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.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
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?
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?
Monday, August 30, 2010
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!
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!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Here and Now
In my busyness today, I was short tempered and rushed. I did all kinds of things on the computer and the phone kept ringing with people asking questions--interrupting my trains of thought. Very distracting. I came home tired and sort of achy, lower back stressed to the max, shoulders tight. I was probably seeing double by the time I got home and changed clothes.
Usually I open my e-mail as a part of my "coming home and decompressing" routine and check to see who sent me things, who is asking for money, who is reminding me of my civic duty. But today I got an e-mail from a friend with no explanation in the subject line. She has a little boy, so her time is tight. I thought she probably had a busier day than mine in some ways. I opened the e-mail and there was a quick hello and an internet address to go to. I need to explain that we were talking yesterday about the fact that her father passed away two years ago and she was feeling melancholy, reminiscing as we tend to do when we miss someone. I shared that even though my own father had died almost 20 years ago, I still have those waves of feeling wash over me. Then I told her I would send something I wrote about my dad, hoping that it would help her to know someone else felt the same. She called me today, in the midst of my pandemonium and said she appreciated what I had wrote. End of story--so I thought.
So back to the e-mail...I opened the url and it showed a 1954 juke box. I guess it was supposed to be a testament to those dinosaurs of long ago, showing how they worked with 45's, how you had to select the songs to play, how the needle played the actual record. But the most amazing thing, was that the song she had found, was the song which played a prominent part in what I wrote about my dad. I was stunned to hear the song come out of that Youtube video as clear as a bell. And then I thought, what a wonderful gift to give me! It is rare that someone takes the time to hear another person's murmurings, their ramblings, their "important to them" facts, but especially today, it was humbling to believe that someone in her own sadness, could bring me such a gift on such a day.
The Lord puts people in our paths all the time. We stumble over them, we fail to acknowledge their contributions to our lives, we blatantly ignore them. But today, I was so gifted and blessed by this person's unselfish sharing, I hardly knew how to accept such generosity. I wrote her back, of course, using the words "thank you" probably too much. But it was such a gift, so open-hearted and well-amazing-that thank you didn't seem big enough. But I will thank the Lord, too. For his placing this person in my life, in my path. I may have stumbled upon her in the dark, but the light from her spirit and from God's gift will remind me that the path doesn't need to be dark and moody. As long as we have those willing to share the light.
I hope you share your light with someone today. I'll work on tomorrow.
Usually I open my e-mail as a part of my "coming home and decompressing" routine and check to see who sent me things, who is asking for money, who is reminding me of my civic duty. But today I got an e-mail from a friend with no explanation in the subject line. She has a little boy, so her time is tight. I thought she probably had a busier day than mine in some ways. I opened the e-mail and there was a quick hello and an internet address to go to. I need to explain that we were talking yesterday about the fact that her father passed away two years ago and she was feeling melancholy, reminiscing as we tend to do when we miss someone. I shared that even though my own father had died almost 20 years ago, I still have those waves of feeling wash over me. Then I told her I would send something I wrote about my dad, hoping that it would help her to know someone else felt the same. She called me today, in the midst of my pandemonium and said she appreciated what I had wrote. End of story--so I thought.
So back to the e-mail...I opened the url and it showed a 1954 juke box. I guess it was supposed to be a testament to those dinosaurs of long ago, showing how they worked with 45's, how you had to select the songs to play, how the needle played the actual record. But the most amazing thing, was that the song she had found, was the song which played a prominent part in what I wrote about my dad. I was stunned to hear the song come out of that Youtube video as clear as a bell. And then I thought, what a wonderful gift to give me! It is rare that someone takes the time to hear another person's murmurings, their ramblings, their "important to them" facts, but especially today, it was humbling to believe that someone in her own sadness, could bring me such a gift on such a day.
