Finding My Way 2016

A compilation of devotions from Lent and Easter 2016 and Advent and Christmas 2016-2017 is available under the title Finding My Way 2016.

What follows is the unformatted text of the book, which is available in Kindle and paperback versions.  

Here’s the link to the book on Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/Finding-Way-2016-Scriptures-Liturgical-ebook/dp/B06XQMQ217/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1493307855&sr=8-1&keywords=finding+my+way+2016

 

Finding My Way

 

 

 

“Time spent with Dave Sandel is never wasted; he’s in no hurry with my soul. Again and again, he has helped me navigate the difficult waters of the spiritual life. While you may not agree with everything he writes here, I encourage you to drink deeply. He is a wise and sympathetic tutor.”

– Neal Windham, Professor of Spiritual Formation, Lincoln Christian University

“Like the energy boost of that first cup of coffee in the morning, David’s daily reflections give me a lift while I formulate my own
response to the day’s Word.”

– Mary Lou Menches, former Assistant Director, UIUC Press and leader of Centering Prayer Group, St. Patrick’s
Catholic Church, Urbana, Illinois

“Nothing helps us find our way like the experience of simply being with God and quietly sinking into his words, while also pay­ing attention to God’s presence in the ordinary moments of our lives. David finds God in the lives of the people he loves so dearly – his grandchildren, his children, and his wife, Margaret. He finds God in the chickens in their backyard, the friends he meets for coffee, the books he reads, the movies he watches … And then there are his prayers – heartfelt, passionate, vulnera­ble supplications from the depths of his soul to the God he loves. Finding My Way is a personal testimony. I read it and hear David’s voice as if we are sitting together for a conversation.”

— Gerard Booy, Pastor of Haney Presbyterian Church,
Vancouver, British Columbia

“If you are looking for more information about God, pass this book by. If you are looking to fall more deeply in love with Jesus, begin reading this book today!”

— Arnie Gentile, MACAP Biola University, MsSF Northern Seminary, author of Beautiful Religion: Can We Get There From Here?

“I love these things!”

– Greg Elliott, Professor of Aerospace Engineering, UIUC

Finding

My

Way

2016

 

98 Stories and Scriptures

Based on

Ancient Liturgical

Rhythms of the Church

 

CCS Publishing

2017
In their original form, these devotions are compiled online at www.christiancounselingservice.com/devotions.php

(1999-present), with a great search function (thanks, Stacey).

 

They are also at www.davesandel.net

(2011-present), along with

a number of other readings, writings, and resources.

 

 

 

Cover designed by Chris Sandel

 

 

 

This book is set in Book Antiqua, Avenir Next, and Avenir Next Condensed typefaces.

 

Text body is set in the 11 pt, Book Antiqua typeface.

 

There are 291 pages in this book.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 David Sandel

All rights reserved.

CCS Publishing

1108 North Lincoln Avenue

Urbana, Illinois

 

ISBN-10: 1544082207

ISBN-13: 978-1544082202

 

 

DEDICATION

 

 

For Margaret.

Thank you for your prayers, our conversations, and your commitment. I love you.

 

CONTENTS

Picture Notes………………………………………………………………………………………….. 7

Notes on Lectionary……………………………………………………………………………….. 8

List of Lectionary Readings………………………………………………………………….. 10

Preface………………………………………………………………………………………………….. 16

LENT and EASTER 2016

Week of Ash Wednesday…………………………………………………………………….. 18

First Week of Lent………………………………………………………………………………… 26

Second Week of Lent………………………………………………………………………….. 44

Third Week of Lent………………………………………………………………………………. 64

Fourth Week of Lent……………………………………………………………………………. 84

Fifth Week of Lent……………………………………………………………………………… 104

Sixth Week of Lent (Holy Week including the Triduum)………………… 122

The Octave of Easter………………………………………………………………………….. 140

Sundays of the Easter Season………………………………………………………….. 164

ADVENT and CHRISTMAS 2016-17

First Week of Advent…………………………………………………………………………. 184

Second Week of Advent……………………………………………………………………. 198

Third Week of Advent………………………………………………………………………… 212

Fourth Week of Advent……………………………………………………………………… 232

The Twelve Days of Christmas…………………………………………………………… 248

Epiphany…………………………………………………………………………………………….. 282

Endnotes……………………………………………………………………………………………. 284

Acknowledgments…………………………………………………………………………….. 288

About the Author……………………………………………………………………………….. 290

Family Index……………………………………………………………………………………….. 291

Picture Notes

FEBRUARY

15              Margaret and Dave, at labyrinth, St. Thomas More Catholic Church, Austin, Texas

17              Aly Grace as Gabriel, Christmas 2016 … Aly with Uncle Marc

21              Aki and Andi with their shared Halloween costume

22              Andi and Aki’s Christmas gift to us – 1000 pieces of our past

25              Margaret and Andi trying out their gluten-free, homemade carrot cake

28              Andi and Aly, age 4 … Andi and Grandma, age 94

MARCH

3               Jack and Grandpa playing checkers at Cracker Barrel on the day after Thanksgiving

8               Johnson Siding Elevator during harvest, ¼ mile from our dairy farm, where I grew up

10              Pat Rogers, Don Savaiano, Margaret and turkey (well, actually, chicken)

12              Andi flexing her rock-climbing muscles … Jack’s first competitive basket

16              Springfield playroom. Dave, Chris, Marc, Andi, Aki, Melissa, Jack, Aly, Margaret, minion

18              Wrigley Field just before the World Series … Melissa and Aly with new Cubs shirts

25              Jack is about to lose a tooth in his backyard

26              Aly and Margaret’s daring slides at Lake Springfield Christian Assembly

28              Melissa, Aly and Margaret at high tea, Life Community Church, Mahomet, Illinois

29              Andi announces her pregnancy! Margaret, Aly, Melissa, Andi, Jack, Chris, and Dave

31              Andi, regal and waiting in Austin, Texas grove

APRIL

1               Under our tree at Audubon State Park, Henderson, KY, Thanksgiving, 2016.  Michael, Matthew, Heather, Morgan, Kay, Jack, Marc, Margaret,  Dorothy, Chris, Melissa, Aly, Dave

17              Stone with quote from Thomas Merton at labyrinth, Mercy Center, St. Louis, Missouri

24              Mom (Angie Sandel) with a couple of jigsaw puzzles on her sunporch, Lincoln, Illinois

MAY

1               My first Amtrak sleeper trip with Steve, the best porter ever

8               Little Galilee, 1978, with Don and Beth Romack, Margaret, Pastor Al Morehead

DECEMBER

13              Andi not far from the birthing room

15              Miles Tomita with his first football (from Illinois)

16              Miles and his giraffe family

22              A right jolly old elf, shepherd … dad, grandpa

28              Christms Day in Austin. Dave, Margaret, Miles, Andi, Aki, Machiko and Ken Tomita

29              Miles and Andi

31              Andi, Aki and Miles Tomita, tongue-wagging

JANUARY 2017

1               Aki reading to Miles … Aki, Miles, Uncle Marc at  County Line On the Lake BBQ, Austin

4               Miles Tadashi Tomita, smiling

Acknowledgments: Young Dave with Dad … with Grandpa Brummer … with Pstr. Neitzel , LCMS

Please take time to read all the Scripture readings for each day; I hope that this adds depth to your devotional experience, as it does for mine.

These reflections are based on Roman Catholic lectionary readings for Lent and Advent, Easter and Christmas.

This means that each day the same Scriptures are read in many churches around the world. I love being part of this, of sharing the experience of reading and reflecting with countless others day after day.

Many of the devotions include allusions to the day’s lectionary texts. The texts, which are listed in the chart on the following pages, vary from year to year according to these cycles:

Sunday readings cycle through Years A, B, and C.

Weekday readings cycle through Years I (odd-numbered years) and II (even-numbered years).

The Church Year begins on the First Sunday of Advent, so this year’s Lent and Easter readings are from different “years” than the Advent and Christmas readings.

Sounds complicated, and it is. But just use the chart and look them up. You can also read them online each day in one place at “usccb DATE”.

For Margaret and I, reading the scriptures every day has become a habit. We take the time. Gratefully.

Deutero-canonical books

referenced in these readings are

Judith, Esther C, Wisdom, Sirach, and additions to Daniel.

They can be read in the New American Bible at usccb.org/bible

or on mobile devices with The YouVersion Bible app).

 

Abbreviations:

1 Cor                   1 Corinthians

2 Cor                   2 Corinthians

Col                       Colossians

Deut                   Deuteronomy

Eph                     Ephesians

Heb                     Hebrews

Matt                    Matthew

Phil                      Philippians

Rev                      Revelation

Rom                    Romans

(S)                       Sunday

 

Most of the texts quoted in the devotions are taken from the New American Bible translation. But some are from The Message paraphrase/translation, others from the NIV or ESV, and still others from the King James, New King James, and New Living Translations.

Readings for Lent and Easter, 2016

(Cycle C, Weekday Cycle II, Roman Catholic Lectionary)

 

Date      Reading 1                      Responsory      Gospel               Reading 2

 

ASH WEDNESDAY WEEK

FEBRUARY                                      From

10          Joel 2:12-18                     Psalm 51             Matt 6:1-18         2 Cor 5:20-6:2

11          Deut 30:15-20                  Psalm 1               Luke 9:22-25

12          Isaiah 58:1-9                    Psalm 51             Matt 9:14-15

13          Isaiah 58:9-14                  Psalm 86             Luke 5:27-32

FIRST WEEK OF LENT

14 (S)     Deut 26:4-10                    Psalm 91             Luke 4:1-13         Rom 10:8-13

15          Leviticus 19:1-18               Psalm 19             Matt 25:31-46

16          Isaiah 55:10-11                Psalm 34             Matt 6:7-15

17          Jonah 3:1-10                    Psalm 51             Luke 11:29-32

18          Esther C:12-25                  Psalm 138           Matt 7:7-12

19          Ezekiel 18:21-28              Psalm 130           Matt 5:20-26

20          Deut 26:16-19                  Ps 119:1-8           Matt 5:43-48

SECOND WEEK OF LENT

21 (S)     Genesis 15:5-18               Psalm 27             Luke 9:28-36       Phil 3:20-4:1

22          1 Peter 5:1-4                     Psalm 23             Matt 16:13-19

23          Isaiah 1:10,16-20             Psalm 50             Matt 23:1-12

24          Jeremiah 18:18-20           Psalm 31             Matt 20:17-28

25          Jeremiah 17:5-10             Psalm 1               Luke 16:19-31

26          Genesis 37:3-28               Psalm 105           Matt 21:33-46

27          Micah 7:14-20                  Psalm 103           Luke 15:1-32

THIRD WEEK OF LENT

28 (S)     Exodus 3:1-15                   Psalm 103           Luke 13:1-9         1 Cor 10:1-12

29          2 Kings 5:1-15                  Psalm 42             Luke 4:24-30

Date      Reading 1                      Responsory      Gospel               Reading 2

 

MARCH                                           FROM

1          Daniel 3:25-43                 Psalm 25             Matt 18:21-35

2          Deut 4:1-9                        Psalm 147           Matt 5:17-19

3          Jeremiah 7:23-28             Psalm 95             Luke 11:14-23

4          Hosea 14:2-10                  Psalm 81             Mark 12:28-34

5          Hosea 6:1-6                      Psalm 51             Luke 18:9-14

FOURTH WEEK OF LENT

6(S)      Joshua 5:9-12                   Psalm 34             Luke 15:1-32       2 Cor 5:17-21

7          Isaiah 65:17-21                Psalm 30             John 4:43-54

8          Ezekiel 47:1-12                Psalm 46             John 5:1-16

9          Isaiah 49:8-15                  Psalm 145           John 5:17-30

10          Ezekiel 32:7-14                Psalm 106           John 5:31-47

11          Wisdom 2:1-22                 Psalm 34             John 7:1-30

12          Jeremiah 11:18-20           Psalm 7               John 7:40-53

FIFTH WEEK OF LENT

13 (S)     Isaiah 43:16-21                Psalm 126           John 8:1-11         Phil 3:8-14

14          Daniel 13:1-62                 Psalm 23             John 8:12-20

15          Numbers 21:4-9                Psalm102            John 8:21-30

16          Daniel 3:14-95                 Daniel 3:52-56    John 8:31-42

17          Genesis 17:3-9                 Psalm 105           John 8:51-59

18          Jeremiah 20:10-13           Psalm 18             John 10:31-42

19          2 Samuel 7:4-16               Psalm 89             Matt 1:16-24       Rom 4:13-22

SIXTH WEEK OF LENT (HOLY WEEK)

20 (S)     Isaiah 50:4-7                    Psalm 22             Luke 19:28-40     Phil 2:6-11

(Palm Sunday)                                             Luke 22:14-23:56

21          Isaiah 42:1-7                    Psalm 27             John 12:1-11

22          Isaiah 49:1-6                    Psalm 71             John 13:21-38

23          Isaiah 50:4-9                    Psalm 69             Matt 26:14-25

24 (Th)   ­Exodus 12:1-14                 Psalm 116           John 13:1-15       1 Cor 11:23-26

Date      Reading 1                      Responsory      Gospel               Reading 2

 

MARCH                                           FROM

25 (Fr)    Isaiah 52:13-53:12           Psalm 31             John 18-19:42     Heb 4:14- 5:9

26 (Sa)   Genesis 1:1-2:2                Psalm 104           Luke 24:1-12       Gen 22:1-18 +

THE OCTAVE OF EASTER

27 (S)     Acts 10:34-43                    Psalm 118           John 20:1-9         Col 3:1-4

28          Acts 2:14-33                      Psalm 16             Matt 28:8-15

29          Acts 2:36-41                      Psalm 33             John 20:11-18

30          Acts 3:1-10                        Psalm 105           Luke 24:13-35

31          Acts 3:11-26                      Psalm 8               Luke 24:35-48

APRIL

1          Acts 4:1-12                        Psalm 118           John 21:1-14

2          Acts 4:13-21                      Psalm 118           Mark 16:9-15

3          Acts 5:12-16                      Psalm 118           John 20:19-31     Rev 1:9-19

SUNDAYS OF THE EASTER SEASON

10          Acts 5:27-41                      Psalm 30             John 21:1-19       Rev 5:11-14

17          Acts 13:14-52                    Psalm 100           John 10:27-30     Rev 7:9-17

24          Acts 14:21-27                    Psalm 145           John 13:31-35     Rev 21:1-5

MAY

1          Acts 15:1-29                      Psalm 67             John 14:23-29     Rev 21:10-23

8          Acts 7:55-60                      Psalm 97             John 17:20-26     Rev 22:12-20

PENTECOST SUNDAY

15          Acts 2:1-11                        Psalm 104           John 20:19-23     1 Cor 12:3-13

Readings for Advent and Christmas, 2016-17

(Cycle A, Weekday Cycle I, Roman Catholic Lectionary)

