped in unsafe, exploitative jobs.

During Lent, I’ve been part of a study of the book Inhabiting the Cruciform God, by Michael Gorman. The book asserts that Paul’s theology is shaped by the pattern of Jesus’ death on the cross, and that such a pattern not only tells us about Jesus, but also God. Philippians 2:5-11 offers us a picture of Jesus’ faithfulness and a picture of God’s sacrificial love for us.

Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion.

Because of that obedience, God lifted him high and honored him far beyond anyone or anything, ever, so that all created beings in heaven and on earth—even those long ago dead and buried—will bow in worship before this Jesus Christ, and call out in praise that he is the Master of all, to the glorious honor of God the Father. (MSG)

What would happen if we thought of ourselves in this self-emptying, self-sacrificial way? How would we treat others, even those who inflict violence on us? If we follow the pattern of Jesus, we would not repay violence with violence. Instead we would absorb the violence of others. As Gorman asserts, the power of God in Christ is power in weakness. It is a nonretaliatory, nonviolent power. It is not the way of name-calling, overconsumption or self-preservation.

We have to be careful in our culture of individualism to not be blinded by cultural values that do not follow the pattern given us in the crucifixion and death of Jesus. We have to exercise caution that we do not rationalize our affluence by saying we can do good for others, while surrounding ourselves with things we don’t need and throwing our crumbs to those who have real needs.

The gospel is good news for all. For that to happen we have to empty ourselves for the sake of others. We are called to pour ourselves out, not cautiously cling to our privilege. Archbishop Romero realized that his outspokenness might result in his death. He spoke out anyway. May his faith and courage inspire us to do likewise, and truly live lives that become the gospel.

The Freedom of Boundaries

O God, you are my portion and my cup;

   it is you who uphold my lot.

My boundaries enclose a pleasant land;

   indeed, I have a goodly heritage.          

                                                Psalm 16:5-6

Culturally, we push back at the thought of boundaries. We don’t want to be limited, don’t want anyone telling us we cannot go somewhere or do something. We believe that freedom gives us the ability to live life on our terms.

But I’ve come to realize that living without boundaries is not healthy. Lack of boundaries was draining life from me. Limitless living, while it sounds exhilarating, is really exhausting. I am recognizing that I must be conscious of what is actually mine to do, and, perhaps more importantly, what is NOT mine to do. As I stay within my boundaries, I develop a greater recognition of what nourishes my soul. Drinking from the cool waters of my Divine Center, my True Self, I am so refreshed that I am grateful for the boundaries that allow me the freedom to say no to what is beyond my limits.

It’s a wonderful cycle of staying within my boundaries, which allows me to go deeper in the knowing of my soul, which helps me know my boundaries more clearly, which takes me even deeper into knowing myself (and thus knowing God). Instead of living in the so-called freedom of no limits, where I’m scattered and splattered over too many activities, I live in the true freedom to be who God created me to be—and no more.

Over lunch recently, several folks who had been to Haiti were talking about the boundary between Haiti and the Dominican Republic. They noted that even without a fence separating the two countries, the border was obvious because of the contrast in the actual land. The land of the Dominican Republic is lush and fertile, while Haiti’s land is barren of vegetation because prior farming practices stripped the land of its nutrients until the land itself was exhausted. This happens to us when we attempt to live beyond our limits.

Sadly, there are not many who will support us as we live within our boundaries. It is countercultural to our society’s message to “be all you can be.” But knowing our boundaries actually does allow us to be all that we can be—all that God has created us to be. If you desire to live a life that nourishes your spirit, find a friend or a spiritual director who will help you discover your boundaries and hold you accountable to them. Live in the pleasant land encircled by boundaries that draw you into greater intimacy with God.

Lukewarm or Longing?

As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

                                                Psalm 42:1-2a

Have you ever been really hungry or thirsty? So hungry that all you can think about is finding something to eat? So thirsty that everything in you is focused on finding water to drink?

In college, I was part of a 6-week summer study tour of Europe. Our group boarded a train for a 14 hour nonstop ride between two cities. We were unaware that the train we were on had no food service and none of us had brought anything to eat.  All we could talk about after the first five to six hours was how hungry we were. We were totally focused on our hunger to the exclusion of anything else.

When I read the verses above, I think about that train trip. I believe it gives me a glimpse into the type of longing the Psalmist describes, an all-consuming longing that becomes the sole focus of one’s attention. Contrast that intensity of desire with another degree of desire: I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. I wish that you were either cold or hot. So, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I am about to spit you out of my mouth.  (Revelation 3:15-16). Being lukewarm denotes indifference, not longing. We were not lukewarm about food on that long train ride!

