Holy Saturday - When the story doesn't go the way we expect and God seems oh so silent!

So today is THE Saturday for which this blog was named, which is why it seemed just plain wrong to bypass posting for today.  I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,  Things I am learning as I move through the loss of a loved one, things I’m learning as I make vocational changes, and places of flux as my family grows up and my role shifts in their life.  All feel like a “Saturday” of sorts.  The sun is setting while Friday goes to sleep,  Sunday is not yet here and I find myself, as one would, lingering between “death” and life.  Waiting, sometimes weary, sometimes, sleepy, sometimes at rest.  It’s rather quiet in my soul, like the hushed obedience the mountains give after a fresh-fallen snow.

 We remember Christ crucified on Good Friday and Christ Risen and alive on Sunday -Friday and Sunday,  but what about the in-between Holy Saturday?  Not much is said about the day when God goes silent and a resurrection has yet to come. The day when all that is known is the aftermath of recent loss or the vague sense that something is not quite right.  Saturday has gone largely unacknowledged for me.   What does one do with this symbolic bridge-day that moves us from death to life? 

Well today on March 26, 2016 I have met with a client, sat with my mom as we thought about facing the first holiday without my dad.  I've taken my daughter to find Easter shoes, helped my son and his friend head back up to college for their final quarter, and will pick up dinner rolls,...my portion of the Easter meal.  (A case of bronchitis makes me glad for packaged rolls!) My husband has worked hard this week to prepare a sermon that will break the rhetoric hum of the Easter Bedtime story – (and I think he did, by the way!)  Earlier today he headed 40 minutes away to to evict a tenant and struggled deeply to do it in a way that is loving and good.  I’ve navigated a difficult conflict with a close friend and experienced deep pain, betrayal, and regret in the process... and I suppose they have too.  The laundry is slowly getting done, and my kitchen counter is visible for the first time since the boys came home last week (Let’s hear it for small victories!!) That’s what this in-between day has held…mini in-between moments, unfinished business, less than ideal snapshots of real life, and the reminder that something is not yet quite right.

But Sunday is coming.  Tomorrow we will sing, listen, reflect and pray on what this resurrection means - how we are grateful, wonder if we are, wish we felt more grateful or maybe elated that we do! Christ's crucifixion made available to us his risen life. 

Resurrection...Life arises from death. The first generation of wilderness-Israelites died before God would lead their children into the promise land. Even nature bears witness to this death-to-life phenomenon. A pine cone consumed in a fire releases its otherwise dormant seeds birthing a forest out of the ashes. And as I look back on the past few years it seems I've experienced a similar passage-a firestorm of sorts- in which my own dreams & desires - what I know to be my "life" are slowly being laid to rest.  

Its been said, God's dreams are better. There have been glimpses of that in this journey. And in it, this incidental Saturday-season becomes God’s silent storm where he comes near,  holds us as we writhe, weeps with us, and loves us intimately.  It happens in those stormy places that we often dare not share with another human heart; that's where God finds his home. He decends into those hellish shadows longing for deliverance, and we are forever changed! 

We journey to Sunday by way of the cross. Dallas Willard said, "We were meant to be inhabited by God and live by a power beyond ourselves.  Human problems cannot be solved by human means." He was so right! As we surrender to the pause, waiting becomes active.  Somewhere, out of the ashes, new life emerges as the Divine One works on our behalf.  Oh how I have been tempted to run - Haven't you?!  But we must stay in this Saturday, every hour of it, before Sunday dawns.  There are no short-cuts, just ordinary-remarkable happenings with a God who shows up along the way.

So in some ways, I've grown rather fond of this "wait-day" – there are times I wouldn't wish it away.  That's when the grit of my struggle finds the embrace of God's love.   But there are other days when my soul sits in begging screams – pleading to be taken off this bridge, this highway, that's commanding my surrender.   Yet... as I remain...God's hand works in ways I thought were impossible; and slowly, ever. so. slowly, there is a sliver, a glorious sliver of light as Sunday's dawn peeks over the horizon, awakening my dormant soul.  It all happens through the sacred wait of Saturday.

So...What are your Saturday moments?  
Could it be God is journeying you to Sunday's dawn through them?
How can you encounter Him and cooperate with Him along the way?