 

Date      Reading 1                      Response          Gospel               Reading 2

 

FIRST WEEK OF ADVENT

NOVEMBER                                    FROM

27(S)      Isaiah 2:1-5                      Psalm 122           Matt 24:37-44     Rom 13:11-14

28          Isaiah 4:2-6                      Psalm 122           Matt 8:5-11

29          Isaiah 11:1-10                  Psalm 72             Luke 10:21-24

30          Romans 10:9-18               Psalm 19             Matt 4:18-22

DECEMBER

1          Isaiah 26:1-6                    Psalm 118           Matt 7:21-27

2          Isaiah 29:17-24                Psalm 27             Matt 9:27-31

3          Isaiah 30:19-26                Psalm 147           Matt 9:35-10:8

SECOND WEEK OF ADVENT

4 (S)     Isaiah 11:1-10                  Psalm 72             Matt 3:1-12         Romans 15:4-9

5          Isaiah 35:1-10                  Psalm 85             Luke 5:17-26

6          Isaiah 40:1-11                  Psalm 96             Matt 18:12-14

7          Isaiah 40:25-31                Psalm 103           Matt 11:28-30

8          Genesis 3:9-20                 Psalm 98             Luke 1:26-38       Eph 1:3-12

9          Isaiah 48:17-19                Psalm 1               Matt 11:16-19

10          Sirach 48:1-11                  Psalm 80             Matt 17:9-13

THIRD WEEK OF ADVENT

11(S)      Isaiah 35:1-10                  Psalm 146           Matt 11:2-11       James 5:7-10

12          Rev 11:19-12:10               Judith 13:18-19 Luke 1:26-47

13          Zephaniah 3:1-13             Psalm 34             Matt 21:28-32

14          Isaiah 45:6-25                  Psalm 85             Luke 7:18-23

15          Isaiah 54:1-10                  Psalm 30             Luke 7:24-30

16          Isaiah 56:1-8                    Psalm 67             John 5:33-36

17          Gen 49:2-10                     Psalm 72             Matt 1:1-17

Date      Reading 1                      Responsory      Gospel               Reading 2

FOURTH WEEK OF ADVENT

DECEMBER                                     FROM

18(S)      Isaiah 7:10-14                  Psalm 24             Matt 1:18-24       Romans 1:1-7

19          Judges 13:2-25                 Psalm 71             Luke 1:5-25

20          Isaiah 7:10-14                  Psalm 24             Luke 1:26-38

21          Song of Songs 2:8-14       Psalm 33             Luke 1:39-45

22          I Samuel 1:24-28              I Samuel 2:1-8    Luke 1:46-56

23          Malachi 3:1-24                 Psalm 25             Luke 1:57-66

24          2 Samuel 7:1-16               Psalm 89             Luke 1:67-79

TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

25(S)      Isaiah 52:7-10                  Psalm 98             John 1:1-18         Hebrews 1:1-6

26          Acts 6:8-10, 7:54-59          Psalm 31             Matt 10:17-22

27          1 John 1:1-4                     Psalm 97             John 20:1-8

28          1 John 1:5-2:2                  Psalm 124           Matt 2:13-18

29          1 John 2:3-11                   Psalm 96             Luke 2:22-35

30          Colossians 3:12-21           Psalm 128           Matt 2:13-23

31          1 John 2:18-21                 Psalm 96             John 1:1-18

JANUARY 2017

1(S)      Numbers 6:22-27              Psalm 67             Luke 2:16-21       Galatians 4:4-7

2          1 John 2:22-28                 Psalm 98             John 1:19-28

3          1 John 2:29-3:6                Psalm 98             John 1:29-34

4          1 John 3:7-10                   Psalm 98             John 1:35-42

5          1 John 3:11-21                 Psalm 100           John 1:43-51

EPIPHANY

6          1 John 5:5-13                   Psalm 147           Mark 1:7-11

Preface

When I write these devotions, often the world falls away, and I sink into the words and closeness with God. Nothing gets much better than that.

In Waynesville, Illinois during the first years of our marriage and family, we learned to pray, learned the art of Sabbath, and felt the power of church love. Then one day Margaret said, “I think it’s time for us to get into ministry.”

After campus ministry at Murray State University for Margaret, and two years in the Unification Church for me, nothing mattered more to us. And that was the problem. It was important for our family that I, especially, learn to spend time at home, spend time with Chris, Marc, and Andi, and especially with Margaret.

That was happening. I no longer automatically said yes to every phone call that called me away. Neither did she.

In 1988 we went back to seminary and in 1989 accepted a position at Christian Campus Fellowship at the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana. No more selling Britannica Encyclopedia, no more selling Jacques seed corn, and … no more guaranteed income. Or at least not much. Now it was time to ask our friends for support.

So we did. Lots of our friends responded with monthly checks. One friend invited us to his family’s lakeside home twice a year for vacations. And I began to write letters to our supporters. That was fun for me, and every month I came up with a story or two and maybe a simple point to make. The main idea was always the same: Thank you! Thank you, God … thank you, friends.

A few stories in 1999, a few more in 2000 and 2001, then in 2002 I began to write reflections every day during Lent and Easter, and every day during Advent and Christmas. I started with a text from the Roman Catholic lectionary, got quiet, and let words flow.

The devotions in this book are from 2016.

Writing in this way, I am learning to love God, and I am remembering again and again how much he loves me.

That is what I hope for you, too, as you read.

God bless you.

David Sandel

Urbana, Illinois

February, 2017

 

 

Lent and Easter Devotions

2016

 

Bench on Lake Michigan, Racine, Wisconsin

 

Reaching for the stars

Ash Wednesday, February 10, 2016

I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me … Wash me, and I will be whiter than snow … restore unto me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit.

– From Psalm 51

I have been reading about the days before death. We lose control of our bodies, yes, but even more we lose control of being in control. Grant me a willing spirit, O Lord.

I choose to breathe, but nothing happens. Panic en-sues. This is not OK. But the panic changes nothing. I’m not in charge anymore. This is When Breath Be­comes Air, amazing title of a book just published. Its truth touches the experience we will all have.

What comes after the panic? Surrender, sometimes called “sweet surrender.” And what comes after that? The joy of my salvation.

From what I hear, these experiences are like dominos and they happen to us all. I guess we’ll see.

Today we put our ashes on. Today we set out on the 40-day journey through Lent. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Today.

For tomorrow I die.

Grant me a willing spirit, O Lord. Let me participate in my own paschal mystery and carry my own cross, and keep my eyes open. Break bondages in my mind and body, and help me point my eyes toward where your light shines. Morning has broken.

Cross of gold

February 11, 2016

Jesus said to all, “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it. But whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.”

– From Luke 9

In The Prayer of Faith, Jesuit Leonard Boase describes the “rope of prayer” as four strands: work, play, the cross, and mental prayer.

What does he mean by “the cross”?

“At each succeeding moment of our lives we are held in a matrix of circumstances, and that matrix is at that moment for us the will of God. To respond with loyal acceptance of God’s will is prayer in one of its richest forms.”

This matrix is easier to accept when it consists of pleasant, agreeable things, which are as much a part of God’s will as are the painful. Our circumstances and moods about them range from joyful to tragic. We each have our share of both. Boase’ point is that while we might accept or rail against our “cross” it is the ground of every moment we live on earth.

This simply echoes Jesus. Learn to give up your life, and you will live. Hold onto it and you will die.

Still we pray for each other at church, often praying that our circumstances will improve. “Is any one of you sick? Call the elders, and ask them to pray for you so that you might become well.” Those are the words of James in chapter 5. We are not wise if we invite suffering or entertain it with masochistic joy. No. We ask for healing.

At the same time, can I learn to carry my own cross and not be afraid? I am often caught in circumstances beyond my control. Sometimes those circumstances are just awful. And “this matrix is, at that moment for me, the will of God.”

God is working with me on this puzzle. And I am sure he’s working on it with you, too.

Lord do not let me go gently into the good night. You did not make us to passively submit to oppression or abuse or ugliness. You created us to assert your goodness, your beauty and your truth in every corner of our world. Please give me the assurance I need every day that I can do this and still submit to you, still do my duty by you, Lord. Let me run with joy in the path of your commands.

 

The Lord lift up

his countenance

upon you

February 12, 2016

Set free the oppressed, break every yoke. Share your bread with the hungry, shelter the homeless, and clothe the naked when you see them. Do not turn your back on your own.

– From Isaiah 58

On our best days, these are the words we live by. We learn to accept the bread when we are the hungry ones and share the bread when we are the well-fed. In church or in the market square, at home or on the road, in Congress or at our borders, we can do these things. On the good days.

Alas, there are many bad days … and always have been. In the grand history of these United States there have been plenty of bad days. We have been selfish and greedy and conniving and just plain ugly-old-evil. We have pretended to be givers but taken back what we pretended to give. We have wrinkled our noses in pride and refused to accept what others freely chose to give. Late at night we might be disgusted with ourselves, but then we get up and do it again. On the bad days.

In politics and religion God expects me to hate the sin and love the sinner. Especially he insists that I love myself as the child he made to be his son. He says, “Get over it, Dave. You’re a sinner, and you’re forgiven.

“Stop participating in the structural evil all around you, yes. Learn to receive love and give it. But when you mess that up, let me love you back to life.”

Isaiah’s are among the most beautiful words ever written about this universal issue. How does he describe what happens as we make our way back to more consistent good days?

“Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your wound shall quickly be healed. Your vindication shall go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer. You shall cry for help, and he will say: Here I Am!” (Isaiah 58)

Oh Father, let these words stir up my hope. I CAN trust in you. Over and over, I can turn back toward the good. The momentum of your goodness sweeps over all of us. We might fight it off as if we’ll drown, but we won’t drown. We can all be changed in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye. Time after time after time.

Learning to love

enemies

February 13, 2016

I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked man, says the Lord, but rather that he turn from his ways, and live.

– From Ezekiel 33

Three times in the last month or so our online finances have been hijacked in one way or another. Each time I discover this, I picture the bad guy at the other end, and vaguely wish bad things on him. Stick a pin in her … or something.

Fraud is a big deal for online companies, I guess. It happens all the time. Big companies have “fraud departments.” The folks in those departments have been very helpful to us.

What could happen, of course … what HAS happened to lots of folks, is that we could lose a bunch of money somehow. Of course, we have to HAVE a lot of money to lose it, so this is not such a problem for Margaret and I.

And when I’m treated unfairly it’s really important to remember how blessed and lucky I’ve been all my life. I am grateful that I have anything at all to lose.

Yesterday I saw The Revenant, and watched the power of revenge take its toll on a good man. He survived unspeakable wounds, cold, and starvation – and only became stronger. In the spirit of redemptive violence, theme of much successful Hollywood drama, the man’s determined chase for revenge seemed to strengthen him even more.

But no, not really. Revenge only made him small in his own small world. It does this to us all when we take pleasure in the death of the wicked man.

If my well-being is threatened, I am tempted to circle my wagons and defend my borders. The wicked men are out there, and I’m in here with my little tribe of good guys. Sometimes it gets so bad that I’m the only good guy left, and everybody else is out to get me. That’s usually called “paranoia,” and it’s a serious mental illness.

But really, I’m not all that good. The wicked aren’t so wicked, and the good aren’t so good. We’re all God’s children. This is the antidote I need. I have my own wicked ways to turn away from. I’m very thankful that God does not seek revenge, and that he wants the same from me.

When things go wrong, Lord, open my eyes to you. When anger turns my eyes to slits and all my muscles want to hit back, knock me down for a moment to remind me of who I am and who You are. Let me delight in you, Lord at all times, and ride with you on the heights of the earth.

The government shall be

upon his shoulders

First Sunday of Lent, February 14, 2016

Filled with the Holy Spirit, Jesus returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the desert for forty days, to be tempted by the devil. He ate nothing during those days.

– From Luke 4

The early church wanted to follow Jesus into the desert, so Lent lasts for forty days. But unlike Jesus, the church celebrates Jesus’ resurrection every Sunday, so every Sunday is a feast day, even during Lent. The six Sundays don’t count toward our forty fasting days. Add it up, and you’ll see.

Henri Nouwen writes that, in the desert, the devil offered Jesus relevance, visibility, and power. The devil would have made a great campaign manager. Wisely, Jesus said no to this invitation to join the powers that control the world. Jesus saw this: that there is a 180 degree difference between trusting God and trusting the government. That was true then, and it’s always been true.

The government at its best facilitates, enables and helps us cope with everyday life. This is a wonderful thing. But Jesus came “to free humanity from the power of death and open the way to eternal life.” The government of the world can’t do anything like that.

“God’s presence is often a hidden presence. The loud, boisterous noises of the world make us deaf to the soft, gentle and loving voice of God.” I weigh my options in the morning and the evening: Fox News, NPR, silence, centering prayer … During Lent, during these forty fine fasting days, am I sometimes going to shut off the sound?

Slowly I grow more accustomed to silence. It feels womb-like rather than suffocating, and in its midst I breathe better, relax more deeply, rest. “Be still and know that I am God.” Be still and know. Be still. Be.

In the third century Egyptian monks began living in the deserts beyond their cities and settled into silence. They were imitating Jesus. And like Jesus they were tempted by the devil.

But at least there was silence. We need silence desperately, whether or not we camp out in the desert to find it. Otherwise, the devil’s whispers slip up into our ears, and sound just a little too true.

Unto us, O Lord, a child is born. Unto us a son is given. The government shall be upon your shoulders, Lord. And your name shall be called wonderful, counselor, almighty God, everlasting Father. You are our Prince of Peace. We worship you, we give thanks to you, and we call upon your name.

The myth of

redemptive violence

February 15, 2016

You shall not bear hatred for your brother in your heart. Though you may have to reprove him, do not incur sin because of him: take no revenge and cherish no grudge. Love your neighbor as yourself. I am the Lord.

– from Leviticus 19

Theologian Walter Wink writes of the “myth of redemptive violence.” This myth tracks back through our video games and movies, through the cartoons we watched as kids, all the way back (at least) to 1250 BC, to the Babylonian creation story, in which Marduk kills Tiamat, the queen of chaos, and then uses her body to create the cosmos.