So which is the more accurate description of your love for God? Do you ache for deeper relationship with your Creator, or is relationship relegated to a ten minute devotional in the morning and prayer when you are in a jam?

I enjoy reading the works of some of the enduring church leaders, folks such as Augustine of Hippo, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross and Julian of Norwich. You would be hard pressed to find any lukewarmness toward God in their writings. In fact, the way they often describe their love for God would make some modern Christians blush! They describe their love for God with all the heat and passion of an erotic novel.

Hear these words of St. Augustine: You called, you cried, you shattered my deafness. You sparkled, you blazed, you drove away my blindness. You shed your fragrance, and I drew in my breath, and I pant for you. I tasted and now I hunger and thirst. You touched me, and now I burn with longing for your peace.

Does this describe your relationship with God? I know that reading the works of many of the early church leaders challenges me to reflect on my love for God, to evaluate where I am on the scale between lukewarm and longing. I pray to have a burning love for Christ, where Christ is all in all, not a lukewarm indifference toward God that gets lost in competing priorities. 

A Sacrificial Gift

“I won’t offer up to the Lord my God . . . offerings that cost me nothing.”                                                                                                                                      2 Samuel 24:24b

For a gift to mean something to the recipient there must be a cost involved, whether the cost is measured in dollars or thought or time. If you’ve ever been the recipient of a thoughtful gift, you know that the impact of another’s thoughtfulness far outweighs the financial cost. On the other hand, an expensive gift that fails to consider the heart of the recipient or is offered only to fulfill an obligation, or worse yet, to impress folks other than the recipient, is not a sacrificial gift.

Last week, I was part of an eight person mission team that traveled to El Salvador with Living Water International to drill a well in a community without nearby access to clean water. The three women of our team, with the help of Liz Trigueros, our LWI translator, taught hygiene lessons to the women and children of the village so that once the well was complete, they would know the importance of clean water and how to keep the water clean once it was drawn from the well.

Spending four full days in the village, we developed relationships, especially with some of the children. But even before we had time to let these relationships grow and blossom, I experienced what for me was the most profound moment of the week. One day one, we met people from the village and walked from house to house to meet folks and to see how they lived. Carlos, the community leader, gave us a tour of the village and a crowd of children accompanied us. One girl, probably 12 years old, taught me about sacrificial giving.

Debora had two bracelets, one black and one green. Each consisted of several elastic strings of beads tied together with a matching ribbon. She untied the ribbons, divided the strands of beads and shared them with the four women in our group. I felt as though I had received the widow’s mite, for Debora gave us all she had to give.

While I have bracelets that involved a greater financial outlay, and ones with sentiment and memory attached to them, I have no costlier one than these four simple strands of green beads. I am grateful for and humbled by this sacrificial gift of love. As I look at it and remember Debora, I hear Jesus’ challenge to me, “Now go and do likewise.”

In the Common English Bible, the story about the poor widow reads like this:

Looking up, Jesus saw rich people throwing their gifts into the collection box for the temple treasury. He also saw a poor widow throw in two small copper coins worth a penny. He said, “I assure you that this poor widow has put in more than them all. All of them are giving out of their spare change. But she from her hopeless poverty has given everything she had to live on.”    Luke 21:1-4

The rich put in their spare change, but the widow gave everything she had. I cannot look at the bracelet on my arm without feeling the conviction of my economic station. I, the rich, received from a poor girl, a truly sacrificial gift. But I also am challenged to follow her example of giving, to give generously and joyfully, to give without holding back, to give as I have received from Debora and from God.

Why I Love the Lectionary

I thrive on order and structure. My husband knows that to spring something on me on short notice is to create stress for me. Years ago, I heard a speaker describe a “time fence.” A time fence is a boundary around your time. For those who are spontaneous, their time fence is small or nonexistent. Time for them is like the open prairie. You cannot trespass on their time because they freely give whatever you need.

For others, like myself, time is bounded by a large fenced enclosure. I sit in the middle, but I want a large space between my fence and myself. I want to see what has come into my fence from a long distance away. I like time to plan and prepare. I am one who looks at restaurant menus online if I know I am going to an unfamiliar establishment. I want to know my options ahead of arrival.

