Hard Faith or Hardly Faith?

In our journey down the road of life, if you are a person of belief you will encounter something that scares you. It will be something really awful or awe-filled. Something inspiring or terrifying. And you will find yourself looking at your faith and wondering. And the wondering can be scary in itself, especially if you find yourself questioning beliefs that you have grown up with, or things that you thought you knew until this big thing happened.

I have trusted in the Holy Spirit to be with me through all kinds of things. I find that I don't question whether the Spirit is with me, only whether it is in the foreground or the background and why it chooses to be either or. Many friends of mine, especially during tragic circumstances have asked, "Why" this happened. Maybe they just mean why now? Or even why me? I don't think I've wondered why so much as now what happens? And I really mean that when I say it. I don't look for the purpose or reason as I'm pretty sure if I have to ask why, then the reason probably wouldn't make sense to me at the moment. But the what happens next...that catches me. How will we deal with this event? How will this assimilate into our lives? Will this thing that has happened make us better followers? Better believers? More aware of the God who is with us? Too frequently, it happens that we shake our fists at the heavens and pronounce that if we can't understand it now, we'll never understand it, so don't even both to explain to me, thank you very much. There is some kind of trite comment that says whatever doesn't kill you will make you stronger. Eww. I suppose that could be something you follow as a mantra. But what about, "I will be with you always, even to the end of the age." That seems more comforting to me. Or what about, "He is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of need." Yeah, I can get behind that one, too.

So when these big things happen, either glorifying or traumatizing, and your faith feels a little wobbly ask yourself what you believe. Not why, but what happens next. And look for the others who are with you, your brothers and sisters in faith. They are standing with you at that time, even if you can't see them. Just like the Holy Spirit.

Reflections on a Crooked Cross

I was shopping the other day for a friend. It’s Christmas and I thought, since he has so many kinds of crosses to wear, that I would get him a new one. A different one. I went to a Pastor/Priest supply store. One that carries their outer garments, symbolic of their inner garments I suppose. Anyway, the salesman showed me several varieties. Some were plain, some were engraved with carvings of religious symbols. Some were crucifixes and even among them were depictions of exquisite agonies of the Lord or sublime serenity—he obviously knowing something we don’t. There were modern kinds, where the basic symbol of the cross was somewhat distorted and you weren’t really sure if this was a cross at all, but some amorphous blob of metal that a surrealist wanted you to believe was a cross. I didn’t but any of them. I left puzzled. I walked around the mall for a while after that and thought about what I had seen. The cross is a powerful image to me. For any Christian I imagine. Beside all that historical stuff, we know that the cross means saving to us. I never liked the crosses that I see so many times that are so perfectly straight and precise. My faith isn’t like that. But a cross that depicts the winding way of my belief isn’t true for me either. For the cross symbolizes the underpinnings of my life. I don’t like following something if I’m not sure where it goes. The cross always has the vertical with the horizontal crosspiece. I wanted to find a cross that showed that-- but differently, like my faith.

I actually did find the one I was looking for. The artist that fashioned it, pulled the metal somehow to make it appear beveled, but not even that. Guided somehow off the straight. It’s difficult to describe, but this cross spoke to me as a Christian. I am not always straight and true. My paths are usually pretty much along the straight and narrow. But life has a way of bringing along those not oh-so-straight bends and turns. And although my faith is true, like the cross of which I speak, it also bends and is slightly off. A true metaphor for my faith life. We are not all believers in the same way. There are nuances to our faith, shadings, shadows, life has molded us in ways that are unique to each individual. But the cross is behind all that believe, engraved, carved, or plain showing us that “God always comes down”, no matter what the shaped or size of the chain of life experiences we wear. So I bought the cross for him. I think he’ll like it. I wrote this down because even though I don’t own this cross, it will make me think of my faith every time I think of it. It is a cross of my faith, crooked, yet straight.

Matthew 16: 19

”I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven…”

I want to talk to you today about keys. What are keys? What significance do keys have today in our “keyless” entry world?

I remember my father was a maintenance worker at one time for a company. He had a key ring jammed full of keys. I used to sit and look at them: keys worn almost smooth from so much use, keys that were grimy and dirty, keys that were brand new and the teeth on those were sharp. There were keys to the lunch room, the locker room, the myriads of doors my father encountered each and every day. He had a key for each of those locks. If he came to a door that he didn’t have a key specifically for, there was even a skeleton key, one that could unlock any door in the whole plant. It was a marvelous thing, his key chain. It jangled when he walked and reminded all who were near him that he could unlock their doors.