Creation, in other words, is an act of violence. Order is established by means of disorder. Evil precedes good. The gods are violent, and they create us. No wonder we too find violence so compelling (so redemptive) as a solution to our problems.

The story in Genesis is a direct rebuttal to the Babylonian myth. God is good, and God creates a good creation. Good precedes evil, although evil comes soon enough as the first humans and the serpent betray God. But God’s creation came first, and it was good. And so violence, instead of being at the basis of things, becomes a problem to solve.

Moses speaks of God’s solution: “Though you may have to reprove him, do not incur sin because of him: take no revenge and cherish no grudge.” Far better to do what my friend at church yesterday did when he encountered a problem person in his life: pray!

God’s perspective is not the same as mine, and I need to see my enemy from God’s point of view. Turn my eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face. And the things of earth grow strangely dim.

I can do this at times. But I live in contemporary America, which is part of the contemporary world, in which redemptive violence is the dominant myth. We are steeped in it. Wink calls it “the simplest, laziest, most exciting, uncomplicated, irrational, and primitive depiction of evil the world has ever known.”

This way of looking at things locates all evil outside myself or my tribe, whether that be in the world of sports or politics or religion or nationalism. Children grow into adults who tend to scapegoat others for all that is wrong in their world. Because we don’t think about our own junk, we have trouble growing beyond our own early, immature egos.

Jesus pushes back hard on this. “Let he among you who is without sin cast the first stone.” Jesus recalls Abba Father, and reminds us to love as we are loved. Good precedes evil in Jesus’ world, and we can let God show us the good again.

You teach me your way, Lord, when I pray for my enemy, and give her something to drink, and visit him in prison, and bandage her wounds. We are all your children, God bless us, every one. You turn the evil we all commit into your good. That is real redemption, and we give thanks to you, O God.

 

 

Margaret and Dave, ready to walk the labyrinth at St. Thomas More Catholic Church, Austin, Texas
Praying with words

February 16, 2016

Jesus said to his disciples: “In praying, do not babble like the pagans, who think that they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them. Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.”

– From Matthew 6

We need words if we’re going to pray together. And we need to pray together. So we need words. The words might be written and traditional, said for hundreds of years. Or they might be composed spontaneously by one or more of us as we pray together.

And Jesus is not telling me to dispense with words when I pray alone, either. When words guide my heart toward God, I should use them! And when they are empty or demanding, I can stop using them.

But there is a limitation to even heartfelt, familiar conversation with God. Leonard Boase in The Prayer of Faith reminds me that our words “tend inevitably to bring our thoughts back upon ourselves and teach us little about God himself.”

I recognize that this is true. So what do I do? Jesus tells us to pray what we’ve called “The Lord’s Prayer.” Our Father, who art in heaven … Some of us also pray in tongues. Or we might use what can be called a breath prayer, a devotional phrase or sentence that we repeat over and over.

One breath prayer made “famous” by J.D. Salinger in Franny and Zooey has been practiced for hundreds of years by Orthodox Christians: “Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

The Rosary is another, prayed decade after decade since 1214: “Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee …”

Because we are steeped in the idea that our value is primarily individual rather than corporate, we regularly forget that when we pray, we pray with the whole Church. When I glimpse a vision of something greater than myself, I can give credit to the fact that I’m not praying alone; and that God exists far beyond my own imagination, my own needs, and my own self.

However I pray, with whatever words, alone or with others using lists or rituals, there is God. I might feel like I’m in the valley. Mostly I’m climbing on the hillside. Occasionally I am on the ridge, looking out and seeing all there is. Always there is God, and there I am with God.

Lord, I notice the flowers and the feel of grass underneath my feet. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Open my eyes to the beauty of your hillside, Lord, long before I reach the top. There is nothing to do but open my eyes.

In my mind I’m goin’

February 17, 2016

The Lord told Jonah again, “Set out for the great city of Nineveh, and announce to it my message.” So Jonah made ready and went to Nineveh. It was an enormously large city; it took three days to walk through it. And Jonah began his journey through the city.

– From Jonah 3

In my mind I’m goin’ straight into Nineveh. Can’t you see the sunshine? Can’t you just feel the moonshine? And ain’t it just a like a friend of mine to hit me from behind?

James Taylor … Jonah … you and me … in our minds, walking the streets of our city, crying out the Lord’s message. Halfway wanting to hear it and put on the sackcloth, and halfway hoping the words will be drowned out before we have to change. Our brain is fearfully and wonderfully made; it takes three days to walk through it.

Since when have I have taken the luxury of three days to walk through it? Our pastor Jeff said we have difficulties sometimes studying Hebrews because we are not accustomed to “extended arguments.” Lines of thought which require detours and other delays are not our cup of tea.

So Jonah’s pathway through Nineveh presents me another opportunity. Really. To have a cup of tea, and walk with some attention to what I see in the byways of my brain. Cry out the words of the Lord, which sound something like, “Repent! Soon I will die, and rise again, and I want you there beside me. Let me show you too how to die and how to live.”

Every Catholic church, no matter how small, carries the fourteen “stations of the cross” on its walls. Walk beside them and look inside your city. What’s going on there? Jesus stumbles, and his cross cracks his back. Mary can’t stand it and wails the death inside her as she sees her son fall. The thorns on his forehead dig right in.

What of my own walk to the cross? Up, climb up! Feel the pain. God will not whip me up and at it, like the Romans whipped Jesus. But there is no other path toward life except up through those agonizing alleys toward Golgotha.

We call them demons or neuroses, but whatever we call them, we shrink from the terror and threat of half-heard whispers in the dark, half-closed doorways down those dirty streets. God forbid that one of those doors would spring open. In short, we are afraid.

Can I make it for the three days? Keep on walking? There is an end to this savage, stumbling search for living water. God says so.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death … I will not fear the evil. Thou art with me, and thy rod and staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil and my cup Overflows.

Surely, Lord, your goodness and mercy will follow after me all the days of my life. Even me, Lord, even me. With all the crud I find in my own dark alleys, even me. And as you say, you will be with me and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Aly Grace as Gabriel, Christmas 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aly with Uncle Marc

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good Lord

February 18, 2016

Jesus said to his disciples, “Ask and it will be given to you … if you who are wicked know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him.”

– From Matthew 7

Jesus trusts God SO MUCH! His Father absolutely can do no wrong. Even when he is forced to abandon his ministry and faces certain death, Jesus submits to his Father’s will.

Jesus lives every moment, as far as we can see, guided by two unalterable principles which he never forgets: “Love the Lord with all your heart-soul-mind and love your neighbor-as-yourself.”

He has complete confidence that every thing God gives us is good. No matter how it looks at the time, no matter how it feels, no matter. It is all good.

And even more astoundingly, he is certain that God will give us what we ask for. We are free to ask, and God freely gives. Is Jesus throwing his Father under the bus here? Because time after time it seems like we are NOT given what we ask for. Does God our Father know better than his children what is good for us?

Well … yes. But also, when we ask for and receive what turns out not to be so good, God helps us grow closer to him in that regret and remorse.

I remember Jim Carrey’s dilemma in the movie Bruce Almighty when so many prayer requests contradicted each other. He typed in “YES” to them all and then faced some serious music after that. Does that happen to God anywhere other than Hollywood?

Jesus does not explain himself; he simply says that God is good. And everything God gives is good, and it is good for us to accept that. We are safe in the hands of this living God.

For Jesus our Father’s goodness was not a hypothesis but a certainty. It was a fact, not an opinion. He knew within himself the place where God dwells always. Thomas Merton calls this place the “virgin point.” It is pure and cannot be broken open or broken into. It is God’s home inside our souls. All our souls.

Jesus has a way of persuading his listeners that what he says is true. I am glad to believe him, even if I don’t understand the workings of my life or anyone else’s life. My inconsistency, my selfishness, and my sin will not change God. He is good regardless. I count on that and take it to the bank.

I give thanks to you, Lord, with all my heart, for you have heard the words of my mouth. Your right hand saves me; you will complete what you have done for me. Your kindness, O Lord, endures forever. Forsake not the work of your hands. (from Psalm 138)

Whispers near dawn

February 19, 2016

My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning … yes, more than watchmen wait for the morning.

– From Psalm 130

I sit here waiting for words about waiting. The Lord searches my heart. I wish he would hurry up. I have places to go, and promises to keep.

Uh-oh. I think I’ve gotten hung up a little here. “You seem to have a timetable, David.”

Well, yeah, I do.

“OK. Where are you headed, and when do you plan to get there?”

Well, I’m not really sure. Maybe we could just stay here awhile and talk …

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”

On the ramparts we watch, sitting in the light of the moon. The watchmen wait for the morning, and here we are just talking a little, sitting back, wondering at the stars.

They are beautiful, the stars.

“Yes.”

You made them, didn’t you?

“Yes.”

The stars always seem to be there, but I’m more like grass that burns up in the sun, or dust shaken up, and I don’t feel stable at all.

“No. Your stability depends on me. And I’m not going anywhere. It’s just that you have to wait for me, follow me, and not lead the way so much.”

That doesn’t seem so crazy-hard, sitting here with the Lord in the dawn’s morning light. “Be here now,” he says to me. OK.

Quiet calmly comes, over the hill before the sunrise, and you inhabit all of it, Lord. Brush up against my face with that light that sings inside my soul and stirs me up to welcome the day. All your ways are wonderful, Father. You are God and you are good, and you have made me whole.

Open posture,

stretched out hands

February 20, 2016

Jesus said, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you … God makes his sun rise on the bad and the good, and the rain fall on the just and the unjust.”

– From Matthew 5

It’s never enough to love your neighbor. What about the strangers in our midst, what about our enemies? Can’t we love them too?

Once in awhile, sure. But God is talking about something as natural and consistent as the sun that rises and the rain that falls. To live a LIFE of love, leading always with love no matter who offends, no matter how … that’s something else again.

Scott Peck writes that love means extending myself for someone else’s well-being. That is exactly the way God offers us the sun, and offers us the rain: for our well-being. We will be blessed and benefit from his gifts, no matter how we are acting toward each other, no matter how we feel toward him. The Giver gives. That’s what he does.

So Jesus simply says, “Be like God.” Always give, and don’t stop.

We had three kids, and we kept giving as they grew. We were far from perfect at it, but we knew we were the parents and they were the kids. So we knew it was our job to give.

Now we have two chickens, and we keep giving. They lay eggs, or not … no matter which, we keep giving them food and water and time and affection.

We’ve been married 36 years. We don’t always get along, we don’t always want to. Every day, though, we keep on giving. It’s when we stop that rhythm, even for a little while, that we’re in trouble. After so many years we are like each other’s heartbeat. Some arrhythmia, sure. But within our vast imperfections, we give.

There is nothing heroic or unique about this. All of us live our lives this way, and we might as well say yes to God rather than hiding in the woods when he comes around. We will not survive without God’s sun and rain, and we will not survive without all the unacknowledged giving that we all do for each other every day.

Open up my eyes, Jesus. Let me see more of how we share with each other the love you pour out on us. Put these words in my mouth: Yes, Lord. Yes, Lord. Yes.

 

Catching just a glimpse

Second Sunday of Lent, February 21, 2016

A cloud came and cast a shadow over them, and they became frightened when they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice: “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.” After the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone, and they all fell silent.

– From Matthew 7

This is the second feast day during the fast of Lent. How shall we celebrate? Well, for one thing, we get an especially significant text in the lectionary. This one is the story of what we’ve called Jesus’ transfiguration.

Today’s text is Luke 9:28-36, but the transfiguration is described in three of the four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, and Luke. (John’s “transfiguring” event is Jesus’ baptism.) The story is mostly a story of light. But where there’s light, there’s also dark. Where the sun shines, there is shadow. And in this story Jesus and his friends are enveloped in a cloud.

Once, climbing the tallest mountain in New Mexico (which does not require technical climbing skills or fancy gear), my friend and I were caught up in a cloud so quick we forgot where we were. Night fell fast, and eight hours early. There were a few flashes of lightning and some thunder. We had ascended into heaven. We left our bodies for a moment, our hearts stopped, and then we hightailed it down the mountain.

This story is different because, instead of lightning and thunder, there was a voice. God spoke, just as he did in John’s story of Jesus’ baptism. “This is my Son. Listen to him.” It’s also different because, in the Gospel story, Jesus’ “face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white.” Wow.

And then dead people walked into the light. Not dead, but sleeping. Not even sleeping. Moses and Elijah “appeared in glory” and talked to Jesus about what “he was going to accomplish in Jerusalem.”

I don’t think we can figure out the transfiguration. But we can watch it, like Peter, John, and James watched it. We can look for ways to honor our ancestors (Moses and Elijah), and we can hear God’s words and do them: “This is my Son. Listen to him!”

For just a moment, in the cloud, these folks were not blinded by God’s presence and could just be there with him. That’s something to watch for, wait for, live for. It was a moment they would never forget, a precious moment with God. The best word for this might just be “transfiguration” for them as well as Jesus. In a way made specially for each of us, God touches us too.

However it happens and no matter when, it is that moment we will never forget.

We all put our ashes on, Lord, but on this day of feasting you wipe those blots away and invite us to your table. Remember us, O Lord, on your Son’s Transfiguration Day. Remember us and come to us too, and give us moments of your presence we will never forget. Change our hearts, O Lord. Make us ever new.

 

 

Aki and Andi and their shared Halloween costume
Meek, obedient, assertive,

human lambs

February 22, 2016

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

– From Psalm 23

Throughout history, millions of us have looked to Psalm 23 as assurance of God’s guidance, generosity and love. He is the shepherd, we are the sheep of his pasture, and we are safe. After the World Trade Center was destroyed in 2001, I remember being asked to lead a prayer service at the newspaper office where I worked. Together we read Psalm 23.

I thought this morning of the story of another shepherd, from Matthew 25: “All the nations will gather before him, and he will separate them one from another, as a shepherd divides his sheep from the goats.”

Margaret asked, “Why does a shepherd separate the sheep from the goats?” I’m the farm boy, but I have no idea. I could have made some guesses, but I didn’t. In this story, though, the goats get the short straw. Jesus says to the sheep, “When you fed and housed and clothed and visited and comforted the least of your brothers and sisters, you did this for me.”

Then he goads the goats with the opposite scenario. “When you don’t feed and house and clothe and visit and comfort the least of your brothers and sisters, you turn me out too.”

We all act sometimes like sheep and sometimes like goats. The shepherd has his hands full. This shepherd sees inside our souls. Lucky for us if we’re sheep, not so lucky for the goats.

Psalm 23 invites me to be led by God, and Matthew 25 invites me to choose my own way. God’s will and mine wrestle with each other. Every day they wrestle.