My preference for structure may be why I like the lectionary. The lectionary is a listing of scripture readings appointed for given days. The Revised Common Lectionary used by many Protestant churches includes readings from the Old Testament, Psalms, the Epistles and the Gospel, with some variation depending on the seasons of the Church. Many pastors preach from lectionary texts. The beauty of the lectionary to me is that I can read and pray over the texts prior to attending corporate worship and hearing a message preached on one or more of them. This is a particular advantage if you are traveling and attend an unfamiliar church. If the pastor of the church you are visiting preaches from the lectionary, you can still prepare for worship by praying over the texts ahead of time.

Since my dad died, we’ve been traveling often to his house in Tennessee. We attend worship at his church on Sundays when we are there. It is such a joy to arrive and to hear the texts preached that I have already spent time with in prayer. This preparation makes corporate worship more meaningful for me.

On a larger scale, I know that others all over the world are hearing messages preached on the same set of texts. It connects me to the wider Church in a deeply spiritual way. Across differing denominations and worship styles, the lectionary is a thread that binds us all together. It keeps us from falling into ruts of only hearing “favorite” passages. It challenges us to read scripture more broadly than we might otherwise. It calls us to structure and discipline, to growth and order, by giving us a framework for scripture study. And because the Revised Common Lectionary is on a three-year cycle, it calls us to revisit the same passages time and again, so that the texts meet us in different stages of our lives.

The discipline of praying the lectionary texts has become a transformational spiritual practice for me. The more I do it, the more I appreciate the beauty of the lectionary.

The Lighted Path of Righteousness

Light is planted like seed for the righteous person. 

                                                                                Psalm 97:11a

It is enlightening (bad pun) to think about light as seed. It’s easier to think of seed needing light to grow. Imagine the ground looking like the sky on a dark but clear night, light beaming out all around your feet. It is like a scene from a Disney movie, a path so illuminated that it is nearly impossible to stray from the right path.

Ah, you say, if only the path were so clear! But is it really that hard to see the right path, the path that God has for you? I believe that righteousness, while a gift from God, grows within us as we practice living rightly day in and day out. It’s not about “being good” but about such an overwhelming love for God that you want what God wants. This deep love compels you to faithfully walk in the way of Christ, and as you do, it becomes easier to see and follow the path.

Like exercise, the regular practice of walking in the way of Christ strengthens our faith muscles, and what was once unnatural for us simply becomes who we are. Several years ago my New Year’s resolution was to eat more fruits and vegetables. It was quite hard at first to change my eating patterns. I had to crowd out the other foods to make room for more fruits and vegetables. But consistent practice has changed the foods I crave. It is the same with living righteously. It begins with falling in love with God and grows to be who I am, instead of something I have to consciously do.

That doesn’t mean I never fail. Righteousness does not equate to perfection. Righteousness is a way of living in obedience to Jesus, an obedience that bubbles out of you because the center of who you are is overflowing love for God. We daily learn to follow more closely and we discover that our failures are caught in the net of grace! We can acknowledge our failures, repent of them, but not be defined by them or held hostage by them. They don’t rob us of our joy. They don’t turn our vision from the light on our path.

Plastic Fruit & Poison Ivy

We’re praying this so that you can live lives that are worthy of the Lord and pleasing to him in every way: by producing fruit in every good work and growing in the knowledge of God

                                            Colossians 1:10

Two years ago we had pole beans in our garden. They grew well and had lush green leaves but we only got a handful of beans. We also had some scrawny tomato vines that produced an initial flurry of tomatoes, leading us to think we would have great production all summer, but because they were such weak vines, they quickly perished in the heat.

Neither plant was an asset to the garden. What we want are plants that both grow and produce fruit. That is what God wants from us as well. I can apply myself to knowledge about God, participating in Bible studies and analyzing scripture. If that is the extent of my effort, I am nothing but an educated fool, a big empty sack of information, all head but no heart. I may know scripture, but I use it as a weapon against others, a sword that divides instead of a balm that heals.  In contrast, if I devote myself only to service, I may produce fruit, but it is fruit that comes out of my own strength and ability, and I will likely burn out. The folks that say “I’ve done my share of church work” are a good illustration of fruit without growth.

Fruit production, if it is to be sustained and Kingdom-bringing, has to be augmented with growth, and vice versa. There has to be inward growth in faith and in intimacy with God (knowing God, not just knowing about God). We don’t force the fruit. We focus on being connected to the Vine. If we do that, the fruit production takes care of itself, by God’s action in and through us.