And so we come to Peter. Jesus told him he would be given the keys to the kingdom. What an awesome responsibility! Keys to the kingdom. And so also do I picture Peter in his sandals and robes with a VERY large key chain, one that thunderously jangles as he walks the heavens.

We’ve been given keys as well, although they probably don’t jingle when we walk. The keys to the kingdom, even. They are at our disposal night and day if we chose to see them. You see, the idea is that each of us can unlock something in someone with our talents, our abilities, our love, out attention and even sometimes, our anger. God has given us each a set of keys. What doors will you unlock with yours?

Are you willing to share your wealth of talents (your keys, if you will)? Are you able to share your time (another key element)? Can you spare your wealth, in whatever form it comes in? These are the keys of the kingdom and we all have them, no matter how mighty or meek, rich or poor, humble or even arrogant.

What will your keys unlock and how will you go about using them today. That is really the question, isn’t it. Not necessarily recognizing your keys but using what you have to open the door to Jesus’ kingdom.

Jesus for Me, too?

What is it about the verses at the beginning of John 14 that linger and cause my eyes to blur? Why do I always get so choked up? Did someone use these verses at some funeral long ago and it haunts me?

I think the reason could be a little more deep than that. I have pondered those words for many years. Not hours at a time, granted. But each time I either hear them or read them myself, I have thought about what they mean. “Let not your heart be troubled…In my father’s house are many rooms. I go to prepare a place for you.” He meant the disciples. He was talking to them. But it has been interpreted as meaning a place for you and me, too. How could that be? How could there be room for me? Me? The reluctant writer. The foot dragging volunteer. The downright stubborn Christian. There cannot be room for me in my—our-- father’s house. There is no place prepared for me. I don’t deserve a place. I don’t even deserve a place at the dining table. But I’ve been told he accepts me there. I guess I’ve gotten over that part. But the dwelling place? Nope, don’t think so.

You see I am wishy-washy. I am not a bold believer. I go to church on Sundays. I enjoy a good ecumenical debate when I can get one. I’ll argue theology if you want a good argument. But I don’t get vehement. I don’t get in your face. If you want a fighting Christian, you’ve come to the wrong source. I don’t like conflict. I don’t like it when people don’t like me. So what kind of believer am I? Not a good follower, I’m sure.

There is a verse somewhere about Jesus saying that he spits out lukewarm faith. I imagine he has spit me out before and probably will again. But that isn’t what it says in other places in the bible. It doesn’t say he spits me out. It doesn’t say he hates me, or doesn’t care for my weakness or my failures. It states almost emphatically that I am loved no matter what. And I believe that part because to think otherwise is pretty scary stuff. I love God. I trust God more than I’ve ever trusted anyone or anything else. But don’t ask me to be the representative with the voice. The mouthpiece of reverberating fire and brimstone.

And so, I think I feel sad when I read these verses. Because I hope they apply to me and in my poor little not-very-brave heart, I’m very afraid they don’t. But I then have to remember, too, that there is a verse that gives me hope. And that verse says, “help my unbelief.” So maybe there is a place after all.

Deck Cleaning/Light Bringing

I was cleaning out the gunk between the spaces on the bottom step of my deck on Saturday. Using a screwdriver, I would pop out large amounts of seeds, leaves, feathers, more seeds and occasionally a confused bunch of ants and other creepy crawlies. As a metaphor for church, I’d like to use this if you’ll permit the allusion.

In the great deck of life here on this earth, we are forever getting caught in the cracks. There are pitfalls aplenty for those who are looking as well as those poor, unsuspecting souls who aren’t even looking. We get mashed together in this small space of thinking about life and what it’s all about.

Every now and then someone comes along and pries us out of those spaces and “airs” us out. They give us something to think about that doesn’t fit into that small space. They say something so outrageous or original we are ejected into the light and wonder, “what happened?” If God is like that cosmic wielder of the large screwdriver, then it is indeed apt that he is the one to pry us out of that small space and gives us light, so that even the “creepy crawlies” of us, who don’t deserve the light, are exposed to it nonetheless.