The Lord puts people in our paths all the time. We stumble over them, we fail to acknowledge their contributions to our lives, we blatantly ignore them. But today, I was so gifted and blessed by this person's unselfish sharing, I hardly knew how to accept such generosity. I wrote her back, of course, using the words "thank you" probably too much. But it was such a gift, so open-hearted and well-amazing-that thank you didn't seem big enough. But I will thank the Lord, too. For his placing this person in my life, in my path. I may have stumbled upon her in the dark, but the light from her spirit and from God's gift will remind me that the path doesn't need to be dark and moody. As long as we have those willing to share the light.
I hope you share your light with someone today. I'll work on tomorrow.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Just a thought...
So here I am thinking about all the things I have to do on a Saturday, and I'm not doing any of them. I'm writing on this blog instead! There are always things to do, I guess. Not being a particularly A-type personality I'm willing to let them go while I tap out these thoughts. I was thinking of the analogy I gave a few posts back about cleaning up. My mind is still very cluttered, but I'm familiar with the bric-a-bracs at this point and would be hard-pressed to throw them out. Some of the clutter was just junk--the thinking that I could win my way into heaven like some kind of lottery. Or the other idea that if I'm good enough, I'll get a pass. I'm never gonna be good enough, so that isn't going to work either. Thank God.
Yes, that's the point. Thank God. I have spent a lot of time lately on myself, worrying, fretting, mumbling to myself. It's time to begin to thank God. For the beautiful butterfly that is resting in the hot sun outside the window. For the blue of the sky, the green of the grass (okay, a lot of it is brown, but there is green poking through, too!), for the vibrant red of the flowers in their pots, for the coolness of the air conditioning inside which lets me see outside without withering like so many of the plants that I haven't watered yet. Thank God for the family I have, the family of my congregation, the friends of my life who water me and keep me feeling as though I am a person of value that God does indeed love.
So I'm sitting here writing my thanks and the dust is still on the tables and the cobwebs are still in the corners. But I will eventually take care of those things, but for now, thanks be to God I have a house to dust! And well, just thanks be to God!
Yes, that's the point. Thank God. I have spent a lot of time lately on myself, worrying, fretting, mumbling to myself. It's time to begin to thank God. For the beautiful butterfly that is resting in the hot sun outside the window. For the blue of the sky, the green of the grass (okay, a lot of it is brown, but there is green poking through, too!), for the vibrant red of the flowers in their pots, for the coolness of the air conditioning inside which lets me see outside without withering like so many of the plants that I haven't watered yet. Thank God for the family I have, the family of my congregation, the friends of my life who water me and keep me feeling as though I am a person of value that God does indeed love.
So I'm sitting here writing my thanks and the dust is still on the tables and the cobwebs are still in the corners. But I will eventually take care of those things, but for now, thanks be to God I have a house to dust! And well, just thanks be to God!
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Daily Devotions
I signed up yesterday for a daily devotion to be delivered to my e-mail address. The ultimate in geeky faith life I guess. I had signed up with another devotional about 2 years ago. The author struck a chord with me and every post (okay, ALMOST every post) was wonderful and spiritual. All those things I needed to hear at my desk in work where my faith and spirituality are constantly undermined by snide remarks and snarky comments. But the author has begun a new chapter in his life and posting his devotions "just ain't gonna happen" every day. So I've been high and dry for a while now. The funny thing is, I didn't really notice the lack of readings and faith touch stones until I began to find myself being snide and snarky without even thinking about what I was doing. I needed a fix.
The new devotions don't seem as dynamic as the other. They don't quite reach me in the same place, but that's okay. I need something to tether me to my savior, it's a cinch I wasn't swimming in the right direction on my own. And who knows? Maybe I'll begin to develop an appreciation for the new devotionals. My well was pretty dry. And a trickle of water is better than being thirsty.
The new devotions don't seem as dynamic as the other. They don't quite reach me in the same place, but that's okay. I need something to tether me to my savior, it's a cinch I wasn't swimming in the right direction on my own. And who knows? Maybe I'll begin to develop an appreciation for the new devotionals. My well was pretty dry. And a trickle of water is better than being thirsty.
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