Words Matter

As a steady drip of water on rock creates a depression,
reshaping stone,
your words heard over and over,
over decades, 
dug into my heart:
You aren’t enough.
   I’m better than you.
      No one else will take care of you.

Spoken often, implied always by your arrogance,
I shrank and withered under their weight,
under the judgment, until it seemed 
my heart broke open.

Whispered softly, words of healing came from elsewhere,
found a way in, hard to hear, hard to believe, yet unretreating,
persistent, falling into the break and lodging
in the heart.
Growing imperceptibly, gaining strength enough 
to counter your negative words.

Growing, as other voices sang them over me.
Growing, until I could hear them 
and believe them 
instead of the lies
you told.
Growing.
Growing, until they crowded out your words
and sang with every heartbeat:
You are beloved.
   You are appreciated.
      You are enough.

I may always bear the scars of your words
but they won’t rule my life.
I live by other words now,
words that give life,
words that give love.

Toward Purity of Heart: Spiritual Direction

This is the final post in my series on practices that have moved me closer toward purity of heart. As a spiritual director myself, I am grateful for the practice.

Moving Toward Purity of Heart: Centering Prayer

Another post about practices that have been transformational for me:

Moving Toward Purity of Heart: The Practice of Lectio Divina

Today I talk about a way of reading scripture for transformation rather than information.

Reshaping the Heart: A Lenten Journey

 

I wrote Lenten devotions for my church. You can access a digital copy here. It takes a little while to download, so consider it an opportunity to cultivate patience!

This video introduces the resource and talks a bit about Lent.

Another Waking Up Experience

A couple of weeks ago I shared a post about one way I had awakened to a different way to be a follower of Christ. You can read it here. This week I'm sharing a video post made for my church. It speaks of another way I have awakened.

Learning to See

We’ve all seen images that represent more than one thing. We see something immediately and then we struggle to see the other image portrayed in the picture. When we are children, these images that fool the eye are great fun, and yet, we don’t always do a good job of carrying the lesson they teach us into adulthood. We forget that there is often more than one way to see something.

Our rigidity is a form of violence, not only violence against others whom we can only see in one way, but also violence against ourselves. By choosing to limit our ability to see and understand, we lose our capacity to grow. In essence, it is as if we have decided to enclose ourselves in a box in the dark, starving ourselves of any stimulation, any movement, anything that might lead us to change. If we actually did this to a child, or someone else we were caring for, we would be prosecuted for abuse. But when we figuratively do it to ourselves, no one will arrest us, but we still are guilty of violence against ourselves.

 Sometimes even when we know better, we let ourselves be influenced by an image that, if we paused to consider it, is inaccurate. Prior to an out of town trip, I made a to do list that had not just what needed to be done prior to leaving town, but also a list of projects, some of which were not due for several weeks. My reasoning was that I didn’t want to forget them. However, the day I made that list, every time I looked at it, I got anxious. It was long and I was leaving town and how would I get all that stuff done? I knew it didn’t all need to be done immediately, but the image of that long list still caused me anxiety.

 The next day I made the same list, but I put the immediate needs at the top, left a large blank section of paper, and put the longer term items at the bottom. The separation made a big difference in my stress level. The list was no different in content, but I saw it differently. There was more than one way to see the list but I had to take the time to allow myself to imagine It differently.

 Why are we so unwilling to expand our seeing, to use our imaginations to understand people and situations in different ways? What are we afraid of? Is our pride, our reputation so fragile that we are afraid of losing our identities if we change?

 Jesus says, in John 12:24-26:  I assure you that unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it can only be a single seed. But if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their lives will lose them, and those who hate their lives in this world will keep them forever. Whoever serves me must follow me.

 Jesus invites us to change. A seed “dies” to being a seed, and then bears fruit. Letting go of our certainty opens us up to new life, new seeing, and becoming more like Jesus. Change is a death of sorts, but it can be the death that leads us into a larger life, a life lived for others, a life that is not weighed down by the burden that pride places on us to be and act in ways that win the approval of others.

