Building Character

Let us also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. 

--Romans 5:3b-4

It has been another long week in this country. 

Last Thursday I had breakfast with my "boss" and he said, "Well, what do you suppose will happen this week that will need to be reflected on in worship?" Ugh. Who knew we would be staring in the face of such horrible devastation as has occurred in Moore, Oklahoma, following those strong tornadoes?

And then along comes this week's epistle passage from the lectionary, Romans 5:1-5. Paul's words about how we should respond in the face of suffering.

It's awfully hard sometimes, isn't it? To glory in suffering, whether our own or that of distant strangers? How do we respond to well-meaning folks who earnestly remind us that "God never gives us more than we can handle"?

I don't know if that's true or not. But I do know that sometimes it sure feels like God has given me a double helping when I really would just as soon take a pass.

Here's what I think, for what it is worth.

I think-- no, I know sometimes there is nothing worth saying when tragedy strikes. And that includes quoting Scripture. Sometimes, no matter how well-intentioned, a verse from the Bible really only serves to deepen the pain, because it's just so very hard to see how God might be at work in the moment.

For instance, with these tornadoes, or the recent shootings or bombings. I heard people say that they prayed so hard for their child to be found alive, and was so grateful when God answered their prayers. How do we explain the implication that someone else must not have prayed long enough/ hard enough/ faithfully enough, because their child wasn't spared?

Tough, tough questions. And if you are looking for my pat, easy answer-- I haven't got one. (And overall, I have a pretty decent handle on prayer. Sort of. Right now, anyway.) 

In our moments of deep pain and anguish, sometimes there is simply nothing worth saying. Silence together, weeping together-- an appropriate choice, indeed. And a willingness to admit: I Just. Don't. Know.

But as we begin to pull away a bit from the intensity of the moment, then these verses can take on a different hue. A neighbor offers to help with the cleanup. Someone we never met offers us dinner at a local pub. 

As we begin once more to put one foot in front of the other and allow our lives to inch forward, we can begin to see ways in which God's presence is carrying us. Simple kindnesses, in unexpected places, give us the "lift" we need.

Whether we respond by giving up or by lifting our eyes and moving our feet is, indeed, an indication of the nature of our character.

We are created in the Divine image of one whose very nature is Love. And we are called to be that love in the world.

It can be so, so hard. But it is so, so necessary.

One step at a time. One new day at a time. Sometimes-- one moment at a time. 

Just do the next thing. 

And over time, things become easier. And we begin to feel a lightness in our hearts. Hope, even. 

Not right away. And sometimes it can seem imperceptibly slow in coming.

And it is seldom something we consciously can do a single thing to hasten or promote.

No secret recipes. No magic wands. Just time. And one day we realize: The joy is back. Different, but returned.

I think that's what Paul was trying to get at here. And I think that is where we as a nation will be finding ourselves over the next weeks. And months.

And years. Each at his (or her) own pace.

And so we soldier on. But the good news?

We soldier on together. And when we are ready to look again, we encounter a stranger, someone we may not recognize right away, like the two on their way to Emmaus. 

Someone who becomes God with skin on, there for you. We never journey alone, even when it sure feels like it. Thanks be to God.

Most gracious, ever-faithful One, show us. Show us the way we are called to be you, in this place, that we might be aware that we are not alone. Amen

Getting on track

Amazed and perplexed, they asked one another, “What does this mean?” --Acts 2:12

Goodness. It's been a long time since I posted anything. That needs to change. So-- at least for now-- I am going to try to blog on a lectionary passage each week. I need the discipline, and the lectionary is a good tool for that.

Just to level the playing field a bit, in case the L-word is unfamiliar to you? The lectionary, in short definition, is a tool which, over the course of three years, accesses the vast majority of the Bible. (As a Protestant, I am familiar with the Revised Common Lectionary, or RCL.) 

Each week, the RCL offers four suggested passages, typically (but not always) one from the Old Testament, one from Psalms, one from the Gospels and one from the epistles.

The biggest advantage to preaching the RCL is that it narrows a preacher's choices. It also discourages one from frequently returning to "favorite" passages and neglecting other, more challenging portions of Scripture.

The downside, arguably, is that it potentially hinders the freedom of the Holy Spirit. (Then again-- could not the Spirit guide the preacher and speak through the chosen RCL passage?)

Wake up! It's not that bad, really. 

And somehow, this all relates a bit to this week's RCL passage from Acts, the story of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit arrived and allowed everyone to understand everyone else, no matter what language they were speaking. Each person heard the other in their native language.