My friend Nick, a pastor in Peoria, wrote about Galatians 2:16 a few days ago. There are two equally interesting translations of one particular phrase. Paul’s words either say we are made whole in God’s sight “by the faith OF Jesus Christ,” or “by faith IN Jesus Christ.” One two letter preposition changes everything! With this one short stroke of Greek ambiguity we are tossed back in the wrestling ring.

But really, what’s wrong with that? Do I have to know exactly how God and I share responsibility in my life? Understanding pales in importance compared to humility and obedience.

Christian eschatology and Christian ethics can both inform our daily lives. Who is God? And who am I? Where did I come from, and where am I going? How do I live my life today?

It’s Monday. Keep your eyes open. Enjoy the wrestling match. Feel the eros, the Life Force, the warmth that rises out of friction. Life beckons.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. You make me whole not by my works but by my faith and by the faith of Jesus. You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies. Give me courage and wisdom to live assertively in the kingdom you have prepared for us from the foundation of the world.

 

 

 

Andi and Aki’s Christmas gift to us – 1000 pieces of our past
Weeping in the streets of Jerusalem

February 23, 2016

Jesus said, “You have but one master, the Christ. The greatest among you must be your servant.”

– From Matthew 23

Jesus goes after the scribes and Pharisees in Matthew 23. Listen to what they say, but do not do what they do, because they do not practice what they preach. And worse, they will not help those they teach with the burden they have created … not with even one of their fingers. Jesus tears them to shreds with one accusation after another. Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites!

Jesus’ voice takes on the tenor of an Old Testament prophet. His words sound out a magnificent condemnation, unmatched even by Jeremiah or Isaiah. Every leader’s face must be burning with rage if not with recognition. “See! Your house is left to you desolate.”

They have refused to see the gift God sent, and they are about to have him killed. Jesus knows this and weeps for their own lost chance to live. “How often I wanted to gather your children together, but you were not willing!” And now all he can say is what he knows will happen: “You shall see me no more till you say, ‘Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.’”

The antidote to their hypocrisy is simple. Start to serve. “All your works are performed to be seen,” he says. Stop that. Don’t strive to be seen. Just serve.

We all know this. Don’t we? Still, I need your approval. I need you to pat me on the back and tell me what God has already told me – how wonderful I am. And I will be sure to tell you, too. Because I know you need approval just like me.

Sociopaths don’t need the approval of others, but the rest of us do. Jesus clears up the contradiction by pairing greatness and servanthood. He approves my service, not my success. He looks toward the back of the room for the ones he wants to pat on the back.

Sure, I will always run the risk of being proud of my humility. But that’s probably better than being proud of my pride.

I expect Jesus will help me every day to be more humble. And he’ll never stop loving me, and he’ll never stop rubbing my back, and I can always expect to see his smile.

You say, Lord, you will make our scarlet sins as white as snow. If only we are willing, if only we obey, if only we make justice our aim, redress the wronged, hear the orphan’s plea, defend the widow. Make me willing in my mind and words and deeds, and hold me accountable, Lord, to be a servant always. Shut my proud words up, and still my soul.

Christ-following

February 24, 2016

Jesus said, “Whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant … The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

– From Matthew 20

Jesus was upset with the scribes and Pharisees when they refused to serve other people, but with his own disciples he kicks it up a notch. He tells them they will have to follow his footsteps right up to the cross.

Jesus gives his life for us. His disciples want recognition as his friends and followers, and Jesus offers them this:

“Can you drink the chalice that I am going to drink?”

They want to sit at his right and at his left in the kingdom. They don’t realize that there will be crosses to his right and left on Golgotha. Those crosses are the unexpected result of their request for glory.

The closer we are to Jesus, the more he asks us to give our lives … to him and for him … for our friends … for many. What he asks is not a partial offering. It may or may not involve physical death, but it always requires giving up my rights, ego, plans, perhaps my loved ones … essential parts of what I’ve always called my life.

Jesus describes his own future earlier in this chapter of Matthew: he will be “mocked and scourged and crucified, and will be raised up on the third day.”

Three days is a long time between death and new life. Most of us don’t think we can last that long. How long can you actually hold your breath?

Jesus says I must “love the Lord with all my heart, soul and mind. And love my neighbor just as I care for myself.”

When we do that with and for each other, there is no better life to live or better death to die. In those times of loving, Jesus is so close it’s like he’s just underneath our skin.

We don’t wonder whether God is real when we love like that.

Save me, O Lord, in your kindness. My trust is in you. I say, “You are my God.” In your hands is my destiny; rescue me from the clutches of my enemies. (from Psalm 31)

Consolation and desolation

February 25, 2016

Cursed is the man who trusts in human beings, who seeks his strength in flesh, whose heart turns away from the Lord. He is like a barren bush in the desert that enjoys no change of season but stands in a lava waste, a salt and empty earth.

– From Jeremiah 17

On the other hand, blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord. “He is like a tree planted beside the waters that stretches out its roots to the stream. It fears not the heat when it comes. Even in drought it shows no distress but still bears fruit” (Psalm 1).

Ignatius of Loyola might well have been reading Jeremiah in 1548 when he wrote his Spiritual Exercises, which help us with what St. Ignatius calls “discernment of spirits.” Is the voice I hear from God or from the devil? Is its “strength in flesh” or does it “stretch out its roots to the stream” of living water?

Feeling good now doesn’t mean I’ll feel good later, just as feeling bad now doesn’t mean I’ll feel bad later. What will last? What is most true? Ignatius suggested we look at the beginning, middle and end of what we imagine will happen or what has already happened. If all three are “inclined to all good it is a sign of the good Angel.” But if we glimpse the “tail of the snake” in any of the three, it “proceeds from the evil spirit, enemy of our profit and eternal salvation.” This is very wise counsel.

I rarely take enough time to do this work of discernment. I don’t take enough time to sit still and consider, as best I can, the beginning, middle and end of something. Am I consoled or left desolate?

A famous description of prayer comes from St. John Vianney: “I just look at God, and God looks at me.”

Often it seems more complicated. My false self looks at me. I look at God. God looks back at me. My true self looks at my false self and says, “Shut up, fool!”

No, actually that would probably not happen. Love your enemies, even when they are you. Right?

My true self looks at my false self and says, “Don’t look at me. Look up. There’s God. Look at God.”

Dallas Willard set a high bar for discipleship when he said in The Divine Conspiracy, “The first objective in discipleship is to bring apprentices to the point where they are quite certain that there is no catch, no limit to the goodness of God’s intentions or his power to carry them out.”

I can’t think my way to this kind of certainty. But I can keep looking up, and God will keep looking down. I think this is a fine way to spend my time here on earth.

You watch me, Lord. The way of the wicked vanishes, but as I hope in the Lord I yield my fruit in due season. My leaves don’t fade, Lord. You ask me to delight in the law of the Lord and meditate on it day and night. Will you be patient with me, will you show me how to be still and know that you are God? This is what I want, Lord Jesus, this is what I seek.

 

Margaret and Andi trying out their gluten-free, homemade carrot cake

Grapes on the vine

February 26, 2016

Jesus told the chief priests and Pharisees, “The Kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that

will produce its fruit.”

– From Matthew 21

In the morning Jesus prayed. And in the afternoon he listened, fed, clothed, healed, visited, and talked with others about the Kingdom of God. Although he never exactly said, “Look at me, do what I’m doing!” that is what we need to do, if we’re going to even slightly understand the idea of producing “fruit.”

Jesus spent time with many groups in many places around the Sea of Galilee. He didn’t exclude anyone. When someone asked him for help, he helped without hesitation. He didn’t ask why.

I think that when Jesus interacted with someone, he looked into their eyes. He listened more than he spoke. But when he did speak, people listened.

Producing fruit involves listening to God and then listening to people, and then doing what it is they need. As best I can. Can I have a schedule? Or should I ask God to show me this work moment by moment? Both?

This is just the first of several questions I have for God. But reflecting on these questions, I run smack into the dangerous part of introspection, looking within myself rather than looking out at God and others.

Jesus’ Father asked him to look within. I can do the same: “Look and see what you have already received from Me, and follow it.” I can freely examine myself when God calls me to do so.

Listen to God, and you will be told what to do.

Hmmm. God’s language seems mostly to be silence. But silence can be golden, or pregnant, or dead.

God’s silence is never dead.

Listen in the silence, like Jesus did before dawn. Do what you hear, like Jesus did. Protect the reputation of your Father, like Jesus did. These are parts of producing fruit in the Kingdom of God.

Lord, I might be a small and lonely grape clutching to the vine, but I am bursting with flavor because you made me. So give me sunshine, give me rain, and let me grow. I want to be what you made me, giving, receiving, fruitful and productive. It’s simple to follow you if I’m a grape. Let it be.

Heartworn highway

February 27, 2016

The father said to his eldest son, “My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice because your brother was dead and now he lives; he was lost and now he’s found.”

– From Luke 15

The older son is angry. He shows no gratitude or grace about his brother’s homecoming. His father might be generous beyond expectation both to himself and his brother, but perhaps he has grown accustomed to this. Slightly bored in his sense of entitlement, he suspects nothing as resentment creeps up into him.

So both sons unhappily leave their father, and pursue their own way. What son hasn’t? And what father hasn’t wept, standing at least figuratively in the road, longing to see his child again? Parenting is hard, second only in difficulty to growing up.

Henri Nouwen helps me see how all three characters are … me. I resent God’s generosity, because it gives him power “over” me. So I leave and seek my own way, which doesn’t turn out so well, so I return repenting and remorseful. I take God’s generosity for granted, and expect him to treat me well because I am “faithful” to him. Then nothing he does is ever enough, and I am jealous of what he does for others.

Out of repentance for my rebellion and rekindled gratitude for what I once took for granted, I can learn how to be a father. The father knows how bad his sons can be and loves them anyway. In Return of the Prodigal Son, Nouwen says, “People who have come to know the joy of God do not deny the darkness, but they choose not to live in it … They point each other to flashes of light here and there, and remind each other that they reveal the hidden but real presence of God.”

Jesus told his listeners three stories in this passage, stories about lost sheep, a lost coin, and the lost son. Jesus trusts God to search the hillside and search the house to find what’s lost. And to wait out on the highway just in case his lost son might be coming home.

Nouwen says, “My trust and my gratitude reveal the God who searches for me, burning with desire to take away all my resentments and complaints, and to let me sit by his side at the heavenly banquet.”

Jesus says my Father “burns with desire” just to be near me. Wow! Spend some time with THAT today.

Bless you, bless you, O my soul, bless your holy name. You pardon my sin, you bring healing to my bones, you redeem my life from destruction. O Lord, you crown me with kindness and compassion, and stir my soul. So high is your kindness as the heavens are high above the earth. So far have you put my sins away from me as the east is from the west. Your goodness endures forever. (from Psalm 103)

Drink the water anyway

Third Sunday of Lent, February 28, 2016

In the desert our ancestors all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink, for they drank from a spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was the Christ. Yet God was not pleased with most of them, for they were struck down in the desert.

– From 1 Corinthians 10

Keep calm and hold on. None of Moses’ countrymen knew they’d be out there forty years. They just lived their lives one day at a time. But many of them murmured against their leader and even against their god.

I often complain when things change, or when they don’t change. Both Paul and Jesus call me to account. Paul simply says, “Do not grumble.” In today’s gospel text Jesus gives his listeners both an interpretation of current events and a parable. Their sin did not destine some, instead of others, to die at the hands of Pilate. But Jesus says, “I tell you, unless you repent you will all likewise perish!”

Repent how? This is how: stop complaining about my life. Instead I can learn the skill of gratitude, so that bitter experience does not take root and poison my soul.

How do I practice this skill? It starts with healthy grief: be angry, be sad, experience despair, feel the pain … and then make your way around the grief curve and let things go. (Grief’s upside down bell curve starts down with denial, moves into bargaining, then into anger and depression before it curves back up again into acceptance and forgiveness.)

Gratitude is our natural way of being, but when things go wrong we will need to have learned to work at it. Use the words, “Thank you!” Every day ask yourself “What am I grateful for? And what am I NOT grateful for?” And then in the silence listen for God’s prompting.

I could make a list of what I’m thankful for. I could do this every day. And say out loud, “Thank you!” This isn’t rocket science, but the way we resist sometimes, you’d think it was.

And here’s where Jesus’ parable comes in.

I am not entitled to get my way in life. I am not in charge. But I AM loved, and Jesus’ story tells me so. I may grumble today, but God is patient and will wait for tomorrow before he “cuts down the fig tree.” For him there is no hurry, because he loves ME more than he loves results. He will care for the tree even when there is no fruit. There’s always next year.

Is there a time limit on God’s patience? Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Because God knows me better than I know myself, and he’ll be with me till the end of time. The rock “that is Christ” follows me around every day, and I do drink from it. No other water satisfies.

I remember how I felt when my son Marc handed me a cold can of Pepsi as I reached the top of the Grand Canyon trail we’d been climbing for nine hours. I wept. And rested. And felt the cold. So thankful. And I said so.

God you are so good. And your mercy endures forever. You fill me up with living water, and you wait without judgment while I learn to thank you. Thank you for that, too.

 

 

Andi with Aly, age 4,

and Grandma Angie, age 94
Just do it

February 29, 2016

Naaman’s servants said, “If the prophet had told you to do something extraordinary, would you not have done it?” So Naaman went down and plunged into the Jordan seven times at the word of the man of God. And his flesh became again like the flesh of a little child. He was clean.

– From 2 Kings 5

Life is not as complicated as I think it is. And we are not as strong as we think we are.

The Jordan River was full of bugs and scum. But Naaman took off his shoes and waded in there, and he was healed of his leprosy. How can that be?

Clear-eyed children of the Enlightenment that we are, we are mostly skeptical about that story. Or on the other hand, the pendulum of our thinking swings wildly over to the other side and we claim Naaman’s miracle for ourselves in advance.

What about the idea that the servants had? Just do it. It doesn’t have to be logically probable, nor does it have to be spectacular. When you hear the word of God, just do it. See what happens next. Don’t be afraid.

This story is about healing, but before that it’s about listening. One of the worst mistakes I can make when I listen to you is jumping to conclusions or jumping to cause. When I jump like that, I finish your sentences in my head. No more listening, because I already know what is going to happen next.

But I’m so often wrong! My expectations about the future are based on my experience of the past … but really, what do I know? God’s creativity knows no bounds.