 A willingness to change, a desire to see things differently, and compassion toward self and others, can make the world a better place, a less violent place, a less angry place. Rather than sit around wishing for things to get back “to normal” so we can check things off our bucket lists, why not replace the bucket list with these three aims and find more joy and richer life bearing fruit in a world that needs more joy and less pride.

New Wineskins

But new wine is for new wineskins.

                                                                    Mark 2:22b

In the verses that contain the above sentence, Jesus is talking about why his disciples don’t fast while the Pharisees and Joh’s disciples do. He uses the illustrations of sewing a new patch on old fabric, placing new wine and old wineskins and the mismatch of these.

 Mismatch is the word that connects everything in Mark 2:18-22 together. New ways and old ways are not compatible.

 We can only receive new knowledge when we are of a new mind and heart. Otherwise the dissonance between what we are certain about and what is offered to us is a mismatch that we cannot accept.

 Change isn’t easy. And change can cause relationships to be torn, like old cloth tears away from a new patch. One has to be willing to hear a perspective different from one’s own, to be open to another way, to live in the dissonance between what we think we know and new information.

 Many people think that the enemy of faith is doubt or fear. But as is evident in this day and time, the enemy of faith is certainty. Certainty divides us. Faith that is deeply rooted in God is pliable, not rigid.

 When the container that holds our viewpoints is rigid, it can only hold so much. To listen to another voice, a voice different than what is familiar to you, you have to dismantle the container. You have to have a new wineskin if you are to learn anything new. You have to be willing to be changed.

 

Letting Go of Victim Mentality

I read a quote recently that I cannot recall verbatim, but it spoke of how freedom comes when we choose to no longer be a victim. Victimhood is a heavy burden to carry, yet many choose to live the victim story.

Things do happen to us, some of which we cannot control. Disease, crime and accidents can change the course of our lives. Discrimination of any kind may deny us opportunity. We may or may not be able to change the outcomes of circumstances, but we do have a choice in how we live within them. We can choose to be free or we can choose to be a victim.

Victim mentality thrives on blaming others. It is nourished by a poor sense of self, by a failure to love oneself. Very often, victimhood is claimed when one has not even been harmed. I have known people who claimed victimhood because of their own poor decisions.

There are many problems with choosing to live with a victim mentality. It wraps us in neediness, causing us to pressure others to pity us or shaming others for “causing” us to be victims. It keeps us from accepting personal responsibility and from claiming our self-worth. Victimhood drives others away from us, especially the ones who love us, because nothing they ever do is “good enough” to cure our victimhood.

Letting go of victimhood brings freedom. One would think that would be enough to entice one to let go of a victim mentality, but to lose the victim mentality means you have to not be identified as a victim, and this may reduce the attention or pity one receives.

When we can come to the deep knowing of God’s abundant love for us, we no longer need to manufacture attention and the pseudo-love of pity that is a poor substitute for deep, generous love.

What Easter Means to Me . . . Now

I awoke on Sunday filled with excitement. Easter had arrived! It was time to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection and the startling truth that love overcomes all, and I do mean all.

It’s not a story new to me, or to others. So why the excitement? What makes Easter different for me now?

This is my favorite icon. It is known as the Harrowing of Hades and depicts Jesus standing on the gates of hell. He’s pulling Adam and Eve out of their tombs.

This icon reminds me of something many churches have edited out of the Apostles’ Creed: Jesus descended into hell.

Several years ago, my life broke apart. I had become aware of cracks, but then one day came, and everything was suddenly very different. Only a couple of days later, I was at a conference and one of the speakers, Elaine Heath, talked about this icon and what it represents—that Jesus goes into hell and pulls us out of it. She said that this is the good news many need to hear because many are living in hell. Jesus comes into our worst circumstances and does not let go of us.