Using the RCL as a guide means that wherever you attend church this Sunday, if the preacher follows the RCL, it's likely you will hear a sermon based on the same passage. And that can be a terrific experience, since the direction the preacher takes might be completely different in another pulpit or another denomination. 

And a skillful preacher will manage to preach a message that is not only scriptural, but relevant, proving week after week that the Bible is not a dusty old book no longer worthy of reading. Rather, it is alive, lively and relevant-- if we have eyes to see, ears to hear and a desiring heart.

So. This may not be the most interesting post ever, but this is my commitment to getting back on track. Hope you are still with me.

Ever-wise, ever-faithful God, thank you for guiding our hearts-- and for discipline. We need it. We really do. Amen. 

Look closely.

Then Moses said, “Now show me your glory.” -Exodus 33:18

I cannot recall ever sharing the words of another extensively on my blog, but there is a first time for everything. Sometimes, it seems, the perfect words fall out of the mouth of someone else just exactly when we most need to hear them.

So it was last week, with me and author/ pastor John Ortberg.

My Uppity Women and I had been engaged in a six-week DVD study based on Ortberg's book, God Is Closer than You Think (Zondervan, 2005). The final message, in the final lesson, in light of a week that led many to question God's presence in our broken and wounded nation, really resonated within my small group, so I share his words now with you and invite you to spend time really soaking in the imagery. A small part of it directly references the study, but I am certain you can connect the dots of his reference to Adam and God on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

Here are Ortberg's words. Enjoy.

I have been asked by some, how I can be so certain of the existence of a good God,

and I have asked them in return if they have eyes to see.

God is as close as the bounding dog who knows and loves the voice of his Master.

He is as close as the laughter of a joyful heart, close as the touch of a friend.

Our God is not far away in some distant tower.

He is, like Waldo, present on every single page,

even when it’s hard for us to see him.

He is present in the magnificent chapels that we build for him,

and he is present in the most magnificent chapel of mountain and sea

and earth and sky that he built for us.

For his Spirit, like the wind, blows wherever it will

and breathes life into anybody who will let it.

He is present on “rainbow days,”

when our breath gets sucked out of our bodies by his beauty and grace.

He is present in the ordinary moments of every ordinary day,

when we wake and when we sleep,

when we work and when we play,

when we eat and drink,

when we fail and try again—he is there.

And in the winter of our souls, when we feel most alone,

when with Jesus, we cried out on the cross,

“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

he is there, then, too.

We find him in the uniqueness of all of our pathways

and we find him whenever two or three of us come together in his name.

* * * * *

We started our adventure together talking about that scene

on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel

where God and Adam are just a hair’s breadth apart,

there is just this tiny little gap between them.

And one day, on the other side of the hedge,

on the other side of death,

that gap will be finally, fully closed,

and then, we will finally see, face-to-face.

But that’s tomorrow, and this is today.

And today, this is our prayer:

God, make up there come down here.

May your Kingdom come into my world, my heart, my life.

And he really can—and he really will.

Because God is closer than you think.

--John Ortberg, “God Is Closer than You Think”

All in this together

"You and these people who come to you will only wear yourselves out. The work is too heavy for you; you cannot handle it alone." 

--Exodus 18:18

It has been long-- too long-- since I posted here. I thought about it a number of times, but nothing was happening, no nudges. So I waited. 

In light of the events in my nation, the Boston Marathon bombing and the West Texas refinery fire, the shock and pain has, at times, felt overwhelming for many. The places we thought of as safe, now feel shaky. We look at each face differently. A young man carrying a large backpack can bring a brief flash of fear.

But we are not called to live in a spirit of fear. The spirit of the Most High is a spirit of freedom and perseverance. (This is not to say a Christian never experiences fear. We are still human, still broken. But we have hope.)

And we have each other.

Despite his pleadings with God that he was unsuited to leadership, Moses was, in reality, the consummate overachiever. He was trying to do it all himself, somehow certain that his "connection" with Yahweh was his alone; no one else could offer a word of advice or wisdom to the community but him. As he grew more and more tired, as his energy dwindled, he had a visit from his father-in-law Jethro.

And Jethro spoke truth.

He suggested that much of what Moses was doing could be done by others. He showed Moses how to delegate. 

And everyone became healthier as a result.

That's one part of it. But the other part is to allow ourselves to be assisted when we just cannot carry on alone. In Exodus 17, Joshua is battling the Amalekites, and Moses is standing overseeing the battle, with the staff of the Lord raised high.