I wonder sometimes if it bothers him that we seem to thrive so readily in those cracks and crevices without even trying to get into the light. When I exposed those ants they scurried madly to try and get back to that dark place they were in, because it was all they had known as their shelter and their refuge. But I like the light. My shelter and refuge should be out and about, above ground and above board.

Is that where your life is? Are you in the cracks and crevices, lumped up with all the drifted up spirits and half shredded seeds? Or are you the brave sowbug, who mightily climbs to the top of the stair tread to see what’s on the outside? Where does all that light comes from?

Can I give you a lift up?

The Conversation in Class

I really don't know how the subject turned. We were talking about what the class discussed the week previously, then it somehow or other moved to talking about the gospel lesson and the subject turned yet again to miracles. I have trouble with miracles sometimes. When I was young, I thought of Jesus as a magician. Poof! There went some guy's blindness. Flash! Some lady was healed. And KAZAM! Lazarus came out of the tomb looking for lunch. It was like Jesus was a real live superhero, without the cape. As I grew older, I questioned lots of things. But the miracles of Jesus, not so much. It seemed wrong to question them, to think about them was okay, because they meant something. But the meaning was sometimes kind of garbled or not clear to me. But I didn't question them. I thought that was what faith was, unquestioning.

I'm older now. I still question lots of things. In the course of listening about miracles, I have heard explanations of them. How this could have happened. How that could have been. I still don't know if the people explaining them were trying to prove that Jesus really didn't do them, or if they were seeking to make Jesus less of a magician and more of a person with extra ordinary talents. But the conversation in class was interesting because someone posed the thought that if we can explain away miracles, then didn't we believe that Jesus was resurrected from the dead? That was a conversation killer for sure! Everyone stopped and looked at each other. Is that what it meant to question the miracles? That there could not have been an event that was truly miraculous? For a tiny second I wondered what would happen if I said I didn't believe in the resurrection. I felt my core faith quiver at the thought. It was scary. But it was just for a moment. Because I came back with the idea that miracles are no less miraculous just because someone could explain them. So what if the wine actually was in a mis-marked jar at the wedding? So what if the feeding of the 5000 happened because people shared their food? The surprise of the story is that it was a miracle, not that Jesus did it, but that God intervened in some way to show us something of his self. A particle of God was visible for that small second of divine something or other that happened. And he did it for us. All of us. Not just the wedding guests delighted that the "good stuff" was still available or the growling bellies of the gathered masses. God intervened showing that with God all things are possible from the sublime to the, well, miraculous!

Place Holders

I was at a very busy restaurant recently with four other people. It was the kind of place that you put your order in, then go to a table and the waitstaff brings you your order. It was loud, jammed to the gills with people of all types and sizes and I wondered how we would ever find a place to sit (and hear each other in the din). I volunteered to be the one to find a spot for all five of us and hold the place until the orders were given and the rest would join me.

Because the line was long, I had time to find a good spot and sit and ponder things. It's funny when you have time to just sit and think, the things that come into your mind. I was thinking that I was the "place holder" for the group I was with. It occurred to me that I am frequently a place holder because I'm willing to go quietly into a line or a situation and well, hold a place for someone else. This is not to whine about it. I'm perfectly happy holding a place for someone. Usually us placeholders are not flashy or showy. We don't go about calling attention to the fact that someone is coming for which we are merely creating a vacuum that they will fill. This is what we do.

Of course I became more engrossed in the analogy (as I am wont to do) and decided that in our faith life, we can be placeholders too. We can be the people who come in and set up tables for a dinner. We can be the people who find the balloon vendor for the upcoming church fair, and make sure he'll be there and his price is good (if not free!). They are the ones who help new people find a pew, find their place in a hymnal, or simply show a friendly face smiling back at a fidgety child during the sermon. The placeholders of this world are not the big money makers, sermon givers or fancy dressers. They are the humble, obedient servants that Jesus spoke of from the woman who cleansed Jesus' feet with her hair to the stewards who witnessed the water turned into wine conversion. But the placeholders are as exalted as the ones for whom we hold a place. For our place in the scheme of things is always to hold it for the Lord. We are holding the place, nay, standing in place of the one who comes after us. The one who has power and authority over all things and stands in line to no one person or thing. And in this capacity, we are given the authority to "hold" his place in line. We are called to actively participate in life, reaching and stretching our faith lives for the one who will come after us, the one whose name we carry in our hearts and minds. So that when he comes again, there will be a place at the table for all who have saved a place.