Arise!

“You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy,” - psalm 30:11

Since I am a preacher's wife, rarely is there a Sunday when I skip church.  Not because I'm so incredibly spiritual, but because...well... where else would I go? ...(and some of my reasons and thoughts are found in the Saturday's post titled "I Went To Church Today")  Over the years I've listened to various preachers, but most of the time it's been my husband. And believe it or not, even though we may have discussed the sermon ahead of time during the week, I often find something new, something fresh that the Holy Spirit might want to cultivate in me after the sermon is heard on Sunday.  Last Sunday was no exception.  Only this time the message - and my consequent "ah-ha!" moment - came from our new youth pastor.  Pastor Dan picked the passage in John 11 where Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead - Not your typical after-Christmas “sermon package” but timely to say the least.

I’ve read that passages a few times and over the years I’ve noticed things in the story.  Things like, Jesus raising someone from the dead (Yeah, that's kind of a big deal.)  Or how Mary and Martha were so very grief-stricken and how Jesus cried too.  I’ve wondered why Jesus seemed in no hurry to get to Lazarus.  But this time as we read that passage in church I noticed something new.  Jesus called Lazarus forth out of the tomb and said, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.” 

I guess it would seem an obvious instruction, considering Lazarus had been dead for 4 days and now he wasn't.  He was alive and grave clothes were not only smelly, they were inappropriate for someone living.  The bandages kept his hands and feet bound and covered his face.  He could not move and he couldn't see, nor could he eat or speak with these bandages.

Covered eyes, bound hands and feet are appropriate for the grave.  Tombs are remarkably silent and the dead require no nourishment. And that’s where the connection was made.  The grave…the clothes…the feast-less silence.  In a moment of honest, personal disclosure, I had to admit this muted soul of mine felt dead and was feasting no longer on Christ.  I had grown accustom to the "grave".  Sipping on Christ's life as if it was a limited resource.  Loss, disappointment, confusion, and a journey of surrender had led to a personal grave site.  Frankly, for a season that tomb was necessary, I needed it while my little life became entrusted to his, while my soul was learning to set down the boxing gloves, stop running, and fast from lesser loves.   These are the things we will learn for a lifetime.  But the solemn nature of the grave can become too familiar, and we forget how to live. 

This Christmas, as I set the babe in the little manger scene on our piano, God was birthing something new in me.  Its glimmers had been showing up here and there but not quite discernible.  As pastor Dan read the passage, and the phrase resonated inside,”take off the grave clothes and let [her] go.”, something clarified. The sermon muffled while I surrendered to my thoughts.  “Am I still wearing ‘spiritual grave clothes’”?  I wondered.  “Have I received God’s gift of life but somehow the bandages have remained?”

What good is the gift of HIS life if it remains clothed in the tomb?  The words of Jesus echoed in my thoughts, bouncing off the stone walls of my heart, traveling deep within - to the dead places. Like an alarm they sounded, “Wake up! Come forth!” I could almost hear God audibly speaking, “Stop living among the dead. Arise!  Let the bandages fall.  The days of mourning are being set aside.  Step into my glorious promise – my light-life – and live!”

The exhortation fell like a spring rain, washing away the muddy winter. And in that moment, within the silent forgotten places of me, my soul was shedding grave clothes.  The weight of sorrow was falling off.  Hands that had forgotten how to reach were reaching again, daring to ask God for his good pleasure and favor.  Feet that had long planted themselves within the dirge, danced …just a bit.  And eyes that were accustom to tones of grey saw the faint whisper of color off in the distance.

 So I am returning to songs of joy for worship (sometimes).  When asked how it's going, I am lifting my head, ready to share the promise rather that the pain.  There was a season to share the pain, and sometimes that story is still important, but grief is not an unending pit.  It has a bottom.  Christ is there and He shares the grave with us for a moment.  Then He calls us forth to new life, new stories, where our sorrow is not forgotten - just redeemed.

