But To As Many of These...

As I sit and write today, morning has yet to wake up and the fog once again relentlessly blankets any efforts the sun might make to come along and brighten the day.  But don’t worry this is not going to be a gloomy post.  It may however be a challenging one.  At least I know it is for me…deeply challenging.  I’ve been reading the passage of scripture found in Matthew 25 where Jesus talks about the sheep and the goats.  Here is an excerpt, but the whole of it is very important.

 “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. for I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you have me something to drink, I was a stranger, and you invited me in, I needed clothes, and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me'"  (Matt 25:34-36)

In a recent Bible study I learned of a survey taken by people of 'comfortable means' It included those who are on government assistance programs, the typical middle class family, and those who live in fairly posh environments.  Needless to say, the demographics were broad.   The purpose of the study was to gain insight on how people interact and care for each other within a society.  One of the things they discovered was that most are more likely to love people as a whole, but LESS likely to love the individual.  The statement piqued my interest.   In other words, they (we) like the idea of love but not its reality.  Instead we tend to hold people at arms-length.  The survey results so intrigued me that I made detailed notes and thought of ways I could frame a talk around it.  After all, this was good information and people needed to know about it!  And being the joyful enthusiast that I am, I was ready to take out my mega phone and tell it from the roof tops!  That is until this happened....

  

Less than ten minutes after I heard this profound piece of prophetic outcry (hear my sarcasm), our Bible study transitioned into small group discussions, at which point my friend shared her recent story of recovery.  I listened as she told us how she spent the holiday season sick, dealing with an injury that will probably change the way she lives, how most of her recovery was spent at home, by herself, with just her husband caring for her and very few other friends.  She daily asked God for a visitor.  Plenty of people saw her at church here and there, and gave her the platitude of prayer.  I was one of them.  After all, that’s what we do when we see someone in need, we “pray”.  Rarely do we visit.  Now mind you, this woman is remarkably enjoyable. A visit would have been delightful, I'm sure.  But there we sat...we saw that she was sick and nobody looked after her.  Nobody showed up.

If this was an isolated incident I would treat it as such and move forward.  But I can’t.  I can’t because it’s for too prevalent in our western culture to ignore.  It’s far too prevalent in me.  We read scripture and know that the marker for being God's child - His disciple - is the manner in which we love others. To which we give a hearty, “Amen!”  Sadly, I am afraid we may like the idea of loving more than its reality.  I know I do. And ye...

I would be remiss in ignoring those who are wonderfully compassionate in our midst... who model well how to love our neighbor in need.  You are the champions of this cause, and we would all do better to take notice of your life.  You would be wonderful mentors for those of us who are often inept at knowing how to stop and be attentive.  Don't hesitate to alert us.  Be patient as we learn to open our eyes and act accordingly.  Many of us are beginners, in need of a gracious tutorial  

Loving others is hard work.  It disrupts our busy lives, takes us out of our comfort zones, and often requires us to set aside the things we consider important.  It's easy to get distracted, forgetting about the need next door.  We get lost in the bright shiny objects of virtual internet worlds and real-life demands.  The sad truth is, I stink at loving others when they are in need.  I just do.... But it’s a pretty big deal to Jesus.  

The forgotten and marginalized are not only those we encounter at a soup kitchen - where we can keep a tidy distance; nor are they merely the ones waiting for a well to be dug somewhere in South Africa.  Those are legitimate needs that must be addressed, but often the forgotten are the people sitting just three seats down from us in the pew on Sunday morning.  They are the ones to whom we wave goodbye while we are on our way to Sunday brunch.  Their stories are shared on the prayer chain, and sometimes over coffee, Tuesday mornings. 

I was stopped short when I listened to my friend.  I see her every Thursday morning, most Wednesday nights, and twice a month on Mondays.  Ironically the Monday night gathering is intended for those who want to be intentional about learning to love like Christ...clearly we have room to grow.  At least I do! 