This is Monday. It is a good day to be alive. I think I know what’s going to happen today, but I don’t. I just don’t. So I can spend some time in the pregnant silence and listen. Then when I hear the strange words, “Go jump in the lake!” I just might do it.

Oh, the water!

Living water you are for me today, my Lord. Pour it all over me. I want to catch it on my tongue and drink what’s there to drink. Thirsty is my soul for you, living God. Let me go into your sanctuary, God of my gladness and joy, and give you thanks. (from Psalm 42)

 

Remember your own

forgiveness

March 1, 2016

Peter approached Jesus and asked him, “Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive him? Jesus answered, “Not seven times but seventy-seven times … Should you not have pity on your fellow servant, as I had pity on you?”

– From Matthew 18

God is so gentle, but he will always remind me that I am not my own boss. He freely gives me my free will, but God is the one who made the world, and who made me from dust. Since he made me in his own image, as a Person imbued with respect and gratitude, each heartbeat rings my joy and thanks back to him.

But in my own personal version of the Fall, in the midst of my own Garden of Eden, I think I know better. I am not as strong as I think I am, but I turn away anyway. I put on protective clothes, hide in the woods, and go my own way. It feels good. How can it be wrong when it feels so right?

Then the lions pounce and the cyclones roar, and I am undone. But as I sneak a look back at God, I see that he is “burning with desire,” as Henri Nouwen says, to be with me. His forgiveness of me is utter and complete. I don’t have to beg. Can I just accept? Yes, I can. I think I can.

Then comes another day, and I am offended. Grief happens. I can’t change what’s happened, even if it is unfair, cruel, bullying, evil. I pretend it’s not so bad. I try to change things, but when I can’t I become angry and depressed. About this moment Jesus has something very important to say.

Remember your own forgiveness, David!

This is how my grief slowly curves back upward, moving into acceptance and forgiveness. Standing in God’s mercy shower, I have nothing to say except, “Thank you.” Looking up at God instead of across at my enemy I see only a gentle rain from heaven, falling on us both.

So are those streaks of water on my face tears or raindrops? Am I feeling sorry for myself? Letting God’s mercy fall on me? Learning how to be loved, so I can love? Will I forgive as I’ve been forgiven?

Those are good questions for a cloudy day. No hurry with answers, but don’t stop asking the questions.

Lord, we are reduced and brought low everywhere in the world this day because of our sins. We have no place to find favor with you. But with contrite heart and humble spirit let us be received. Let our sacrifice be in your presence today. Those who trust in you cannot be put to shame, and now we follow you with our whole heart. Deal with us in your kindness and great mercy. Deliver us by your wonders, O Lord!

Remember your own story

March 2, 2016

Moses said to the people, “Take care and be earnestly on your guard not to forget the things which your own eyes have seen, nor let them slip from your memory as long as you live, but teach them to your children and to your children’s children.”

– From Deuteronomy 4

When she returned from Israel, our friend Brenda gave us a Mezuzah to put in our doorway. Contained inside it are the words of the “Shema Yisrael,” which begins “Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One!”

Above all, Moses says – remember.

How does God move in my life to shape me, mold me, make me new? There are many stories. A book like Remembering Your Story can help us put our own experiences with the living God into words, and into our own “mezuzah”.

Here are two of my stories, which I shared with my niece’s daughter as she writes about her great-grandparents (my parents) this week:

Dear Grace,

I will tell you two stories about your great-grandparents. There are many more.

In 1976 I joined a church that had a bad reputation. It was called the Unification Church and was led by a pastor from Korea named Rev. Sun Myung Moon. I spent two years with some of the people in that church. We lived together and gave all our possessions to the church. That experience changed my life as I realized how much God loved me.

But in 1978 some things happened, and I needed to leave. I had been in England for the summer, and now I was at the Unification Church Seminary in upstate New York, ready to begin school.

One of those fall days I was in Manhattan to see my best friend in the church. The train back to the seminary left from Grand Central Station. In those days Kodak always had a huge family picture on the wall overlooking the stairs and escalators, a rectangle probably 40 feet wide and 60 feet long. Big smiles, sweet family.

I stepped into a phone booth (yeah, really, a phone booth!), and called my mom. Your great-grandma. I knew their phone number, partly because it was the same number they had for … what? Twenty years? Maybe longer? It’s the phone number Grandma Angie STILL has, by the way. Having that number in my head made me feel solid and strong. And that was NOT how I was feeling about the rest of my life.

In a week or so my cousin Sheryl Sandel was getting married in Rhode Island. Mom and Dad had told me they were planning to go. I asked Mom if their plans were still the same, and she said, “No, we’re getting too busy with harvest and we’ve decided not to go.”

I was disappointed. “Oh,” I said. “I was thinking I would come home with you after the wedding.” There was a second of silence. Then Mom said, “Well then, we’ll be there.” And I started to cry. Under that Kodak mural, I felt the love of my family fall down all over me.

I had only been home once in two years, when Grandpa Sandel (your great-GREAT-grandpa) died. And I was there for two days, and then off again.

But this time I stayed. Mom and I had kept in touch, talking on the telephone every couple of weeks. We argued a lot about how to think about God, but we kept talking. And when I saw Mom and Dad in Rhode Island, it was one of the wonderful moments of my life.

The second story is about my dad, your great-grandpa. About 10 years before he died, we decided to take a trip each year, just the two of us. We went to the Billy Graham Retreat Center in Asheville, North Carolina. We also went to the Lutheran Church’s National Charismatic Conference in Minneapolis. We went to a bluegrass concert.

The last trip we took was to Old World Wisconsin, a theme park which celebrated old-time farming practices from several countries in one place. I remember they were roasting a pig in one place in the park.

We stayed at the summer home of some friends. Their house is on a lake which can only be reached down a long stairway. After we got back from the park, I went swimming. While I was in the water, I saw Dad walking down the stairs, and then out onto the dock, and down the steps into the water. Seems like such a little thing. But it was big to him.

Wide smile on his face. By that time, he couldn’t walk very well. His illness bent him over, and his posture was pretty crooked. I hadn’t seen him swimming for many years. And there he was.

I don’t think he ever went swimming again. But he did that day, and I was so glad to be there.

As I write I realize the stories go on and on. Hope you enjoyed these two, Grace. God bless you!

Dave

We glorify and praise you, Lord. You have strengthened us and blessed our children within our gates. You send forth your command to the earth, and you spread snow like wool. Your words, Lord, are Spirit and life; you have the words of everlasting life.

 

Heaping coals of fire

March 3, 2016

Jesus was driving out a demon that was mute, and then when the demon had gone out, the mute man spoke and the crowds were amazed … Jesus said, “A kingdom divided against itself cannot stand, and house will fall against house … If it is by the finger of god that I drive out demons, then the Kingdom

of God has come upon you.”

– From Luke 11

Finger pointing. Hand wringing. Weak one sent to take on an impossible task. We are not as strong as we think we are.

Where does evil come from? And how do I respond to it, whether my own evil or yours? Why do I pretend to know more than I do?

Sometimes Jesus, who really is the strong one, points his finger – the finger of God – and the demon runs and screams and fades away. The evil is named and removed, and the mute one speaks. We are all amazed.

Or Jesus holds his tongue and keeps God’s finger to himself, as he did on the way to his crucifixion.

Or he excoriates hypocrites with angry sarcasm, as he did the Pharisees. In the face of evil, he spoke up. But he must have known his words would only reinforce their mislaid self-righteousness.

Dallas Willard points out that Jesus was the smartest man who ever lived.

So Jesus was practical and creative, imaginative and intuitive, aware of God’s touch on each moment and also aware of God’s big picture.

Jesus was the best tactician who ever lived, and he also understood strategy – our Father’s strategy – better than any one of us has before or since. Plus, he saw with clear eyes into the motivations and true desires of his friends, his listeners, those he healed, and his enemies.

A young boy complains about being bullied at school. Then within a couple of minutes he flicks his little sister’s stocking cap off her head. She puts it back on. He does it again, smiling. She hits him. The boy turns to tell his mom that she is hitting him.

Mom watches it all, and wonders what to do. Do something! Try stuff. Jesus always did something. We are not as strong, not as smart, and far less certain of ourselves. But we are Christ-followers. I think Jesus’ words contain a clue about how we go about trying stuff.

Divide and conquer.

Evil is not always easy to identify. Just like beauty, evil can be in the eyes of the beholder. Projection is not just a river in Egypt. But when I am patient, reflective, and as sure as I can be that what I see is evil, then … divide and conquer. A kingdom divided against itself cannot stand.

Do not have give and take with evil. Separate victim from perpetrator. Turn to God and away from the devil. Hold up the cross. Find something that is as certainly good as the other is evil, and do it. Say it. Be it.

Never do we overcome evil with evil. Only overcome evil with good.

Jesus’ fierce commitment to goodness and love is what beat back the demon.

And in that blooming-good-garden-moment, the mute man speaks.

Thank you for your powerful finger, Father, pointing right in and right at what needs to be loved. Your love is tough, fierce, gentle, kind. Caught in the grace of your love, evil falls into pieces that fly away in the wind. Mold me, make me with that power too, in your boundless love.

 

Jack and Grandpa playing checkers at Cracker Barrel on the day after Thanksgiving

There is a balm in Gilead

March 4, 2016

O Israel, you have collapsed through your guilt. Take with you words, and return to the Lord, and say to him, “Forgive our sins, and receive what is good … we shall no more say “Our God” to the work of our own hands. For in you the orphan

finds compassion.

– From Hosea 14

At this 21^st century moment in the flow of God’s creation, as we live out our personal version of dust unto dust, we try to call our sin something else. We blame the catastrophes of our culture on “structural” sin or “institutional” sin. We mostly see ourselves as victims rather than culprits.

And we ARE victims. Hosea says we are orphans. But when we deny our complicity in the chaos, we might as well bite our own lips, hit our own chests, cut our own forearms, and bang our own heads against the wall, all the while refusing to look in the mirror at the bruises we are giving ourselves. Sinners. We are.

The ugliness we call “structural” stains my soul. I am part of it, and it is part of me. And I must speak up, especially to God. I cannot pretend I am above it all, or I die inside. David describes this plight in Psalm 32: “When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. Day and night your hand was heavy on me; my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer. Then I acknowledged the guilt of my sin … and you forgave.”

When I speak, God listens. And when he speaks back to me, I remember once again “my hiding place, where he protects me from trouble and surrounds me with songs of deliverance.”

This hiding place, even as suffering and danger and abuse continue. This deliverance, even when my inner freedom is visible to no one but myself. God’s absolutely certain goodness sings inside my soul, but it might not soothe or smooth my skin. The world seems to be getting worse, even in the midst of my song.

But this is where God’s strength flows into us. Never forget we have allegiance to another world. We are all children of God. And we children need to sleep with bread together. When we separate from God and each other, we are truly orphans. But in the world God makes new every day, the truth is that we are one.

Jesus calls out, “Hear o, Israel! Love the Lord your God, and love your neighbor as you care for yourself.” We are in this all together.

Lord, we take our lives into our own hands and stab each other rather than rub each other’s back. Forgive me, Father, when in my mind and heart I turn and want to hurt rather than heal. All to protect myself. What a waste! Show me my sin, and teach me the art of confession, and forgive me, Lord.

The art of confession

March 5, 2016

Let us return to the Lord. He has struck us but he will bind our wounds. He will revive us after two days; on the third day he will raise us up, to live in his presence. Let us strive to know the Lord: as certain as the dawn is his coming, and his judgment shines forth like the light of day. He has come to us like the rain, like spring rain that waters the earth … Jesus said, “The tax collector stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed, ‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’”

– From Hosea 6 and Luke 18

Sing the song you’ve known forever … “I come to the garden alone … and he walks with me and he talks with me, and he tells me I am his own. And the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known.”

Hosea knows from bitter experience about sinning and being sinned against. His story makes ours look simple, but truly we too have sinned and been sinned against. How do we handle this?

We learn the art of confession.

The song you sang, “In the Garden,” suggests that we tarry awhile with God. Wait and sit with him, and be quiet together. Look at him, and then he looks at you, and then you look back at him. Be still. Tarry awhile.

St. Ignatius told his Jesuits that it was okay if they occasionally missed Mass, but they should NEVER miss the daily review he called the Examen. There are five steps to this prayer, which fit nicely into the acronym TARRY. Imagine that!

Tell God you’d like to talk

Appreciate and thank God for his presence

Review the events of your day and Reflect on your Response to those events

Repent when you need to, and Receive forgiveness

Yes! You’ll do this again tomorrow

In this way you assure a daily rest with your daily bread. You learn to say, “Have mercy on me, a sinner.” And above all, you learn how to receive forgiveness. It is never OK to leave step four without receiving forgiveness. God forgives me, and I receive it.

Lord, how-to’s like this give me confidence. There is something I can do in the face of all disaster, and all brokenness, and all sin. I can speak up. “Have mercy on me, a sinner!” Thank you for teaching me to speak, and showing me over and over not only that you listen, but that you forgive me. Free me from fear, Father. Hold me in your arms.

 

Sitting on a cornflake

Fourth Sunday of Lent, March 6, 2016

We are ambassadors for Christ, as if God were appealing through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who did not know sin, so that we might become the righteousness of God in him.

– From 2 Corinthians 5

Paul’s poetry rings true. God makes himself weak to be strong, and we are called to the same path. Come join us, Paul says, and be reconciled to God. Become the righteousness of God in Christ. Richard Rohr writes, “Jesus came to give us the courage to trust and allow our inherent union with God, and he modeled it for us in the world.”

The big words shake out to simply mean that Jesus is the groom, and we are the bride. This is more than metaphor. Rohr continues, “The very daring, seemingly impossible idea of union with God is still something we’re so afraid of that most of us won’t allow ourselves to think of it … but the Eastern Fathers of the Church saw it as the whole point of the Incarnation and the precise meaning of salvation.” They called it “divinization.”

Another big word. John Lennon of the Beatles wrote, “I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.” But the many single syllables are just as confusing as the one big word. Who is who?

Perhaps this is not meant to be explained or even written about, except in poetry. Marital union is intimate and intended to be kept a secret between two lovers. God’s love for me is like that. And he wants my love for him to be like that. As Jesus prayed for us, “As you, Father are in me, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe” (John 17).

The prayers of Jesus and Paul recall how God spoke his love to Abram, “I will bless you and make your name great … and in you all the families of the earth will be blessed” (Genesis 12). God’s love draws me into him and then I pour out what he’s given me onto all the world. This flow of love never ends. It just keeps going and going and going. Even unto the end of the world.