I believe that a significant reason the institutional church does not appeal to folks is that they don’t see us growing and producing fruit. Often, the growth people see is knowledge that defends and excludes. When the focus of our “knowledge” is on condemning instead of understanding, on certainty instead of mystery, on proving ourselves right instead of recognizing our own blindness, then what we proclaim as growth is poison ivy.

In our efforts to keep Christianity “pure,” we produce vapid fruit—perfect and pretty to look at, but devoid of taste—like a Red Delicious apple. Our fruit just looks like one more activity for people to add to their already overstuffed lives. Without passion that is cultivated through a growing relationship with Christ, church gets dropped from one’s to-do list.

I would rather be part of a church filled with characters—misshapen, odd-looking fruit—than a church that looks like a bowl of plastic fruit. I want to be with those who hunger and thirst for more of Christ, who live hopeful and faith-filled lives instead of lives of pessimism and gloom. I want to be part of a church that is a living, breathing, growing plant, where fruit production is the result of being rooted and grounded in Christ.

The Inconvenience of Lent

Near our house is a church with a lighted marquee sign. It announces their sermon series and activities. I usually read it as I’m walking in the mornings.

Lately, the sign has been announcing Easter weekend activities. Nothing too surprising about that. What did catch my eye is that the church is having an Easter service on Saturday evening. In the midst of the Easter Vigil, there will be a celebration of Jesus’ resurrection, one day early. I wonder what it says about our inability to wait, and our worship of convenience.

This Lent has been especially difficult for me. More than I can remember, I’ve kept count of the days. I’ve found it hard not to grumble about what I’ve given up. I am too easily relating to the Israelites who complained all through their forty-year journey in the wilderness. I am having trouble with forty days. I can’t imagine how I’d do with forty years.

But as much as I want to celebrate on Easter, as much as I look forward to the joyous worship of the risen Christ, I know that the waiting of Lent is good for me, and I don’t want to shorten that by even a day. I know that the pain of the Easter Triduum is what makes Easter Sunday such a celebration. I need to have that time to ponder the betrayal, crucifixion and death of Jesus. I need to spend that Saturday reflecting on what the disciples must have felt as they thought that hope was buried when Jesus was put in the tomb.

Lent reminds me that life isn’t all about being secure, safe and comfortable. It is about laying aside what is convenient for me and taking practices that help me to be more compassionate. Our culture worships the gods of convenience and comfort. To step back and deliberately live differently for the forty days of Lent helps me to recognize how much I’ve bought into those gods. Otherwise, I deceive myself and think that I am not a slave to them.

In the book I am studying this Lent, A Place at the Table, author Chris Seay says, “We have allowed our love of freedom to become an excuse to live a life marked by self-absorbed consumerism.” We think it’s our right for life to be about convenience and comfort, that somehow we “deserve” it. In this season of Lent, difficult as it has been for me, I am reminded that I don’t have it hard at all. What I have given up has been my choice. For others, they have no choice.

Gracious and loving God, turn my eyes toward you. May I see you in the eyes of others. May I not run from the discomfort of Lent but live into it. Break my self-absorbed spirit and fill me with compassion for others. May I reject the false gods of convenience and comfort and instead choose to walk in the way of the cross, living for God’s Kingdom. Amen. 

Challenge Questions for the New Year

I have been reading Colossians 3:12-17 daily since December 31st. I don’t know how long I will stay with it. There is just so much there to ponder and absorb. In an earlier post, I reflected on the first part of Colossians 3:12. Today I want to focus on the last part of the verse.

Therefore, as God’s choice, holy and loved, put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.

Imagine what kind of impression we who claim to be Christian would make in the world if we consistently put on these five traits: compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness or patience. I must be accountable for how well I demonstrate these in my life.

So here is a list of these traits with some challenge questions for each. The questions are not exhaustive (although I may be exhausted trying to live so that I can answer them as a faithful disciple). Over the next few months I intend to focus on one of these each week in my own life, to be challenged and hopefully changed for the better.

Compassion

• Can I put myself in the place of another so that I don’t just pity them, but seek to understand them?

• Will I allow myself to fully experience the pain and heartbreak of another, especially one whose lifestyle, views, or beliefs are different than mine?

• Can I experience not only the pain of the victim but also the pain of the perpetrator?

• Can I learn to see as God sees, to love as God loves, unconditionally, generously and mercifully?

• When I read news accounts, will I refuse to see numbers or enemies and instead see people—people who are mothers, fathers, daughters or sons?

• Will I consider who is benefitted or exploited by the consumer choices I make for goods, services and utilities?

Kindness

• Will I be kind to others—all others? All the time?

• Can I not only act kindly but also think kindly?

