Now and Then

I was struck by something this morning during the readings of Palm Sunday and the Passion. I was moved, as I almost always am, by the events surrounding this depiction of the last week of Jesus' life. How could this happen, I wondered once again. How could the people who knew him, loved him, watched him heal and bring back from the dead, how could THESE people just stand by and watch the events unfold and not do anything. The gentleman in front of me, during the sharing of the peace, said how moving the story was. And we discussed how this could have happened.

And then I thought, but that's just it! It happened and could still happen today. People aren't really all that different from the people of Jesus' time. We still fear those things we don't understand. We still struggle to believe in a world that both shows us the miracles and shows us the mundane. We deny the existence of the Almighty while marveling at the beautiful spring flowers adorning our neighbors lawn. We fight against believing that a Supreme Being could possibly love us so much that he would torture his only son in an effort to MAKE SURE we understood the depth of that love. We are the same people all over again. And yet, God loves us still. The mystery of that love, that eternal grace is so beyond my comprehension that even now writing about it, I'm confounded. I look for something which would cast those persons of the past in such a light as to show me that I'm better, more evolved. But I'm not. You aren't either. None of us are. Which is why the Passion is still the Passion. The passionate love of a God for the people of his heart. I can't understand it, but I'm am thankful for it. And hope one day to be able to grasp the hand of the savior who died for us and say, Amen.

Now What Happens?

I have been reading a lot of devotionals lately because I decided to devote myself during Lent. HA! I liked the way that sounded, but it does have a ring of truth about it. I found recently that I felt farther away from God than I had for quite some time and knew my heavenly father hadn't moved, but I had. So I wanted to get in touch with him a little more intensely during the Lenten season. My mother, getting into the spirit of things (so to speak) sent me a small devotional booklet entitled, The Sanctuary for Lent. I started re-reading, Walking on Water by Madeline L'Engle, one of my very favorite books. I am receiving daily devotional writings from the Lutheran Seminary in Philadelphia. And a friend of mine is sending out prayers that are inspirational and seem divinely inspired.

So, guess what? I'm not feeling any closer, more spiritual, or heavenly than I was before. Maybe it's because I have a cold. My head is clogged and my nose is running and I'm sure I'm not a very nice person to be around (I'm a terrible patient!). But I really can't blame this not feeling closer to God on anybody but myself, really. And no, I don't really think it's because I have a cold. You see, so many times I expect the "Shazam!" moment to arrive and when it doesn't I'm sort of miffed. What do I mean by the Shazam moment? The Saul conversion moment? The veil is lifted and I am stunned and amazed by...? And that is the problem. Something BIG.

Instead, I have become aware of a series of really great things in the past few weeks. I was away while the rest of my fellow workers were still slaving over a hot desk recently. My children are safe and healthy and comfortable (yes, I know they would like to be MORE comfortable). I have a wonderful husband who is considerate of my health and well-being (he even e-mails me to ask me how I'm feeling when I know he's busy at work). But I kept thinking that something BIG would happen with my spiritual life. Some great awakening I suppose. What I got instead were small steps, hardly even noticed. And that was when I had a real Shazam moment. For real! I have heard for years on end about God's still small voice. Except I'm partially deaf, and that analogy doesn't work for me. I was afraid he was whispering so low I missed it. Instead he showed me the wonders of my life right now. Not in winning the lottery, although I have to say, I wouldn't mind that. But he has put some pretty wondrous people and things in my way to take notice of lately and I've been so self absorbed in my pouting I almost missed them!

So in some ways, that's what happens. You go out looking for God and he's right beside you the whole time, showing you stuff. Poking your side and asking if you saw the daffodils, the birds, your children, your husband, your friends. And never once did he say, Shazam!

The Sun Within

I heard a weather report that it is supposed to rain and snow tomorrow and the next day. No accumulation, really. Just the cold dampness that seeps into your bones as you watch the precipitation fall. I was hoping we were done with this kind of weather. It makes me feel weary and sad. It's hard to be positive when the weather beats up on you.