When Moses grows weary, his arms drop-- and the Amalekites begin to take the battle. When he raises his arms-- victory: Joshua. But it was a long day and a long battle.

This could have been problematic, if not for Aaron and Hur.

When Moses tired, they got him a rock to sit on, and they stood-- or sat-- one on each side and kept his arms raised.

And his hands remained steady until sunset. And the victory was the Lord's-- and Joshua's.

So what does this mean to us?

It means we are not designed to walk alone in times of trouble that wear us down. It means, when we are hurting or in pain, that there are others who care about us and are willing and able to give us a break. And Moses didn't even have to ask.

Aaron and Hur could see. Moses was worn down. They knew he needed help-- and they gave it. 

We don't know if Moses tried to slough them off or not. We just know that they gave help when help was needed.

And so can we.

These are tough days. The darkness lurks, grabs at our souls and tries to convince us that something's changed. But it hasn't.

God still reigns. God is with us-- Emmanuel-- in the faces of first responders and strangers donating blood, in the cup of cool water offered and the gentle touch of a hand. God is with us in our tears, and with us when we stand, brush ourselves off and seek to adjust our definition of "normal" in light of recent events.

We-- each one of us-- are God's perfect love, with flesh on. Each one of us. Sometimes we sit on the rock and receive; sometimes we stand strong and find ways to give.

And I cannot help but offer you this. Amen

Lean on Me

Hope

“He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; 

but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel." --Luke 24:19b-21

There are a lot of people these days who will (almost eagerly) tell you that Christianity is a dead faith.

They will tell you Christians have forgotten what Jesus really stood for, and say that just about any way is better than that Way.

Some are friends who have been badly wounded by the church; others, I believe, are people who are simply parroting others and have, for whatever reason, lost hope. Misery loves company. 

Like the two on the road to Emmaus who were expecting a different kind of King than the one they got. Who never even realized Jesus was walking right along with them. Not, that is, until they shared a meal together-- and their eyes were opened.

Here's what I think-- and what I believe:

Diana Butler Bass, in this article Being With God, A Different Holy Week (for Huffington Post), writes of the huge difference a preposition can make, the difference between Jesus being with us and Jesus dying for us. 

And I believe that just may hold a key to where we as followers of the Christ have gotten off-track.

During his life, Jesus was with the poor, the broken, the outcast. He offered them love and life-- and hope. (And don't forget, when Jesus is with us, we are with Jesus.) True, the gospels recount the many things Jesus did for others, but he did them by being right there, in the dark and in the dirt with them.

Then all at once (in our contemporary world), after his death on the cross, our rallying cry changes and we hear about what Jesus did for us. Jesus died a pain-filled, horrifying death-- for us. So we could again enter into oneness with the Creator.

All true.

But here is a critical point we often pass right by (probably because it really hurts to think about this):

Just as Jesus was with others during his lifetime, so, too, were they with him, even as he died for them.

Many wished they were not. Peter denied Jesus outright, not once, but three times, to save his own neck. But never, I believe, did Peter think to himself, "Well-- thanks, Jesus, for dying in my stead so I can go on living my life, just the way I want to!"

And at some point, I believe, Peter came to understand that when Jesus said, "I will be with you always," he meant that.

And we are called to be with Jesus. And that means setting aside our self, being prepared to spend time with the least of these, the marginalized. 

And it means being willing to give of ourselves till it hurts, being willing to die at least a little death for another-- just because we are called to live lives of love. Not just for the attractive or the ones who smell good, but for those and the ones who are more challenging to love (which, many days, includes moi).

Perhaps Christianity is dead. Maybe these prophetic voices are on to something. 

But Jesus was dead, too. After being scourged and beaten, derided, ridiculed and nailed to a cross, Jesus, with a loud gasp, gave up his spirit and breathed his last.

That was Friday.

And then came Sunday. The tomb was empty, the Lord had risen-- and those who believed came to understand, intimately, that Jesus was still with them!

They had hoped-- and now, suddenly, they had Hope. 

And so do we. Because the story did not end on the day we have come to call Good Friday. There is more to the story. And because God is still speaking, still at work in this place, we are called to continue to live this story. We are called to live with Jesus and bring his love in real, tangible ways to those who are feeling very much alone and marginalized.

Blessed Easter, friends. Do me a favor in the week ahead and share a meal with someone. Or buy a coffee or a Blizzard or a gallon of milk for the person in line behind you-- just because they are there. Hold the door for someone-- with a smile-- just because they are with you on this planet, in this moment.