It would be dishonest to say, just like that, my soul awakened and came fully alive - that there are no signs of grave clothes anywhere.  That simply is not true.  We are all in process, moving from death to life, and “Saturday” takes time...but perhaps this story rings true and you find yourself in the dirge,  stuck, weighed down with the clothing of the tomb and a new you, the alive-in-Christ-you, is being invited to come forth, take off the grave clothes,... and live.  

Yet Will I Praise Him...

We bring the sacrifice of praise into the house of the Lord.

Several years ago I found myself saddened over deep loss for the first time.  I remember thinking up ways to try and by-pass the pain.  It’s funny when we are confronted with sorrow how we first seek to avoid its sting.  We do things like get busy, or lose ourselves in movies or books. As much as I wanted to tell myself it was fine the truth was I was disappointed and sad and there was not much I could do about it.  And over time, as things settled, I began to fully bend to sorrows blow.

People would come over and seek to console me but rarely are there words that hold sorrow well.  What I do remember is their presence, and the occasional word of encouragement from someone who had experienced pain and was now on the other side of it.  It never really mattered what it was, after all loss is not always relative.  Loss is loss.

Since then life has afforded many other sorrows and I’ve grieved even “greater” losses.  There were days when picking my head up from the pillow seemed about all I could do, and walking through a market to buy groceries happened on legs that felt like Jell-O, and with a heart so heavy in my chest air had to force its way in.  That’s what grief feels like.  That’s how sorrow makes it way out through our pores. 

But I learned something during that first season of grief; something that has proved quite valuable. It happened while in church on a day when I had to force myself to even show up.  My husband is a pastor and I knew that I would be sitting alone and if grief decided to makes it appearance it would be unaccompanied and put on display from the front row.  Those were the days when a particular praise song called Shout to the Lord was sung just about everywhere - I knew it well.  But that day in the midst of my sadness as that song was being sung something in me moved.  Something?  …More like God’s spirit in me made a decision on my behalf (Rom 8:26-28).  For whatever reason I could set grief aside, and as the rest of the congregation sat, I stood. (So much for trying to be discrete in my sadness).   It was like I was saying to God, myself and everyone else that while I may be sad and the sky is oh so dark, this sorrow will not steal your glory nor will it steal my strength.

 “Shout to the Lord all the earth, Let us sing!  Power and majesty and praise to the King.  Mountains will fall and the seas will roar at the sound of your name! I sing for joy at the works of your hand forever I love you, forever I’ll stand.  Nothing compares to the promise I have in you!”

That’s when the meaning of the familiar song, “We bring the sacrifice of praise into the house of the Lord.” made a little more sense….”We offer up to you the sacrifice of thanksgiving, joy and praise” (Heb. 13:15).  Sometimes coming to God in worship requires a laying down of that which we dearly love regardless of whether or not we will get it back…and in laying it down God pulls our “Jell-O-ed” legs to stand and holds our heavy-hearted song.  This is not blind trust.  It is evidence of the Holy Spirit's companionship and promises his strength of joy.  Our chosen worship affronts the blows of sorrow and says, “Yet. will. I . praise . Him!”

Journey to Joy

Joy: Joy is not pleasure, a mere sensation, but a pervasive and constant sense of wellbeing. Hope in the goodness of God is joy's indispensable support.- Dallas Willard

As I looked through our nativity sets recently, I noticed that we don't have a single one that shows Mary...pregnant... on a donkey.  That's when it struck me how uncharacteristic it must be.  It's funny how we often want to remember just the end of the story where all was calm and bright.  But "joy comes",  that phrase implies it was not first there.  We journey to joy.   

This week as we enter the JOY theme of Advent, I don’t necessarily feel joyful.  Over the last few weeks life has been a bit tangled.  Its uncanny how difficulties can bring rise to our otherwise buried pain.   I find myself wanting to manage it much like I'd shore up the discomfort of a headache with an aspirin. However, while there may be over-the-counter remedies for headaches, there are none for heart-disruption.  So we are left with a choice to either see it through or bury it.   One brings life, the other takes it.