But recently I found a piece of sun to keep inside when the weather is bad outside. I was walking around a very special place, when I felt the warmth of the sun on my back. The ocean was in front of me and the birds were playing in the waves, calling and laughing to each other. The sound of the sea, the warmth of the sun, the blue of the sky, I was at peace for just a few minutes. It was there that I found a piece of the Son, too. That peace that passes all understanding was right there with me. So I'm trying to carry it around to spread it around. I see some people who look like they could use a little ray of sun or Son. So I try to share it with them. I'm not sure they all appreciate the effort, but I make the effort anyway. You never know when that sun may come back around and warm you up on a dreary, wintry March day.

Rain and Lent

Somehow or other, Lent seems a somber time. I'm not saying that there isn't reason for this. If you read all the historical accounts of Lent and it's formation, you'd know that we actually have it pretty good during Lent in this century. It's a time of reflection and personal introspection.

It's raining today and usually during rainy days I'm in work, concentrating on the things I have to do there. But today by quirky chance I am home and futzing with things around the house. I found myself filling the time instead of taking time for that reflection and introspection that we need to do from time to time. And so I stopped amidst the vacuuming and washing of clothes, plopped myself down on the couch and reflected. Of course, when you want to take the time to do that, you can never actually do it. Your mind races as to what you were supposed to be serenely thinking about, or it races ahead to what you will do when you are done reflecting. And then you wonder how long you should be stopped. And is that "enough" time. Because we are so used to working on a schedule, we figure the scheduling of communicating with God should be a finite thing as well. I'll think about God for 15 minutes on Thursday--that kind of thing. The problem with that of course is that come the 15 minutes you've set aside you're so preoccupied with what you wanted to communicate to the Almighty, you've forgotten that this kind of communion can be a two-way street and you've left no time for the Lord to talk to you in that still small voice of his. And so you're allotted time is fraught with worry about the things you need to "get in" without thinking about the possibilities of what you might "get out" of this time.

Recently I was away from home. My companions and I went to an outdoor garden one day. Within the garden there was a labyrinth. It was in a beautiful park-like setting, very peaceful and serene. About 20 feet away from the labyrinth was a sign which instructed those who were walking this peaceful, serene maze not to molest or feed the alligator. Now, I don't know about you, but while trying to concentrate on the maze I was walking, contemplate communion with God AND worry about whether an alligator would suddenly find itself inclined to climb the small bank and sun itself nearby, it was not the contemplative experience I would have hoped it to be.

However, on this same time away, I was privileged to go to the beach. The sun was warm, the same for the sand and the waves were gentle and passive. I looked out to the horizon and there, bobbing restfully was a pelican. I do not know why I love these birds so much, but their presence to me has always happened at a time when I needed to be reminded of God's wondrous gifts to me. And there it was. The moment was better than the labyrinth. God was with me (and yes, I know simultaneously he is with me always and was with my companions). But God was there with me in the sun and the sea and the pelican. And it was an affirmation that will last through Lent and whatever rainy, contemplative or stormy days are ahead.

God is with us.

Community of Faith

The title above sounds very churchy, doesn't it? I mean you don't hear about the community of--I don't know--sneaker wearers do you? One of the problems about church sometimes is people are weirded out about the phrases we use, or sometimes even the words we use in certain contexts. Some people think it's like a club with its own special language--like learning elfish from Tolkien. But sometimes the words that the community of believers use are just good words to use. Stewardship is one of those words. To be a steward is to be a caretaker. What's wrong with that? To be a steward was a position of responsibility. It wasn't just a caretaker of goods, but people, too. A steward was responsible for making sure the help were fed and clothed and paid (or at least looked after with a roof over their head). I think we need to be reminded that we are stewards, not just of the church building, but of the people who come here.