For me, this was news I needed to hear. It took some time for me to get completely out of the hell in which I found myself, but never did I feel abandoned there. Through the darkest days I knew the grasp of Jesus’ hand in mine. Though I walked through wilderness, experienced betrayal, false accusation and the pain of desertion by people I loved dearly, I knew Christ’s presence with me.

Over time I was pulled out of death and decay into new life. I experienced Easter. It has changed what Easter means to me. Before my own resurrection, Easter was a promise of something to come at the end of earthly life. But now I know it is more than that, not because someone told me but because I have lived it.

No matter what anyone tells you, no matter the shame and guilt others may try to shovel onto you as dirt is shoveled over a casket, you are not abandoned by Jesus. The one who knew betrayal and false accusation is the one who has gone into hell—for you. He holds your hand as he stands on the gates of hell and he will not let go. Easter is the proof that Christ’s love overcomes all.

Upheaval

Mary said,

“With all my heart I glorify the Lord!
     In the depths of who I am I rejoice in God my savior.
 He has looked with favor on the low status of his servant.
    Look! From now on, everyone will consider me highly favored
         because the mighty one has done great things for me.
Holy is his name.
     He shows mercy to everyone,
        from one generation to the next,
        who honors him as God.
 He has shown strength with his arm.
    He has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.
     He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones
        and lifted up the lowly.
 He has filled the hungry with good things
    and sent the rich away empty-handed.
 He has come to the aid of his servant Israel,
        remembering his mercy,
     just as he promised to our ancestors,
        to Abraham and to Abraham’s descendants forever.”

                                                                Luke 1:46-55

Mary’s song of praise, the Magnificat, does more than hint at the upheaval that her son’s coming brings. Her prophetic word is clear. The coming of God in human form will reverse the usual order of things. The hungry will be fed. The lowly will be lifted. The powerful are stripped of their influence. The rich are sent away empty.

If you only read this text once a year during Advent, you might simply enjoy its poetic quality and miss the power of the words themselves. Mary’s song is regularly recited as part of Vespers, the evening prayer service of the daily office. This daily reading of this text allows the words to sink into us, and, in our affluent culture, may cause us to wonder if we truly welcome this change of affairs.

Mary has much to teach us beyond her prophecy. Mary shows us that our power and influence are less important than our availability. Loretta Ross-Gotta says: God asks us to give away everything of ourselves. The gift of greatest efficacy and power that we can offer God and creation is not our skills, gifts, abilities, and possessions. The wise men had their gold, frankincense, and myrrh, Paul and Peter had their preaching. Mary offered only space, love, belief. What is it that delivers Christ into the world—preaching, art, writing, scholarship, social justice? Those are all gifts well worth sharing. But preachers lose their charisma, scholarship grows pedantic, social justice alone cannot save us. In the end, when all other human gifts have met their inevitable limitation, it is . . . the bold virgin with a heart in love with God who makes a sanctuary of her life, who delivers Christ who then delivers us.

Mary’s prophecy is an invitation to us who are rich and powerful in comparison to the rest of the world. Mary encourages us to no longer rely on our influence or wealth, but to empty ourselves, give ourselves away, die to ourselves, and instead offer space and love to Christ who becomes our food, our wealth, our strength.

We cannot deliver ourselves. Our possessions, our influence, even the good works we do—none of these can deliver us. When we truly believe that God, who made us and loves us, will deliver us, we can sing with Mary, “With all my heart I glorify the Lord! In the depths of who I am I rejoice in God my savior.”

Wounds

You were seen with the eyes of perfect love long before you entered into the dark valley of life. The spiritual life begins at the moment that you can go beyond all the wounds and claim there was a love that was perfect and unlimited long before that perfect love became reflected in the imperfect and limited, conditional love of people.                                             –Henri Nouwen

We often have one of two reactions to wounds, both physical and emotional:  we either try to hide them or we become defined by them. To have a healthy relationship to our wounds enables us to be transformed by them. Our wounds are part of us, but we are more than our wounds.