Father, in you we are made a new creation. Old things have passed away, and behold, the new has come. All this from you, Lord, and I will bless you at all times. Your praise shall ever be in my mouth. Let my soul glory in you; let others hear me and be glad. I seek you and you answer me and deliver me from all my fears. Even today, Lord, let me taste and see your goodness.

 

 

Far too easily pleased

March 7, 2016

There shall always be rejoicing and happiness in what I create. I create Jerusalem to be a joy and its people to be a delight, and I, the Lord, rejoice in Jerusalem and exult in my people … Jesus returned to Cana in Galilee, where he had made the water wine.

– From Isaiah 65 and John 4

We asked our host Max, an Italian bed and breakfast owner who was learning English, “Max, do you eat to live? Or do you live to eat?” He looked confused, and then a light broke over his face and he smiled, “Oh, yes! I live to eat!”

Those Mediterranean folks with their olives and their bread and their wine, how they do live their lives. They take naps in the afternoon and sit together for long dinners at sunset. There is always too much food. Maybe they don’t get as much done as the Germans, but they smell the roses and invented cappuccino. And they never seem to gain weight.

I have no business turning away from this way of life. Eating to live makes all kind of sense, but living to taste and smell and touch and hear and see is what I’m made for.

1. S. Lewis wrote in The Weight of Glory, “If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak!”

The much-abused word erotic insistently means “life-force.” Of course it has something to do with sex. Sex and all kinds of other stuff. We get sidetracked and think we have found the heavens when we’re just on a little hill. Lewis says it better:

“We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.

“We are far too easily pleased.”

Would you like a little bread with your wine? Yes, but so much more and more and more. Infinite joy to share that wine with all. Thousands are suddenly fed with a bit of fish and seven loaves. God gives it, and we give it all away.

Whether or not I live this out in my lifetime, Lord, there is no end to your generous gifts, and I can’t give them away as fast as you pour them out. You prepare tables in the presence of my enemies, and beckon us all, “Come and eat!” Always, there is joy in the morning.

Give us this day our daily bread

March 8, 2016

At the pool of Bethesda, Jesus saw a man who had been ill for thirty-eight years. Jesus asked him, “Do you want to be well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me.” Jesus said to him, “Rise, take up your mat, and walk.” Immediately the man became well,

took up his mat and walked.

– From John 5

The Linns begin their book Sleeping with Bread with this story:

Following the bombing raids of World War II, thousands of children were orphaned and left to starve. The fortunate ones were rescued and placed in refugee camps where they received food and good care.

But many of these children who had lost so much could not sleep at night. They feared waking up to find themselves once again homeless and without food. Nothing seemed to reassure them.

Finally, someone hit upon the idea of giving each child a piece of bread to hold at bedtime. Holding their bread, these children could finally sleep in peace.

All through the night the bread reminded them, “Today I ate and I will eat again tomorrow.”

This “simplest book we have ever written” focuses on asking both sides of one question. “What am I most grateful for?” And “for what am I least grateful?” End your day, alone or in communion and discussion with others, asking those reflective, recollective questions.

In this way I find myself practicing the Examen, examining the good and the bad, what I’ve done and what has been done to me, and talking about it with God.

Imagine the man at the pool of Bethesda. Crippled for 13,879 days, one after another after another. All our lives are like that. We live them one day at a time, one after another. We grow accustomed to the repetition and notice little or nothing. The sun comes up, and sun goes down; life gets teejus, don’t it? We don’t even know it, how we start walking down the flat-line of life outside the Garden of Eden and slowly fall asleep. Boiled frogs.

Then one day Jesus walks up and asks, “Do you want to be well?” At least let me be alert enough to recognize him and realize that he’s talking to me! And I want to be ready to say, “Yes!”

So every day of my life, I can ask those simple questions, and notice in my daily rest how I’ve been fed my daily bread. Falling asleep I know I’ll be fed again tomorrow, because I am holding the bread of life right there in my hands. And the next loaf … well, Jesus just might be bringing that to me himself.

Wherever your river flows, Father, you provide abundant life. Every day fresh waters for us to drink. Your fruit ripens on the trees and in the fields, and by that harvest we are fed and we are healed. We can hold our loaves of bread, and eat them, and sleep with them and be ready for whatever you have for us next. You alone, O Lord, make us dwell in safety.

 

 

Johnson Siding Elevator during harvest, ¼ mile from our dairy farm near Lincoln, Illinois, where I grew up

Put your hand in the hand

March 9, 2016

Jesus answered the Jews, “My Father is at work until now, so I am at work.” For this reason they tried all the more to kill him, because he not only broke the sabbath but he also called God his own father, making himself equal to God. Jesus answered, “The son cannot do anything on his own but only what he sees the Father doing; for what he does, the Son will do also.

For the Father loves the Son.

– From John 5

Another question the Linns suggest in Sleeping with Bread is “When today did I have the greatest sense of belonging to myself, others, God and the universe? And when did I have the least sense of belonging?”

In my time alone – when was I lonely and when was I content? In my time with others – when did I feel isolated, and when did I feel a touch of oneness?

I tend to forget who made the world. In my universe – where was God? Where was I?

Storge is a Greek verb which means love. Specifically, it means the love of belonging. When I come home and feel safe, when I can put my feet up or say what I want, I know the love of belonging.

Oikos is a Greek noun which means family. Who are the ones you trust with at least part of your life? Who has your back? Who loves you? To whom do you belong? Who belongs to you?

When I hear Jesus speak of his relationship with his Father, I understand how his disciple John could say, “God is love.” The dance of love between Jesus and his Father entranced his disciples, and it entrances me. What grace and beauty in those moves! They embody belonging, and the dancers invite every one of us to join them.

Were the Pharisees jealous, or slow, or narrow in their imagination? What kept them from wanting what Jesus had rather than resenting that he had it?

Of course my selfishness prevents me from belonging fully to another or to God or even to myself. The same selfishness infected the Pharisees. Because of their own sin, they rejected the evidence of that belonging in Jesus’ life. They were blind. But I am too. It’s just too good to be true. Let’s hang on to what we’ve got.

As Jesus pointed out over and over, when we cry out to God in our selfishness, “Have mercy on me, a sinner!” God does indeed have mercy. God is love. He burns with desire for us to be love, too. Yes, let’s hang on to that.

God, you tell me in so many ways that I belong to you. I am safe with you. I am a cherished and precious member of your family. You will do anything for me. Burn out my unbelief, Lord, and make me new today and tomorrow … I believe. I belong. I am loved. You are my God. We dance together forever.

How we come to be free

March 10, 2016

Jesus said to the Jews, “The works that the Father gave me to accomplish and that I perform testify that the Father has sent me. But you have never heard his voice nor seen his form, and you do not have his word remaining in you, because you do not believe in the one whom he has sent. You search the Scriptures because you think you have eternal life through them; even they testify on my behalf. But you do not want to come to me to have life … How can you believe, when you accept praise from one another and do not seek the praise that comes from the only God?”

– From John 5

Jesus’ question is rhetorical. The answer is, “We cannot.” We cannot believe.

I feel Jesus’ tears falling on my head as he holds my face in his hands and implores me to “seek the praise” that comes from God. Do not be afraid, my son. Come and see.

When I watch Pope Francis laughing, and know how he surprises a stranger on the phone time after time and just listens, I am less afraid. Come and see.

Jesus was busy, and Jesus was very spiritual. He spent lots of time alone with his Father. Still, he had breakfast and lunch and dinner with tax collectors! When a man or woman asked him to stop and heal, he stopped and healed. He laughed and prayed and ate and prayed and slept and prayed, and woke up again and prayed.

Jesus said his life “testified that the Father has sent me.” He told his disciples, “He who has seen me has seen the Father.” That was true for everyone. And he prayed it would be true for us too. For me and for you.

When he was only twelve, Jesus held the “teachers of the law” spellbound with his unexpected questions and imaginative answers. His theology was incomparable, logical and creative. But he wrote nothing down. He spent his time with the folks. And he told them stories that made God come alive and assured them that they were free.

In the midst of Roman occupation, they were free. With hundreds of Jewish rules to follow and penalties that extended even to death, they were free. In the midst of their selfishness and lust and fear, they could trust God’s mercy and forgiveness, and they were free. So are we.

Jesus wept. “You do not want to come to me to have life.” If you do these things in the greenwood, what will happen in the dry? Yes, they crucified him, and I do too. We choose death, not life.

Still, God is more real than that lousy choice, and God is love. And Jesus is the one who wins, not the devil. He is here, and in him I can choose today to seek the praise of God. Come and see.

Your freedom seeks me in the dark dark night, Lord. I wake up from my dream and know how close you are, and when your hand finds my face I weep with joy. Putting aside all, you come to be with me. And I can put aside all and follow you. You made me to be free, and I am. I am free.

 

 

 

Pat Rogers, Don Savaiano, Margaret and turkey (well, actually, chicken)

 Good spirit speaks

March 11, 2016

Jesus cried out as he was teaching, “You know me and also know where I am from. Yet I did not come on my own, but the one who sent me, whom you do not know, is true. I know him, because I am from him, and he sent me.” So they tried to arrest him.

– From John 7

This lack of recognition made no sense to Jesus. He knew the spirit within him was God’s spirit, and he knew it was visible in the Scriptures, in his preaching, in his healing. One look into Jesus’ eyes should have been enough to know God was right there.

I spent the last couple of days traveling in a sleeper compartment on Amtrak’s Texas Eagle from Lincoln, Illinois to Austin, Texas. We are visiting Andi and Aki for a week or so. At dinner last night on the train, Sherry from Michigan told us a strange story about the night before. As the train rocked along, a young guy who had been on the train awhile woke up and realized his pants were gone. And his shoes, and his shirt were gone too.

He and his friend must have been really, really asleep! Sherry had an idea what had happened. Just a short while before, a couple got on the train. Sherry thought they took his clothes.

Why? Well, she didn’t know. But she said some­thing that struck me. “You know a bad spirit when you see one. And that couple had a bad spirit.” Her cer­tainty about that may have been misplaced, but probably not. Because when we look at each other, we can see so much more than we say, or probably should say.

When the Pharisees looked at Jesus, their eyes saw only what they knew could not be true. Nothing good comes out of Nazareth. Nobody can talk about God the way Jesus talks about God. Only God can forgive sins. Anyone who works (heals) on the Sabbath is a sinner, and the Messiah would never do that.

And on and on. They could never really see Jesus; they were blinded by all the stuff they saw before they ever got to his eyes.

How can we see into the eyes of Jesus? In our dreams, in our prayers sometimes, in the ecstatic or agonized stories of others. Where two or three are gathered, there is Jesus in our midst.

When you look into Jesus’ eyes, what do you see? The good spirit. God’s spirit. Life everlasting. Those deep eyes are full of love.

Ah yes, I am learning to love you, Lord. When I watch Jesus love his Father, and watch the Holy Spirit dance in Jesus’ words and walk and touch and gaze, I learn to love you. We are so blessed to be your children. We are alive because you give us life. Open my mouth and teach me more and more the words to sing.

Joy to the fishes in the deep blue

sea, joy to you and me

March 12, 2016

Jeremiah prayed, “Let me witness the vengeance you take on them, for to you I have entrusted my cause.” … Of Jesus, the guards said, “Never before has anyone spoken like this man.”

– From Jeremiah 11 and John 7

We sing, “We want to be like you, Jesus.” Can you imagine singing, “We want to be like you, Jeremiah?”

No! Jeremiah was a bullfrog (just kidding). But none of us want to be covered over with the depression and bitterness Jeremiah showed in his prayers.

Jesus came to show us how to become one with God. He was filled with the Holy Spirit, and together they empty themselves into the Father, and the three dance everlasting as one. Come and do this with me, Jesus says, and follow my steps, and join us on the dance floor forevermore.

But isn’t there something about Jeremiah’s position on his knobby angry knees that draws me in? Isn’t it nice to feel self-righteous, just for a moment here and there? “I never understood a word he said, but I helped him drink his whine.” He always had some mighty fine whine.

Reading into chapter 12, it’s clear that Jeremiah’s feeling about life mirrors God’s. In the next chapter God cries out his own despair. “I have abandoned my house, cast off my heritage; the beloved of my soul I have delivered into the hand of her foes … My heritage is a prey for hyenas, is surrounded by vultures; come, gather together, all you wild animals, come and eat!

“The whole land is desolate because no one takes it to heart … They have sown wheat and reaped thorns, they have tired themselves out for no purpose; they are shamed by their harvest: the burning anger of the Lord.”

If there’s anything that I love about God in the Bible, it’s the way he speaks his mind and pours out his feelings. We can do the same, and both Jeremiah in his way and Jesus in his do just that.

God turns back toward his people in chapter 29, with some of the most confident and comforting words in Scripture. “I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and future. Then you will call on me, and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

“I will be found by you.”

Lord, thank you for making me a thinking, feeling, imagining person in your world. But remind me that all those ways of being in your world do not mean that my ways are your ways. Your thoughts are higher than my thoughts. So I fall on my knees and worship, trust and obey, be still and know that You are God. No matter what. And gradually I become accustomed to the strangely luminous darkness I encounter in your presence, and love you more and more.

 
The lion and the lamb

Fifth Sunday of Lent, March 13, 2016

At dawn Jesus appeared again in the temple courts, where all the people gathered around him, and he sat down to teach them. The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group.

– From John 8

(I wrote this in 2001 … whenever this text comes up in the lectionary, I think of this. So here it is again.)

Her eyes were slits. She was angry and embarrassed. For one thing, the police had ripped her clothes nearly to pieces before throwing them at her. Their lustful looks were not lost on her. Even with her eyes nearly shut she saw everything she needed to see.

Soon would come the stones. She had seen this once. She was a little girl holding onto her mother’s hand. Loud shouts and ugly laughter and men throwing rocks. She held on tighter and squinted her eyes. She caught a glimpse of a man’s face. Leering, awful, selfish face.

She saw that same look this morning. Magnified, merciless… men who hated something … not her, she knew they didn’t really hate her, but something … yet it was her they pointed at, they yelled at her, tore her clothes, laughed that ugly laugh, and soon they would begin to throw the rocks. Their hatred was going to kill her.

They were taking her to the temple. Their temple…she had not been there in awhile. She heard them talking about Jesus. Someone had told her about Jesus. Her friend told her he was easy to talk to. What he said didn’t always make sense, but it seemed like he understood. Her friend felt happy and strong when she left him. Right now she was feeling very weak, jelly and water. She couldn’t walk, really; she stumbled.