Go and serve. Live in a Sunday state of mind. Have hope. Offer hope. Live hope. 

Jesus is alive and well, and living among us. With you, with me-- with them. 

Alleluia!

He would do it again, too (but doesn't need to).

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. --John 3:16

Admit it.

You saw the verse and you thought, "Oh dear. Sunday school?" 

I would venture to guess this verse is second only to "Jesus wept" in times memorized for Sunday school and vacation Bible school contests.

And I would also venture to guess that it could stand a second or third) look. So here it is:

I could go all Greek on you and point out that both verbs (loved and gave) are in the aorist tense, and that one "method" to the aorist madness is that it is used in the case of an action that is "once and done," but the results of which continue to be felt over and over again. 

Truer words were never spoken. God so loved the world.

But here is where I am going today: Why not imagine the verb loved is in the present  tense? It's still profoundly true. It allows the ever-loving arms of the Creator to wrap all around your broken, aching heart and remind you of a very, very important truth.

God so loves the world and each and every bit of it. The gift of the Son of Man only happened once (and done). But the love of the Almighty is eternal and unceasing. It happens once-- and forever. 

And it happens for you. 

That, friends, is the Good News in a nutshell.

And in case you were curious? No, English does not have an aorist tense. Rejoice and be glad :)

* * * * *
Lord God, remind us again, in case we forget, how wide and deep and high and long is your love for us, just as we are. Amen.

Rethinking

"But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served beyond the Euphrates, or the gods of the Amorites,

 in whose land you are living. 

But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” 

--Joshua 24:15

There is a lot of "rethinking" going on these days.

The United Methodists invite us to "Rethink Church." During Lent, there is even a daily photo prompt to invite such rethinking and post the resulting photos on Facebook. 

We are invited to "Rethink Schools" and "Rethink Government."

I even saw an ad on a bus encouraging me to "Rethink Beer." 

The implication in each of these is that the way we are currently thinking is all wrong, so we'd best rethink [fill in the blank here] and change our ways.

But I am not sure I agree with that. I don't really believe an automatic "do-over," or throwing out the baby with the bathwater is necessarily the best way to rethink. 

What I do believe is that it is always a good time to take a step back and remember why we think-- or believe-- or drink-- what we do. 

It's a shallow faith, indeed, that simply states, "I believe it because my mother/ father/ Aunt Martha believed it." Or, "My family has always gone to that church, so now I do, too." 

That kind of faith is not likely to carry you through when life gets messy.

And believe me, it is inevitable. Life will get messy. 

So I invite you now, while life is relatively un-messy, to stop and think. Think about what you believe-- and why you believe it.

Do you believe, "Jesus loves me, this I know// for the Bible tells me so"? Or do you believe, "Jesus loves me, and in my life I have personally experienced the depth and breadth of that love, even when I felt unlovable to so many"?

When someone says, "God is good," do you reply without thinking, "ALL the time"? That's okay-- but now back it up. Where in your life have you experienced God's overwhelming goodness? 

Pause now for a few minutes. Take a rethink break. Reflect on who you are as a person of faith.

Remember-- and share. Tell another person, someone whose soul is hungry for more-- and maybe they don't know what it is they are hungering after. 

But you do. You understand what their souls are hungering for because you remember when your soul was hungry, and someone led you gently out of the darkness and into a place of spiritual food and light. Right?

The apostle Paul put it this way: "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me"(1 Corinthians 13:11).

Rethinking is a good thing. But it isn't throwing something out without good cause. It simply means that as we have walked forward on our journey, we may now understand things that were mystery before. And so we stop and listen and trust that the One who brought us this far is still with us, still speaking.

If you have chosen to trust in God, rethink what led you to this place of trust and belief. (If you have not chosen to trust-- well, maybe it is Time to rethink that, as well. Maybe it is Time for a change. Maybe God is working on your heart. Maybe there is an elephant in the attic with your name on it.)

Rethink. And choose this day whom you will serve. And be prepared, always, to explain why you have made the choice you did (1 Peter 3:15)-- and do so with gentleness and respect. And careful thought.

God gave us both a heart and a brain; why would God not expect us to employ them-- both? God is big enough, grand enough, Almighty enough to stand up to the closest scrutiny we can give. (Beer, on the other hand, may not require quite the same degree of rethinking.)

Choose for yourself. And choose wisely. 

Great God, may we never doubt that you are there, that you desire us even more than we desire you, and that when we question, seek-- even doubt-- and rethink, you are still here. Amen