Our wounds can make us stronger. Years ago, my younger son had surgery to correct a recurring spontaneous pneumothorax. The surgeon made scar tissue on the exterior of the lung so it would basically act like glue to hold the lung in place so it would no longer collapse. The wound of scar tissue corrected his issue.

Our wounds do not make us less than. As Henri Nouwen says, we are loved perfectly by God without any reserve, without any consideration of what we’ve done or what we fail to do, or what anyone has done to us. Just as Jesus rose with and was loved with his wounds, so are we.

Jesus did not try to hide his wounds. In fact, he used his wounds to identify himself to his disciples after his resurrection. They connect him to us; they are a sign that being human means suffering, and that in what is apparent weakness, God overcomes and brings new life.

We cannot see the beauty that comes from our wounds when we are in the midst of pain and hurt. Yet when we can live our wounds through, rather than ignoring them or becoming defined by them, God is able to bring beauty from even the darkest places of pain. And often that beauty is beyond anything we could have ever hoped or imagined.

Birthday Reflections

I celebrated my birthday this week and I certainly know I have much to celebrate. I am living in a place of fullness, joy and peace that I could have never imagined for myself. Some people use the expression “living the dream” sarcastically, but I use it with sincerity. Friends of mine have heard me say that truly, I am living my dream. I am grateful for the way my life has unfolded to bring me to this place of deep gladness.

Frederick Buechner says this: The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet. When I first heard this quote, I was in a season of discernment about what I sensed as a call for my life. Following that call took me from what felt comfortable and predictable and set me on a journey that defied any effort at making a five year plan. Even if I had made such a plan, the events that unfolded along the way were ones I could have never predicted.

Fullness of life doesn’t mean rainbows and unicorns. I went through the hardest season of my life thus far in the years between following this call and now. In fact, there were days dark enough and circumstances unsettling enough that I questioned my worth and my call. But God’s love was manifested to me in the love, companionship and encouragement of friends. I likewise realized that the consistent practice of centering prayer and lectio divina had led to a sense of God’s presence that sustained me. I was grateful that I never felt abandoned by God, even when I questioned everything else about my life.

As I reflect on life at the conclusion of another trip around the sun, I can’t think of anything I’d wish for if I had birthday candles to blow out. I am grateful for each moment. I am grateful for my friends. I am grateful for the communities to which I belong. And yes, I am grateful, supremely grateful, for the season of struggle, the pain and the people whose words and actions hurt me. Without them, I would not be where I am today. I would not have learned and lived the truth of death and resurrection in such a palpable way.

So I celebrate that I have been born and that I have been reborn. Life is good. Thanks be to God!

Seen

Humans see only what is visible to the eyes, but the Lord sees the heart.

                                                                                                                --1 Samuel 16:7b

 Because I am seen by God

   I want to see others as God sees them.

There are those who have seen me this way.

   They helped me to live.

   They loved me to new life.

To see another as God sees them—

   what greater gift can we give?

Was it God’s seeing of David,

   his anointing by Samuel,

   that sparked the faith to face Goliath?

Being seen is the sun and water

   for the Godseed in our hearts.

We grow and bloom when seen as God sees.

   We catch fire and burn brightly,

   fully engulfed with life and light.

Instructions I Need to Remember

Close the door. What’s gone is gone.

Hold the memory, but do not live it.

Love the now, live the now.

See what and who surrounds you and

breathe them fully into your heart.

This moment, this day, the present presence—

embrace it completely. It is the gift.

Let go what is no more. Don’t drag

regret’s anchor or carry future’s

worry stones.

Sink deep roots into eternal now.

Love what you are given,

love what you love without shame.

Sing this moment’s symphony. Let

every note enliven every heartbeat

so that your whole life becomes song,

an eternal, everliving, everlasting

Jubilate Deo.