I guess the first few steps are defining reality, owning it, and coming before God to be changed. I don't know about you, but I want to love better.  I want to be different than I am now, and I am grateful for my friend's honesty because she brought to light what is most real.  Am I willing to be inconvenienced by love?  Am I willing to let my life pause long enough to enter someone else's?  Do I really want God's life of love?  

  

Who is nearby in your life?  Who is it that God is inviting you love, really LOVE? 

More on this next time…

            Receiving our inheritance 

            How do we break out of our pace and learn how to love.

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.  

Stoking the Fire

"The fire on the altar must be kept burning; it must not go out. Every morning the priest is to add firewood and arrange the burnt offering on the fire and burn the fat of the fellowship offerings on it. The fire must be kept burning on the altar continuously; it must not go out."    Leviticus 6: 12-13

A friend of mine shared this passage through something she recently wrote.  It’s not really about Christmas at first glance.  It’s about the Temple rituals God established early on with his people.   The rituals were rather specific and unless one takes a close contextual look, they can seem pretty random as well.  None the less, they were for His people – a people waiting on God.  A wandering people who were hungry and thirsty (Ps 107).

I guess that’s where the connection comes.  In the waiting. In the preparation and in the hunger and thirst…in the advent.

I don’t know about you but I find myself a little burnt out and soul-thirsty in the flurry of activity this time of year.  By the time I get up in the morning and walk down the hall to the kitchen for a cup of tea, I have a “to-do” list a mile long running through my head!  It’s hard to pause even for a moment, and sometimes I'm tired before the day begins.

But this passage in Leviticus stops me up short.  This specific instruction was for the priest.   Every morning add firewood... arrange the offering on the fire….keep the fire lit...don't let the fire go out.  The fire had to stay lit.  which meant stoking it - arranging the wood.  The temple rituals were intended to offer God’s people a picture of God’s ongoing redemptive work and point them in the direction of Christ.  In this particular instance it is the fellowship- or PEACE - offering that is being burnt.

The funny thing about rituals or traditions is that when we encounter them they seem to be able to cut through the noise of daily activity and redirect our thoughts, which will often redirect our heart.  While my pace might make it difficult to pause, the ritual (or routine) of pausing is necessary.  In it, Christ, the great high priest, can come and stoke his inward fire in me.  Things that have fallen out of order can be rearranged and set right internally.  I guess it's just easier to keep the main thing the main thing when I pause and silence myself before God; which makes a person more ready for the flurry...more able to encounter it and respond well.  

And there again, my mind wanders.  This time to the parable of the ten virgins and I recall the one whose oil ran out.  She hurried off to refuel but it was too late.   And I wonder, am I that girl?  Do I join the group and move along with the crowd, having little regard of the needed fuel for the journey?  Or Do I return to the place of quiet sacrifice, lay down what seems most dear in the moment - albeit time, finances, relationships, desires - and become present with Christ, allowing him to reorder my inward world through the fellowship of His presence in the word.

 Lord, I want to live in such a way to encounter the living Christ?  Oh help me stop and be still before you.  Quicken my mind to even think of it! And by your grace, give me the decisive strength to do it.  Let me find you in the pause and encounter your peace.

Christmas Chaos

"But make sure that you don’t get so absorbed and exhausted in taking care of all your day-by-day obligations that you lose track of the time and doze off, oblivious to God. The night is about over, dawn is about to break. Be up and awake to what God is doing! God is putting the finishing touches on the salvation work he began when we first believed..." Romans 13:11

“Why do we strive for perfection when we could be watching for the hiddenness of Heaven?” That was part of a longer thought my daughter shared with me a few nights ago.  While she did not intend for it to relate to Advent, it sure did for me.

It all started 22 years ago.  It was my first Christmas season as a married woman.   Among the seasonal activities were iced sugar cookies, beautiful wrapping paper, fancy bows made of satin, and of course a Christmas picture; which included our dog because we wanted the portoral of a joyful family and we did not yet have children to exploit.  So there we sat with our cocker spaniel, in front of our whimsically decorated tree – Christmas 1992.