They picked her up and threw her forward. In silence she squinted ahead toward the temple. It looked like a prison. People were screaming at her. Little girls were holding their mothers’ hands and hiding their faces. She felt the strange hatred on her skin and waited for the rocks.

(To be continued … )

Lord, there is no excuse for what we do. We turn the kingdom of God into a prison when you intended it to be a party. To avoid looking at ourselves we leer at others. I am sorry. Forgive me. Turn my eyes toward home.

 

 

The kingdom of God is a party

March 14, 2016

They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now, what do you say?” Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” And again he stooped down and wrote on the ground.

– From John 8

(This is the second part of what I wrote in 2001.)

The woman felt reality tipping and knew she couldn’t move another step. She fell over and fainted. The men slapped her and woke her up, inside the temple, lying on the ground in a heap. Faces everywhere against the gray sky, looking down at her. The shouts had subsided; and they were talking about her, accusing her, pointing to the man they called Jesus.

She opened her eyes and saw his face. He looked at her. She saw he was not afraid to let her look inside him. He had nothing to hide. For the first time, she stopped thinking about the rocks.

In this new wonderful air, she heard his words clearly. Then he spoke no more, almost as if he were ignoring the men. She knew he was not ignoring her. She felt his presence all around, she felt safe, she felt a pillow under her head. For the first time she could remember, she began to relax.

Her eyes were open wide. She saw the men leave one by one. She saw their disappointment and their shame. She saw them choosing how to live. She saw that Jesus understood them and had given them a chance to change.

Finally only Jesus was left with the woman. He straightened up and asked, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” “No one, sir,” she said.

“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.”

Jesus, what you say to me is just what you say to the woman. And with my eyes open wide I too see your love for me. I am safe and sound and home again. Close my eyes to the ugly selfish sin that calls me away, betrays me and eventually condemns me. I choose you.

He gives us all his love

March 15, 2016

Whenever anyone who had been bitten by a serpent looked at the bronze serpent, he lived … The Lord looked down from his holy height, from heaven he beheld the earth, to hear the groaning of the prisoners, to release those doomed to die … Jesus said, ““When you lift up the Son of Man, then you will realize that I AM, and that I do nothing on my own, but I say only what the Father taught me. The one who sent me is with me. He has not left me alone, because I always do what is pleasing to him.” Because he spoke this way, many came to believe in him.

– From Numbers 21, Psalm 102, and John 8

It isn’t complicated when God does the looking. When God looks down on us, he gives us all his love.

When we look up at God, we might not even be looking in the right direction. And often, we’re looking up at God because we need something. We are mostly interested in being happy, healthy and whole, and so we look up to God to ask about that. Where is God? God is where his blessings are.

God is generous. He touches us with his healing, and his prosperity, and his wisdom. He blesses us beyond measure, beyond our ability to comprehend or receive. We look up after we’ve been bitten by the serpent, and we live.

Except that sometimes we die. Sometimes we are broken by circumstances. Sometimes we or others must endure incomprehensible abuse or rejection.

Teresa of Avila wrote that in our prayer we eventually learn to seek the God of consolations rather than the consolations of God. Notice the difference. We come to this by getting to know the Father, and the times we get to know him best are when he accompanies us through our own suffering.

What is Jesus saying when he tells us, “I always do what is pleasing to my Father?”

Randy Newman sang, “He knows how hard we’re trying … If you need someone to talk to, you can always talk to him.” It is pleasing to the Father for his son to talk to him. Their conversations would have been legendary if only they had been recorded. We are left to discover the joy of dialogue with God for ourselves, especially in the midst of suffering.

One thing I am sure of: God looks down on me with all his love. Jesus showed us that over and over, and we can follow him through our own stations of our own cross, and keep looking up. The serpent has no more juice, and death has no more sting.

Lord, let all creatures past and future, and let us today come to you. Hear our prayers. Hide not your face from us in the days of our distress. Incline your ear to us, O Lord, and answer us when we call. Release us, or we are doomed to die. Always in you there is more light, more life that rises up to meet us evermore.

 Even if he does not

March 16, 2016

Nebuchadnezzar rose in haste.

– From Daniel 3

This has all the makings of a great story. A righteous Hero (three of them), an unrighteous Rat (and his rat cronies), and a Rescuer (who looks like the Son of God). The fire hasn’t got a chance.

Daniel’s story of King Nebuchadnezzar is one of the best in the Bible. He rises up in pride and arrogance and then falls on his face in humility and shame. His court is corrupt and eventually he is cast out into the desert for a long period of solitary confinement. He relates to everyone, especially God, with passion and imagination. He sins boldly.

And in this story he wonders if he did the wrong thing. He loved his Hebrews and had no desire to destroy them. Maybe Nebuchadnezzar was tricked into making this requirement that everyone worship him and nothing else. But he had to save face, and they were tossed into the fire.

Shadrach had told him, “We know our God can protect us from the fire. But even if he does NOT, we will worship him and not you.” God is God and you are not. King Neb was enraged, but after the adrenalin faded he was also convicted.

And then, beyond all possibility, his satraps came to him with news. There they were, all three, still standing. The fire burned but they did not. They had been covered by their companion, who was brighter than the fire, hotter than the fire, stronger than the fire, but not destructive like the fire.

White light like this blinds us and burns us, as it did Isaiah when he was commissioned in God’s temple. We must be purified. And then we are not harmed any more by the holy fire. We become part of it, and our lives are changed forever.

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego came out of the furnace without their companion, but with the glow of holiness. King Neb watched. He was amazed. He fell to his knees. But he did not join them in their worship, and I think their lives took very different directions after he made this choice. King Neb saw; but really, he didn’t see.

That kind of blindness rushes toward me every day. I need not look beyond what works for me and protects me in the moment, my own rules of confinement, terms of endearment, my own established world. Jesus spoke into the life of the cripple at the pool as he looked into his eyes, and the cripple gave up his world, and he was healed. King Neb was not.

Jesus’ eyes. King Neb did not look into the eyes of Jesus. God would have showed him how. He shows me too, and all I have to do is let him.

At the brink, Lord, of one thing after another, teach me to lift my eyes up and see how close you are. Nothing else matters. Your goodness changes everything.

 

For better or for worse

March 17, 2016

To Abraham, God said, “I will maintain my covenant with you and your descendants after you throughout the ages as an everlasting pact, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you. I will give to you and to your descendants after you the land in which you are now staying … On your part, you and your descendants after you must keep my covenant throughout the ages.”

– From Genesis 17

It almost seems like an afterthought, the second part of God’s statement to his friend Abraham. And we have treated it that way. We expect God to be faithful to us, but we can be very careless with our commitment to God.

God’s motivator is always his love for us. Our motivators are various and mostly ineffective: guilt, shame, family history, promises of prosperity, and … the good one: love.

By the rivers of Babylon God’s people sang, “How can we sing the song of the Lord in this strange land?” Graham Nash wrote, “You, who are on the road, must have a code that you can live by.” We need the strongest motivators we can find, because otherwise we will become lost.

God never gets lost. Lost is not something God does. We do not understand his ways, but we can be sure that God is not lost. And we can be sure that God loves us. This is what Jesus came to share, and he called it the Kingdom of Heaven.

Always when I think of God’s love I want to ask, “What is my part?” But I’m not sure if that’s the right question. I can spend time with God, learn his precepts and apply them as honestly as I can, refrain from dishonesty and selfishness. I can give more rather than less to others, and receive with grace what they have for me. I can release my fears to God, laugh more, relax, and run the race I’m given to the last step. This is some of what I can do.

And then I die. Enough? Often it doesn’t feel like enough.

But God does not die. God sustains his covenant with us through my diminishment and death, as he has through the life and death of all our ancestors, as he will through the life and death of all our descendants. God isn’t going anywhere. God does not get lost, and God does not die.

Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father; there is no shadow of turning with thee; thou changest not, thy compassions, they fail not; as thou hast been thou forever will be. Great is thy faithfulness! Great is thy faithfulness! Morning by morning new mercies I see; all I have needed thy hand hath provided; great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

– lyric from “Great is Thy Faithfulness”

Our savior approaches

Jerusalem

March 18, 2016

If I do not perform my Father’s works, do not believe me; but if I perform them, even if you do not believe me, believe the works, so that you may realize that the Father is in me and

I am in the Father.

– From John 10

In the previous chapter of John Jesus heals a man blind from birth. Responses to this healing range from wonder to confusion to anger. The blind man’s parents only know that their son can suddenly see; they are afraid of the religious police and won’t say more.

The man who once was blind but now can see is thrown out of the synagogue. In his healing he has become anawim, one of the poor. Jesus finds him. The poor man worships Jesus. His sight has been made complete. But for the others – those who don’t think they are blind and who don’t think they need healing, this is not enough. It is never enough.

“We are the disciples of Moses!” We are exactly where we want to be in the lineage of the Jews. Our messiah will come just the way we say he will.

Why are they so determined that Jesus is not the Messiah? He continually points to their Scriptures for confirmation and performs works that God said the Messiah would perform. His praise goes to his Father, not to himself. He points to his Father as the source of all his miracles.

But he heals on the Sabbath. Over and over. The Sabbath is not a rule meant to punish people but a gift from their loving Father. “The Sabbath is made for man, not man for the Sabbath.” His statement of God’s joy and love has no effect on the religious police. The letter of the law gives them power. The spirit of the law might be lost, but no matter. Mercy has no place in their black-and-white world.

Jesus wants to reflect their gaze off him onto their Father. We all move from staring at ourselves to idolizing our parents to worshipping God. As my parents reflect God’s love and teach me to praise their Source rather than themselves, this can be a smooth process.

But the character of God can also become obscured. The Pharisees punished disobedience rather than praising obedience. They had lost their joy, and so their God seemed to have lost his. Jesus would have none of it. He walked into the Holy of Holies, into the Sabbath, and laughed and healed and relaxed in the arms of his Father.

So they tried to kill him. And he wept for those who tried to throw the stones. What will it take for their eyes to open? Must they die in order to live?

The answer is “Yes.” It is always, “Yes.” Having left the Garden of Eden, we must fall on our own swords for our eyes to open. But as Jesus rescued the Sabbath, so he also will rescue death for us, as we look up at his shadow on the sky and believe.

Lord, you are headed for Jerusalem. And it is there we will once again hear your words, see your miracles, and look into your eyes. This is a wonderful thing you allow us to do. Thank you.

 

 

The marvelous joy

of Joseph and Jesus

March 19, 2016

Jesus said to his parents, “Do you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

– From Luke 2

When he was just a wee little lad, full of health and joy, his father homeward came one night and said … “Son, where have you been?”

“In my father’s house,” Jesus answered him. Joseph went on with his dinner. The next day he continued teaching Jesus the art of carpentry. But I imagine he did not forget what Jesus said. And I think he knew what Jesus meant. God was as close as the porridge in their small home.

Jesus never apologized for spending time with either father. There was no need. The angel came to Joseph before the birth of his son and gave him peace. Joseph undoubtedly spent lots of time with God. They loved each other. And their son Jesus was blessed in every way. I imagine that as he told his listeners in Galilee that he “only did what he saw his Father doing,” he thought often of Joseph, too.

I want to be a father like Joseph. So do you. Or a mother. Or a friend. In those relationships where God touches me, and I touch my daughter, and she touches her husband, and he touches their son … in those relationships it is a joy to be held accountable by God and each other for our terms of endearment.

What are those terms? They include mercy and compassion, justice and truth, and most of all unconditional love. Commitment beyond conflict, beyond behavior problems, even beyond betrayal.

These are the powers that rest underneath God’s covenant with Abraham, and God’s covenant with David, and God’s covenant with Joseph, and God’s covenant with us. The foundation of our lives is the covenant we have with God.

Today is a day to honor Joseph, the father of Jesus. And we cling to those coattails, too, as we find our own way as parents of one kind or another, learning to love out of strength rather than need. When God makes you strong, you are strong indeed. Then the stuff of earth holds no threat. There is no fear in love.

There’s a loyalty, Lord, that’s deeper than mere sentiments, and a music higher than the songs that I can sing. The stuff of earth competes for the allegiance I owe only to you, Lord, the Giver of all good things. So if I stand let me stand on the promise that you will pull me through. And if I can’t, let me fall on the grace that first brought me to you.

• lyric from “If I Stand,” by Rich Mullins

 

 

For the sake of his

sorrowful passion

Sixth Sunday of Lent, March 20, 2016

The Lord God has given me a well-trained tongue, that I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them. Morning after morning he opens my ear that I may hear.

– From Isaiah 50

In 1905 Helena Kowalska was born in Cracow. A twentieth-century mystic, at age 20 she became Sister Faustina. Her short life of 33 years was full of visions of Jesus and conversations with him, which she described in her diary, Divine Mercy in my Soul. The book has become a bestseller. Sister Faustina’s prayer, now called the “Chaplet of Divine Mercy,” is recited daily by millions of people around the world, alone and in groups, in homes and churches and schools.

The central words are so simple: “Eternal Father, I offer you the body and blood, soul and divinity of your dearly beloved son, our Lord, Jesus Christ, in atonement for our sins and those of the whole world. For the sake of his sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.”

She was canonized in 2000. Saint Mary Faustina Kowalska, Secretary of Divine Mercy. That sounds kind of strange to my Protestant ears, but I am captivated by Sr. Faustina’s vision. God’s mercy for the world, poured out through Jesus, was all she saw.

Jesus saw that mercy; it was all he saw. Can I walk behind him today, waving palms, and see what he sees? “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest.”

At the edges of the parade frowning men walk with us, wearing suits and carrying walkie-talkies. Sunglasses hood their eyes. They don’t look friendly. There are no smiles among them. “Keep them quiet,” they say to Jesus.

But Jesus says, “Let the people praise me. If they keep silent, even the very stones of the street will cry out.”

It is an awesome thing when the power of good overtakes evil. It may not be immediately clear, but the evil powers of the world are being drowned in God’s love. “For the sake of his sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.”

Jesus carries on, and in this week of passion, we honor him and follow right along.

Held together by the tough sinews of love and mercy, Lord, you walk upright, weeping for the children, and tearing out the moneychanger. Teach the children well, and worry about nothing. You know what’s coming. We are afraid, but you are not. And we can walk with you today, and feel your joy even in the midst of all the pain.

Please, Jesus, don’t make waves

March 21, 2016

Mary took a liter of costly perfumed oil made from genuine aromatic nard and anointed the feet of Jesus and dried them with her hair; the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil. (Judas Iscariot complained). But Jesus said, “Leave her alone. Let her keep this for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

– From John 12

What are you talking about, Jesus? What is this about “burial”? Don’t be so negative. The people love you.