How can we be better stewards of our church? Well, for one, we can pray for one another. Not just on Sunday mornings, but everyday. And pray not just for the people on the prayer list, but all the people who come in our doors, whether they are from one of the groups that use our building or the ladies who knit prayer shawls. We can remember to listen to each other when we do get together. Sometimes we are so anxious to share our stories and our thoughts we can't even hear that others are in need of being listened to more. We can help someone find a page in the hymnal, we can direct someone to the bathroom, we can simply say hi to someone who looks like they could use a smile. These are not big things. They do not cost you anything except maybe a few minutes. But they are outward signs of our caring. And we are a caring place. Let us share the stewardship of our God's love with all we encounter. Lent is a good time to try a new practice. Let's practice being good caregivers this year.

Let's let our light so shine before others that they can't help but see our good works!

The Snow on the Sidewalk

It's snowing again. I'm a huge chicken when it comes to driving in the stuff, but I love the way it looks out the window, when I'm nice and warm in my house. It coats the roofs with white cottony drifts. It clings to trees and bushes, and the kids across the street are tramping through it with wild abandon.

I was thinking about my faith life today, as I watched the snow come down. I could make the analogy of God blanketing us with his love like the way the snow blankets the landscape. But I actually wasn't thinking that. What I was thinking is how we seem sometimes to want to cover up our flaws and humanity when we tell the world we are Christians. We cover up the heart in need of repair and the hopes that have become somewhat twisted like the branches of the trees outside the window. Why do we do that? I read a devotional which said that we thought as Christians we had to be strong. We had to show the world how morally upright, sound of body and spirit and well, holy we were; so that others would want to be like us. Except we aren't all that morally upright. At least I'm not. And my soundness of spirit is definitely lacking. Which is why its important to scrape away the stuff that covers our sin and our brokenness. We need to show others how it looks to be a Christian by looking at how much we need Jesus, not by how nice it looks. We need to chip away the veneer of self-supporting righteousness and show our vulnerability. Why else would we need a Savior if we weren't that good or strong to begin with? The answer of course, is that we wouldn't need one. But we do. And he is there, just like the snow covering us. Except he knows our flaws and failures and it doesn't matter, because he loves us anyway, thank goodness.

So when you're out shoveling later on, remember that yes, God's love does blanket us. And even though we're as uneven as the pavement we're shoveling, we're still beautiful in his sight. So share that uneven brokenness with others, so that they might see the light of Christ through you.

I Need Jesus to Walk With Me

I was reading a devotional booklet the other day. I was looking for some answers to some really hard questions. The questions were raised after the Arizona shooting. The questions were not, "Why" nor, "How". The questions were not linear or even really put into words. But they were there in my mind anyway. There were more questions too, when I read that some folks were going to go to a funeral of a child and protest because they felt the shooting was a "sign" of something.

A sign of something.

Well, it probably was a sign of something. But I'm thinking the sign they're looking at doesn't have anything to do with a Savior of love. Or with a God of compassion and forgiveness either. Sometimes I believe the world has gone mad. And sometimes my faith is hard to grasp hold of and onto in the midst of these headlines. But I remember also, that I am not God. I do not know everything in all circumstances. I cannot fathom why such things happen, but I cannot fathom how snowflakes are all different or how the world was made either. Do the people who plan to protest know God so well, so intimately that they are sure what happened was "God" sent? How can you be THAT sure of God? And of humans for that matter? The devotional said this and it spoke to me, "...worshiping morality instead of Jesus is just idolatry. When I'm consumed with my moral performance and find myself obsessively evaluating the morality of others, I've become a believer in moralism, not the gospel."

I'm a believer of Jesus and I'd rather have him explain to me the things I don't understand when I meet him than have some rabble-rousing mob scream things at me when I need compassion and understanding in the here and now. I would wish that Jesus would be with that group of people who think they are doing the Lord's work and help them see that love is what the Lord is about, not judgment and condemnation which seems to be what they are about. I know that Jesus is with us, walking with us and keeping us in his heart, even if we don't have him in ours.