The Iced sugar cookies morphed over the years, but none the less, making a plate of Christmas sweetness to share with a few of our friends had become a “tradition”.   The box of Christmas wrap and bows in our attic still betray my addiction to pretty things.  And for 19 years I kept up the Christmas card tradition.  A midst screaming fits, baby spit-up, knocks on the head, a frustrated husband, and the occasional fake smile; because dog-on-it!...We were going to get that picture - placed creatively on a handmade card - and tell the world Merry-stinking-Christmas if it killed us!

I also began a collection of angel ornaments the first year my husband and I were married, and there's been more than one nativity set displayed throughout the house as well.  But a few years ago I noticed they were getting lost in the chaos and seemed almost mocked against the back-drop of such seasonal flurry.  It’s sad really, what started with hopes to do Christmas "just right" turned into something so very wrong.   That's why three years ago I stopped it all.

We needed to bring CHRISTmas into focus.   It was a clumsy process and frankly, not very strategic, but maybe God had a strategy.  As I look back, I think the last few years have turned into a fast from the holiday so we could encounter the Advent... In December of 2012,  I don’t think I baked a single cookie; and (perish the thought!) I bought BAGGED bows too!  Since sending cards became such a distraction, they haven't been sent since 2011.  I was worried that friends would be offended or that we would stop receiving their cards, but those concerns rising up were a purging of what had become polluted in my focus for the season.   So as fears came up I tried (sometimes not very successfully) to confess them to Christ and surrender the outcome to Him. 

Today, here I sit with a tree in the living room – no ornaments yet, just lights.  The boxes are still in the attic and the house is less than perfect.  There’s a role of Pillsbury cookie dough in my refrigerator, and well, you get the point.  But there’s also a little more room to watch, and be hopeful; to anticipate, remember, and breathe!  - "Advent".

Why DO we strive for perfection during this season?  Perhaps it is because we long for something better.  Maybe in it, we're reaching for something more than our current reality holds, and the silver and gold that dress the season are the shadows of God's abundance meant for His children.  Our perfection is but a shadow of what is most real.   Heaven hides beyond the extraordinary.  His Majesty – the Christ- arrived through remarkably imperfect circumstances.  His flesh formed in the womb of an unwed woman, his crib was a trough set in a bed of dung-straw.  Amidst the less-than-lovely, "More" came.   HOPE in the flesh drew its first breath not among the gilded but near the messy and broken.

This year, I’m not sure what I’m going to do as far as traditions go.  I might break the fast and consider “preparing the way for the Lord” In whatever comes up, I want to be "alert and awake to what God is doing."  Maybe as I hang the garland that holds the cards I will give thought to preparing for the Christ-child.  Maybe if goodies get baked I will ponder the sweetness of hope brought forth in a babe. Maybe as I wrap the gifts, I will consider the treasure of Christ, held within each of us.   And tonight as my husband lights the tree, I will try to remember God's Kingdom, birthed in the flesh, now coming through us– His children of light.    -  Whatever it is, I want to let go of perfection and keep a good watch for the hiddenness of Heaven.

Full

It’s been a while since I’ve posted on this blog page.  Advent seemed a good time to begin again.  One of the reasons I took a break was because of my own cynicism.  After all, this blog is called “Saturdays” and if you are familiar with it at all, you know that “Saturdays” is a reference to the day of “wait” that occurred between Christ’s Crucifixion and Sunday’s resurrection and how that wait-day plays out symbolically in our own lives from time to time.  I guess part of me just became tired of the wait that “Saturday” was bringing.  Now, here we are at the beginning of Advent – another wait.  Wait, upon wait, upon wait!  As if life itself is just one long Saturday straining toward…something.   But what?