Mercy

“Show us mercy, Son of David.”    --Matthew 9:27

 Show us mercy, Son of David

   for we are blind and do not know the way forward.

Show us mercy, Son of David

  for darkness envelops us today.

Show us mercy, Son of David

   when we use scripture to justify sin and excuse our callousness.

Show us mercy, Son of David

   when our blindness is so deep

   that we call the bad good

   and the good bad.

Show us mercy, Son of David

   when we do not see the log in our own eye.

Show us mercy, that we may learn mercy,

   that we may love mercy,

   that we may show mercy

      to the hungry and the hurting,

      to the sick and the homeless,

      to the prisoner and the outcast,

      to the privileged and the proud.

Show us mercy, Son of David

   until we become mercy.

Good

If you who are evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him.   Matthew 7:11

What is good does not always seem that way in the painful moments.

What baby, though cramped in the warm womb,

thinks being pushed through the birth canal is good,

thinks emerging into light and chill and noises loud and harsh is good?

Does the caterpillar wonder at the cruelty of having the build its own coffin,

the chrysalis that seems the end of its life of freedom?

Good can’t always be discerned, foreseen;

sometimes, often, it is entered into blindly.

It is not willingly chosen.

Transformation comes disguised as chaos, upheaval, disorientation,

fraught with questions beginning with

why.

Sometimes good is only seen in hindsight,

as one flies on colorful wings,

or experiences the vastness of light and love.

Choices

A poem/reflection on Matthew 4:1-2

The wilderness is a place of starving,

of stripping. A place where

what seemed important,

now seems either

necessity or nothing.

Senses become clearer by sparseness

or consumed by what is now gone.

When you are starving you have

a choice: to focus on what

you no longer have

or

to be filled and nourished by

your emptiness.

Stones

“And don’t even think about saying to yourselves, Abraham is our father. I tell you that God is able to raise up Abraham’s children from these stones.”          Matthew 3:9

It is often tempting

to rely on

the faith of others,

past experiences of awe,

rote practices now devoid of meaning.

But these are stones.

Too heavy to carry far,

they are designed

to make, to mark a path

forward. They are not

sitting stones

but rather

stepping stones

on the journey of spiritual growth.

“Move on, move on”

they say.

“Find new stones. Your life,

like a garden path, is a

collection of such stones,

of Ebenezers on which

to tread.”

A Place to Thrive

Recently, I confided to a friend my struggle with a basil plant. It had been trimmed and used for a number of months, and was pretty bare of leaves, and those it had were small. I had purchased a new, full basil plant because the existing one wasn’t able to contribute much to my kitchen, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw the old one in the trash. Early one morning, I took the plant outside and dumped the pot at the base of one of the trees along my street at the entrance to the building where I live. I made sure it was right side up and figured it would get rain and sun and have a chance to survive there.

 

For several weeks I watched it as I went in and out of my building. It began to perk up and put out new leaves. One day I noticed that someone had transplanted it to a planter outside the door of my building. It had been seen and loved and cared for. Now it is green and healthy, and I am glad that I placed it where I did and that someone else realized its potential and gave it a chance to thrive.

Psalm 40 reminds me of this plant:

I waited patiently upon the Lord;

   he stooped to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and clay;

   he set my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure.

He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God.

   Many shall see, and stand in awe, and put their trust in the Lord.

Our lives at times are similar to that basil plant. Sometimes we find ourselves in places where life is hard, where the gifts we have to offer are not wanted or valued. Like the Psalmist, we may be in the desolate pit. I know I’ve been there, in that place of wilderness, of mire and clay, questioning my life, my worth, my gifts. God came and lifted me, in the form of community, friends who reminded me that I matter. Transplanted into a different environment, an environment of love and nurture, we can thrive. May we be those who help life to thrive, and when others are in places where they feel withered and worn, may we see and love and care for them.