• Can I extend kindness to those who have not been kind to me?

• Can I be kind to those with whom I disagree?

Humility

• Will I prefer others over myself?

• Will I be honest in my self-assessments, neither overstating my strengths nor playing down the abilities God has given me?

• Can I acknowledge that I am capable of good but also capable of evil, yet always loved by God?

• Can I be content with the talents God has given me?

Gentleness

• Can I be careful with the feelings of others, especially those closest to me?

• Will I consider the inadvertent ways I hurt others, by ignoring or forgetting or failing to be compassionate?

• Can I be gentle toward others in the words I say, post, or tweet? 

• Can I disagree with another without attacking the person, remembering that God loves them as much as God loves me?

Patience

• Will I be patient with God, patient with others, and patient with myself?

• Can I enjoy and appreciate times of inactivity and waiting?

• Will I move slower, so I can be more aware of God, more aware of others and more aware of myself?

• Can I learn when to work and when to wait?

A Tribute to My Dad

My dad was not a sappy guy. He was hardheaded and independent and not afraid to share his thoughts about any subject with anyone. When I was growing up, I can remember my mom suggesting that he curb his remarks at work out of concern that his tongue might negatively affect his career path. Patience was not his strong suit, but he taught countless friends and family members how to water ski over many years, taking as much time with each as was needed to make them successful.

The year he coached my rec league softball team, I heard many complaints from my teammates about how hard he pushed us in practice. Our recreational league teams were organized by school. Our elementary school had two teams—the ringers and the rejects. Our team was the reject team.  But that year, we won the rec league championship because of the effort Dad extracted from us in practice.

When my mom was diagnosed with an incurable strain of tuberculosis, Dad took early retirement so they could enjoy retirement together in the hills of Tennessee on Watts Bar Lake. Mom had a lot of good years left, but as she became unable to cook or keep house Dad took over those duties without complaint. He was devoted to my mom, and took care of her as her health declined.

After retiring, he got active in the little church they joined when they moved to the lake. He and Mom served in many ways there, and developed a close circle of friends. When Dad was admitted to the hospital last month, and we realized that his cancer was terminal, a steady stream of friends flowed into his room to visit. My husband, Jim, and I heard story after story of kindnesses done by Dad, and we were moved by the circle of love that surrounded Dad and us, not only during his hospital stay but also afterward, when he was moved to the nursing facility where he spent his remaining three weeks.

Dad left this world peacefully and gracefully in the early morning hours last Wednesday. Of course, I miss him already, but I was blessed by the way he lived his final weeks on earth. And even though there were many, many times I rolled my eyes or got frustrated by things Dad said and did, I am proud to be his daughter.

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.

Hearing the Right Voice

This week, I'm recycling a column I wrote several years ago for a magazine. It has been on my mind, so I thought I'd pull it out, re-read it myself, and share it with you.

One of the birds I enjoy hearing is the wood thrush. It has such a melodious song. As I listen for it, I realize my effort to hear it sing relates to my effort to hear God’s voice.

You need to know what you are listening for. If I didn’t know what a wood thrush sounds like, I wouldn’t know when I hear it among the chorus of bird songs. Someone had to share it with me so I knew what I am listening for. In the same way, I needed someone to teach me how God’s voice sounds so I could distinguish it from the other voices I hear.

Once I know what the wood thrush’s song sounds like, I still must listen in order to hear it. I’ve noticed I can miss its song by listening to a robin or a mockingbird or a wren. If my ears are tuned to another song, I don’t hear the wood thrush. Even looking at the full moon causes me to tune out the bird songs. But if I focus my hearing on the wood thrush’s song, all the other distractions fade into the background. If I want to hear God’s voice, I need to be an active listener. I must make an effort to listen for it or I will lose it among the competing voices in the world. When I do actively and attentively listen for it, I often find that the other voices fade away.

It also helps to be in the right environment. As its name implies, the wood thrush lives in the woods. I won’t hear it in the grocery store parking lot. Even in our neighborhood, I only hear it in certain places, where there are more trees than grass. God is not limited by environment, but if I am in the wrong environment, it will be harder for me to hear God's voice.

There are times when I cannot hear the song of the wood thrush. I may be travelling or sick and unable to get outside. I know the song well, so I can sing it in my head. I can enjoy it even when I cannot hear it. There are times when I’m struggling due to illness, family crisis, or some other life circumstance. I may find it hard at those times to listen for God’s voice. By knowing it well enough, I can hear it in my head even as I go through difficulty!