For the United States, Advent begins just after Thanksgiving where we share a tradition of feasting with our friends and family, giving thanks for God’s provision and blessings over the past year.  Guests come hungry and leave full.  Overly full! I remember hearing my grandmother saying to us, "Be careful not to eat too many treats, it will ruin your appetite."  One year I chose not to heed her advice and I stuffed myself on all the little things long before the turkey was ever served.  I had forgotten all about the dinner and my belly was so full I no longer had the appetite to feast!  Even dessert sounded less appealing by the end of the day.  So there I sat at the table, half-heartedly sharing a meal, the real meal, with the rest.  So why do I bring this up?  Because when we are hungry we will eat just about anything.  When we are full we won’t.  Studies have shown that a starving person will even choose to eat something toxic in order to satisfy themselves.  Hunger drives us.

I wonder if hunger drove those who waited so long ago for the Messiah.  I wonder how many stuffed themselves on oppressive laws (beyond what God had established), sensationalism, Self-aggrandizement - pride, and distractions.  Their souls were filled with “toxins” and they no longer had an appetite for a living Christ.  God in a diaper made little sense to them because their bellies had become full on lesser loves as they forgot what they were waiting for.    But for those who waited for the feast, who longed and hungered for the promise – they found Him.  Christ showed up and satisfied their hunger with good things.  He brought the real meal. (Luke 1:53)   

In my recent soul-hunger I forgot how to feast, and instead nibbled away at lesser loves, toxic substitutes and found myself suspiciously full, unsatisfied and cynical. Like I did as a child at Thanksgiving, I became distracted on my way to the table losing sight of the real meal - Christ coming near and sharing his presence.

Maybe that's why a seemingly smallish, diaper-wearing God was beginning to bug me too.  Maybe in the wait, my appetite changed and did not match what he had to offer.   Maybe I was having a hard time letting God be God and accepting the fact that I am not.   In any case,  as I reorient, I am noticing how “empty” I am and  I want to welcome this impoverished heart and introduce her to Christ again…and I see HOPE.  This really is a long Saturday straining toward something.  It is straining toward Emmanuel – God with us; He is worth the wait!  Only in His presence can we taste and see that he is indeed good and we become… full.

So as we enter this season of Advent what are you hungering for and how are you feeding yourself?

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, 

for they will be filled.  - Matt 5:6

Love Works!

This morning a friend of mine posted this picture on Facebook.  It got me thinking.  Parenting seems to go better when I am postured to love and enjoy my children, and while I may know that to be true, sometimes I don’t parent like that.  Sometimes I’m just frustrated and want my kids to do what I want, so I try subtly or overtly manipulating their behavior.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  While I am NO parenting expert, I have sought to build good, Christ-like character into my children.  However, the older they get, the more their will interacts with mine and we collide.  In the end, it’s really God’s job to build Christ-like character in His children, we get to partner with Him in the process through cooperation, obedience and abiding in Him…loving Him, enjoying Him.

When I enjoy my children I parent from a different place...one of hopeful love, instead of condemnation.  Things naturally go better and I can trust the process because I know God is the ultimate author of their story and He holds all the details – even the messy ones.  Good thing too, because I have a few messy places in my own story!

So what am I getting at? .... God likes His kids, messy and all!  I like the exhortation of the words on that picture, not because I don’t think behavior is important, but because joy and love root good behavior and establish our character.  The ‘being loved’ grounds the ‘doing love’.  At least that’s what scripture says (Eph 3:14-21).  

I wonder if I assume that God 'parents' me they way I sometimes parent my children - more concerned about getting me to do what He wants, and less concerned about the two of us enjoying a relationship together (Zeph 3:17).  Do I, do we, make the assumption that God is up there in the heavens subtly or overtly manipulating circumstances to manage our behavior? It would then make sense why we scramble about looking for ways to do what we think God wants us to do; hiding when we’ve failed, standing proud as the Pharisee when we get it right.   My kids copy what I do because it has been imprinted upon them through loving relationship, and I suppose it’s the same with God.  He enjoys us and loves us, and from that place we live and move and have our being in Him?  

Pride and shame are left powerless when the heart is infused with the infinite love of God.  