It’s tempting and quite normal to bury pain, especially at Christmas.  Who has time to deal with trouble when there’s so much to be done? This is the season of peace, joy and love; not conflict, sorrow, and pain – right?  Every time we bury hurt it is like sowing a little seed of death.  It germinates in dark soil spaces, nourished by images of pain, and takes root. Over time, given the right environment, it will sprout; making its appearance above the soil in unexpected places.  With remarkably protective posture, this stubborn shoot yields cynicism, contempt, fear and isolation...joy-stealers! (By the way, I can always tell when I’ve encounter a bitter-root sapling because my response seems out of proportion to the circumstance.)

But there is another choice. We can invite God into the pain and let him bring healing.  That’s what happens when we “see it through”.  We stay in it, feel it, let it be messy and seek God in it...we gaze into his face to find him present.  Answers are tempting distractions, but rarely salve the wound the way the ministry and fellowship of God will.  As the song says, “He is the balm in Gilead that makes the wounded whole”. 

So this Advent-Joy time has been a reminder for me to journey to the manger, in the everyday-ordinary, to stare at what arises once again and hold joy close. 

Romans 12:1-2 says this, “So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him.….. fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out.”

That’s what difficulty does.  It affords the opportunity to adjust our focus and recount God's activity…

“Once again I’ll go over what God has done,
    lay out on the table the ancient wonders;
I’ll ponder all the things you've accomplished,
    and give a long, loving look at your acts.” – Ps 77:11-12

This is the anchor on which we tether our heart as it sways in the wind between the outcries of our soul and the whispers of God. (I wonder if Mary's heart swayed as she traveled over rough terrain on the back of a donkey journeying to Bethlehem?)  It’s worth every wave that comes because when it’s over, joy shows up.  Life is new and less hindered; allowing us to remember that while sorrow may be lent our way for a season, Joy is given to us for a lifetime. 

 As you consider the good things God has done, what come to mind?

What are the places of discomfort and pain that you are tempted to bury for the sake of the Holidays?

How can you invite God into it and let him bring healing and joy?

The Crush

a continuation from previous posts....

"From the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.” – Luke 6:45

 When grapes are harvested they go through a process called crushing.  That’s when grapes are picked and crushed, allowing the juice to be collected.  As this season of silence continued on with God, there was introduced within me a “Crushing”. 

Through various circumstances that seemed to pile pain upon pain, God was allowing a weight to press into my soul like a mighty crush.  My heart felt like it was in a vice-grip! It was inescapable and remarkably difficult.  I wanted to run far, far away from this slow, methodical pressing.  As soon as one circumstance would give way, another would roll in without mercy.  Many of the circumstances that offered such renderings involve other people and as such, I cannot disclose many details.  Suffice it to say that there was a significant loss of friendship, reputation, and...well... pride.  Combine that with four years of intense insomnia, the passing of several loved ones, and a marriage  that was feeling the strain of it all (Much of these dynamics were shared experiences with my husband.) and you have for one fierce crushing!  I suppose many of you reading this have experienced something similar at times. 

When grapes are crushed usually parts of the leaves and stem are mixed in.  That means it's messy and not very pretty.  It takes a while to get “pure” juice, and by “pure” I mean the flavors are balanced and allow for some of the other elements to remain.  At first I did not like the juices that began to flow from this crush.  They were sour and full of sediment, but Psalm 51:17 gave me hope.

“My sacrifice, oh God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.”

I had to learn to trust that in this broken place - stems, leaves and all, God was accepting me. It was actually "more pure" to let the sediment flow to the surface.  Something tender and endearing happened as I embraced the sediment.  They were the remnants of something once loved...now shattered. It was "sacred-sediment" ...Only a fierce crush could pour forth such a response, because until then we don't pay much regard to our broken places and we believe we can manage them fairly well and keep them hidden.  Crushes force the hidden to the surface and sediment seemed to spew forth from me like a timed sprinkler!  I was often caught off-guard by my responses or thoughts.  Where was all this coming from?  As I was pressed and crushed one thing became clear...the only thing that can come from a grape are the juices that are held within.  “From the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”...

As my heart poured forth in unrestrained words and thought God was near.  He held every prickly stem and bitter seed that made itself known.  He gathered my tears and carried my sorrow.  I can't honestly say I believed it at the time, but looking back I know it is true.

Martin Marty said,

“Brokenness and wounding do not occur in order to break human dignity but to open the heart so God can act.”

Through this fierce "crushing", God was opening my heart...