Love automatically compels a righteous response and action.  We love because He first loved us (1 John 4:19).   It is not ‘soft on sin’ as I’ve often heard it said - that's tolerance..Tolerance is not love. In fact, it's the opposite.  Love finds truth and greets it with a kiss. (Ps. 85-10-13)  Love grieves deeply the course of sin.  Love is what makes remorse weep, crying out for redemption, and banking on forgiveness.  

After raising a few others from death, love held Christ on a cross unto death.  And it is the power of God’s love that pierced the tomb with eternal life; making it available to you and me.  So when loving is difficult, we return to the source – the place where God’s love was poured out.  We return, remember and receive.  We are dependent upon it.  It is only from that place of receiving His love that we can even begin to think of loving others…and loving other’s is exactly what God would want us to do!...I guess we’ve come full circle.

So I’m going to try a little experiment.  Rather than feeling obligated or forced to “do the right thing”, I am going realize I won’t get it all right – there’s no possible way!  And instead, I’ll begin by practicing God’s presence, mess and all, knowing He ultimately pens the story.  I’m going to try with each new opportunity, to return my thoughts to Christ’s love, remember His life set aside for mine and that it was for the JOY set before Him that He did so! (Hebrews 12:2), and as best I can, with open dependent hands, receive the resource of grace He offers that I may do the same for others…I am going to try meditating on His love and genuine delight, and see if it will lead to doing what He wants me to do.  

So what do you think?  Do you dare trust love to be so powerful...so transforming? 

Interested in joining me to find out??  

Safe-Keeping

“You Yourself have recorded my wanderings. Put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not in Your records?” – Psalm 56:8

The other day I was looking for something at my parent’s house.  I haven’t lived with them for long time, so occasionally my search requires some snooping .  While I was looking, I came across a box of my dad’s.  It was just the sort of place that may hide what I had been looking for. 

What I found instead was a much better treasure.  The contents of the box held no monetary value whatsoever; but still my heart burst as I caught a glimpse.  They were things only a father – now grandfather- would hold dear.  It contained a picture of his parents walking along a city street, holding hands and in love.  There was a scrap of paper with words penned by my grandfather, making record of his personal, living encounter with Christ. My dad had saved my very first business card.  There was a small case marked “tooth”.  Things from my brother were in there, my daughter’s picture and a baseball picture of my son were there as well, along with some of the little trinkets he'd been given over the years.  All things held special by a father …or a son…or a grandfather.

Seeing that little box and what it held inside surprised me.  The sudden realization of quiet, vigilant love spanning decades will do that.  While I was racing through my teens, he was collecting the moments.  While I was consumed in raising toddlers, he was storing the snapshots, when his own parents passed he wasn't fighting for investments, he was preserving their story.  Holding each one close, tucked away safe from decay or forgotten-ness.

My dad and I many years ago
walking in the snow with my kiddos 

It hit me as I walked away from such a tiny archive that God’s love is similar.  He records our wanderings and puts our tears in his bottle (ps 56).  Every little bit recorded and preserved for His safe keeping.  Why?  Because he vigilantly loves us.  While we are racing through life, God is collecting our moments, keeping them ready for the day when we are willing to pause and remember with Him.  While we are consumed with the stress life brings, God is preserving snapshots, holding each anxious thought present.  While we may be distracted, investing in this world, God is recording our story, caring most about the words being penned upon our heart. What really matters are the living encounters that cannot be measured by a 401-k or the praises of man.  Sometimes we go looking for one thing and find something far greater.

God holds your story, and He holds mine.  The years are not wasted or lost on Him.   When I saw what my earthly father treasured, I gushed silently, “He’s held all these things dear!  All these seemingly insignificant things have been treasures to him.  For years!”  I have always known my dad loves me, but this time it was different.  I had taken a glimpse of his heart and better understood the depth of His love.  Rest assured God has a box like that, and it holds similar things – “worthless things” of infinite value to Him.