Didn’t you hear them shouting praises yesterday? They will never turn away from you again; their love was rich and strong. They believe in you, in your words, in your miracles. You have brought them the Kingdom of Heaven, and they love you.

Sure … we won’t always have you. Everybody dies. But not now. Not in the middle of the revolution of love. This is the most wonderful time in the history of God and his people. The dove of peace flies and God calls out, “This is my beloved son. Listen to him.”

I know the Pharisees don’t get it, and the scribes want to keep their power. But the people are finally feeling their strength, and they love you. All you have to do is let them. Keep a low profile for a few days during Passover, and everything will be fine.

Of course a lot of people resent the way you overturned tables at the temple. But you’ve always shaken things up; no one should be that surprised. And now you’ve gotten their attention, so you can talk about God’s love and the Kingdom of Heaven.

If things have changed, I just don’t see it. So stop all this talk about dying, Jesus. Let’s enjoy the festival. We can go back to being exalted by being humble … next week.

It must take such strength, Jesus, to protect the bruised reed and smoldering wick. Your work this week establishes justice on the earth. Your Father spreads out the earth with its crops and gives breath to its people and spirit to those who walk on it. Grasp me by the hand, Jesus, and show me the power of love. Stronger than death. Humble my desire to be strong, and let me watch how you continue to do only what you see your Father doing.

 

Break every rule in the book, Lord.

Be the Messiah that you are

March 22, 2016

The Lord called me from birth. He made of me a sharp-edged sword and concealed me in the shadow of his arm. He made me a polished arrow; in his quiver he hid me. You are my servant, he said to me … Jesus said, “One of you will betray me … he dipped the morsel and handed it to Judas. After Judas accepted the morsel, Satan entered him. So Jesus said, “What you are going to do, do quickly.”

– From Isaiah 49 and John 13

I know Jesus better than anyone else knows him. I know he holds God’s power in the shadow of his arm. He is the one who will turn our world right-side up again after all the Roman oppression. He will make Israel great again.

But why does he look at me like he does? He hands me the morsel of wine-soaked bread and says I will betray him. I don’t think so. If anything, he is betraying his Father if he doesn’t act.

When I was a boy, I thought when I first read Isaiah 49 that it was about me. But then when I met Jesus, I realized I was his helper. We have worked together, fought together, slept on the ground together, and now the time of God’s vengeance is at hand.

I looked for someone who loved God and man but could avoid compassion and compromise in order to reach God’s goals. Jesus is a communicator, and compassion rushes through his words and actions, but he does not compromise. So I will follow him (and lead him when necessary) toward the Goal. Together we will make Israel great again.

I know Jesus. When he is pushed to it, he will become the polished arrow of God. And the people will rally around him and rise up against Rome. I will get him the attention that he needs, put him into the public’s eye, and watch all the world change. God will lead us into battle, and we will be victorious.

You are only with us a little while longer, Jesus. It seems impossible for me to let you go. I want to cling to you, and die with you, and go wherever you go and not be alone. This is a moment of great fear for all of us, Jesus. Thank you for not leaving quite yet. Please don’t leave at all. Please.

Waiting without fear

March 23, 2016

I have become an outcast to my brothers, a stranger to my mother’s sons, because zeal for your house consumes me, and the insults of those who blaspheme you fall upon me.

– From Psalm 69

There is no music because this is not a movie. The dust is flying everywhere from running feet. Rumors fly even faster. The Sanhedrin watches Jesus’ every move, waiting for the right moment to arrest him.

We are like a tiny island in a giant sea. The people who praised Jesus when he entered Jerusalem go about their work, forgetting his existence unless they need him to heal their sons and daughters. The rabbis and teachers love to debate with this wise, road-worn teacher from the north, but they have no loyalty to him. His disciples are few. We are nearly alone. And the scribes stare silently at him, ugly in their scorn and dangerous in their fear of Jesus.

The Passover Feast is near. We prepare here as we would anywhere, securing a quiet place for our Seder and our dinner. Jesus goes to the temple every day and speaks his mind. He is as wonderful as ever in his words and deeds. We follow him, whisper among ourselves, wonder what will happen next. We understand very little, really.

But no matter. Jesus walks with God, and we walk with Jesus. There is air under his feet, even when he is burdened down with the pain of others. We watch his face change when he prays and know that God is as near to us as is Jesus.

Does it get any better than this? Never. No matter what happens, no matter how the scribes and Pharisees might turn their screws on Jesus, we know how God loves him, and how he loves us. Right inside our souls, Jesus pours his living-water-life. We are all so thankful. Jesus makes us into newborn children every single everlasting day.

Jesus, when you chose us we heard you say, “Follow me.” And so we did. So here we are. We wait with you, we watch with you, we are afraid for you even if you are not afraid for yourself. And still, whether in the light of dawn or dusk, you are the one who always has the right word to say, the right touch, always looking with such affection on the men and women who come to you. Thank you, Lord. You give us all your love.

 

Blood, sweat, and

the oil of gladness

Maundy Thursday, March 24, 2016

Behold he is coming, amid the clouds. And every eye will see him, even those who pierced him. All the peoples of the earth will lament him. Yes. Amen. “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “the one who is … and who was … and who

is to come. The Almighty.”

– From Revelation 1

Here. There comes a day of healing and anointing, and then the sweeping, sudden crash into a night of dawning death. We can’t keep up with it, this beginning and the end, all at once roaring through Jerusalem like a desert storm, hurricane of hate, holocaust.

Judas is gone now, and there are just eleven. Jesus looks on us so sad and kind. His cheeks crease with tears. He tells how much he loves us, and he insists to wash our feet. And then he calls out his command, “Love one another.” No matter what, even if you might be loving those who will abandon you. “Love one another as I have loved you.”

He set the bar so high! “The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me … to give you oil of gladness in place of mourning, a glorious mantle instead of a listless spirit.” Our spirits soar when we hear him read from the scroll of Isaiah. He calls us to the Way, and we will wear his mantle proud and hold the healing oil open in our hands to give away.

The sun has risen, and its light grows strong and bright. But afternoon rushes by, and the dark, and the night. We are settling in for Sabbath, and for Seder, and Jesus sits among us, and we know this might not ever be again. Oh no. Oh no.

No matter how we rushed around all day, now death will have its way. Not there, but here. Not then, but now.

Love one another. As I have loved you.

We learned it and it’s true: weeping may remain for a night, but joy comes in the morning. This morning too, Lord? Surely this morning too? We will not wear the robes of despair. You will anoint us all with the joy of gladness. Oh, Jesus, look upon us with your eyes of life. You give us all your love.

 

Dying without a doubt

Good Friday, March 25, 2016

There is no beauty that we should desire him. He is despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. We hid our faces from him. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows, but we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God and afflicted. But he was wounded for OUR transgressions, he was bruised for OUR iniquity. The chastisement for our peace was upon him, and by his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray. We have turned, every one, to his own way, and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.

– From Isaiah 53

He was cut off from the land of the living. And we too – cut off. There is only death in the afternoon, on this “good” Friday afternoon. And we are cut off.

The churches are empty, and his body and blood are gone. No bread, no wine, no statues or pictures of our Savior, because we are cut off.

Jesus is saving us, but we know this now, not then. Then … we watched the sky turn black and Jesus cry out seven words from the cross, and finally his head fell onto his chest and he was gone. His mother saw all of this and she wept and wept. “Oh, my God my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Vinegar and gall won’t slow this down. Jesus is cut off from the land of the living. Can’t we please just dry the sweat dripping down his face? The blood on his hands and feet thickens and turns black. His body – the body of our Savior is breaking into pieces. Our lives are breaking with it. The pain twists his face, and still … he says before anything, “Father forgive them. They do not know what they do.”

Richard Rohr’s thoughts about the Bible flicker on the screen. “In case after case, the victim becomes the real victor, leading Rene Girard to speak of ‘the privileged position of the victim’ as the absolutely unique and revolutionary perspective of the Bible.

“Without it, we are hardly prepared to understand the ‘folly of the cross.’ Without this bias from the bottom, religion ends up defending propriety instead of human pain, the status quo instead of the suffering masses, triumphalism instead of truth, clerical privilege instead of charity and compassion. And this, from the Christianity that was once ‘turning the whole world upside down’ (Acts 17:6).”

So on this Friday afternoon, whether in church or not, walk the Stations of the Cross and know what it means for Jesus to be a victim and hear him call us into following him. We cannot protect our strengths or create places of our own safety. We are victims too, and we die along with Jesus. But we need not be afraid.

For thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me, and the table you prepare in the sudden presence of my enemies is piled high with bread and honey and wine. Today I have eaten, and I will eat tomorrow. Lord, it is your bread I sleep with, and your living water which washes the sweat off my face. Turn our hearts toward home. No fear.

 

Jack is about to lose a tooth in his backyard

 

Receive, Lord

Easter Vigil, Saturday, March 26, 2016

Seek the Lord while he may be found. Call him while he is near. My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, declares the Lord … My word shall not return to me void but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it …

We who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death, so that we too might live in newness of life.

– From Isaiah 55 and Romans 6

This is the day of Easter Vigil. In Jerusalem, waiting ended Friday on Golgotha. When Jesus died there was no sense of expectation, no idea that he would rise again after three days. But we know what’s about to happen. As preachers proclaimed yesterday, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s comin’!”

At the end of this second day, baptisms and confirmations mark the end of waiting. Christ-followers commit their lives to Jesus. In monasteries new monks lie prostrate and face down before their brothers, as they have for centuries, and recite the “Suscipe”:

Receive, Lord, all my liberty, my memory, my understanding and my whole will.

You have given me all that I have and all that I am, and all of this I return to you. Dispose of me now entirely according to your will.

Give me only your love and your grace. With this I am rich enough, and this is all I ask.

The Suscipe (Latin for “receive”) is for all of us. Moses and Jesus said, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and mind and strength.” So much of loving is about giving and being given to. “All of this I return to you.”

I don’t need to second-guess God’s love for me, but sometimes I do anyway. Then “my liberty, my memory, my understanding and my whole will” get in the way of our relationship. But all these come from God. I’ve been GIVEN to. So I can give it back.

In When the Well Runs Dry, Thomas Green says that disciples of Jesus can reach a point where they “have no will of their own and yet they are intensely active. The will of the sea which is God has become the dynamic force of their lives, and all their energies are spent in responding fully to the ebb and flow of the tide.

“What is lacking in their life is tension … Where there is one will – God’s will – there is order. It is only where there are two wills – God’s and mine (even when we have the same goal) – that tension and disorder prevail.”

So, no lethargy or passivity marks this day of Easter vigil. Our wait for Jesus is intensely active, as Green says. We want to be as available as we can be to the will of our Father in the lives we have been given by him.

Dispose of me now, Lord, entirely according to your will. Give me only your love and your grace. With this I am rich enough. And this is all I ask.

 

O, how happy you have made me

Easter Sunday, March 27, 2016

God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and power. He went about doing good and healing all those oppressed by the devil, for God was with him.

– From Acts 10

And now, on the first day of the week, on the first day of the rest of our lives, Jesus is no longer in the tomb. They have not mistaken where they laid him. He is risen.

Not that this makes any sense to the religious police or the Roman soldiers, or to Caiaphas or to Pilate or to most of us. But to Procula, on the other hand, Pilate’s wife … there is about her some subtle rejoicing. Her dream surely must have come from God.

And for Mary the rejoicing is not a bit subtle. Suddenly she recognizes him and cries, “Rabbi!” Mary falls to her knees and clings to him, and Jesus tells her, “I have not yet ascended to the Father.” Wow! Jesus is alive! I remember our son Marc, age 5, launching from the Sunday School classroom like a reborn rocket yelling at the top of his lungs, “Jesus is alive!”

What happens in the tomb does not stay in the tomb. Jesus is alive. What manner of man is this, who heals everyone he touches and speaks clearly about the most mysterious things? And now he refuses to stay in his grave. Jesus is alive!

If your Easter celebration involves family and friends and a friendly church service, rejoice. Jesus is alive. If you are alone and want to be, or alone and forlorn, rejoice. Jesus is alive. If Easter bunnies and chocolate rabbits and jelly beans and marshmallow eggs are half price at Walgreens and you can’t wait to get there, rejoice. Jesus is alive!

Easter’s forecast in Urbana is for thunderstorms later in the day – black clouds and thunder claps overhead, lightning flashes in the afternoon. If you have time for a nap, it might be interrupted by a storm. And on the heels of that storm, the sun. Jesus is alive!

There are six more days and six more Sundays for us to celebrate Easter, before the church calendar gives way to Pentecost. Rejoice! Jesus is alive, and magic is afoot.

Lord we celebrate with all our might, we look up and see that you’re alive. No more death and no more night, no fear. Already and not yet you are all in all, and we can rest and work and play and sleep and live our lives with you. We are free indeed. You are so good – thank you, thank you, thank you, Jesus.

 

St. Kevin and the blackbird

March 28, 2016

I saw the Lord ever before me, with him at my right hand I shall not be disturbed … You have made known to me the paths of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence.

– From Acts 2 (referring to Psalm 16)

When Bernie Sanders was speaking this weekend, a sparrow flew up and paused on his podium. He smiled – everyone smiled. He appreciated his audience.

On Easter morning I read a story about a monk in the 6th century. His name was Kevin. Now, keep in mind that monasteries were rare in Europe, where Benedict was just beginning his ministry. Except in Ireland. Kevin founded a monastery there on a lake near Glendalough, an hour southwest of Dublin near Wicklow Mountains National Park. Glendalough (say it with feeling!) is a very beautiful place these days and was probably even more beautiful then.

Near the Upper Lake Kevin lived as a hermit for seven years. He didn’t eat much: nuts, herbs, and drank only water. Although his life was severe it was no different from those animals around him who also ate nuts, herbs, and drank only water.

He prayed in his hut, sometimes with his arms outstretched.  But his hut was so small that one arm reached out through the open window.

“Oh Lord I praise you and worship you. This is your day. Thank you for letting me live in it.” Kevin prayed. Then he opened his eyes, because he felt a blackbird settle into his palm. The blackbird brought the beginnings of its nest, and then as Kevin prayed, came back with more. Kevin knew he could not pull back his hand without destroying the life that was budding in the nest.

What would Kevin do? He left his hand for the blackbird, and for her eggs to hatch, and for the baby birds to grow and fly away.

Of course he did.

And now we know him as St. Kevin. What a wonderful story from Ireland of surrender and graceful listening.

Kevin heard the blackbird and he saw God. Jesus walked with him as he gathered nuts and herbs, and drank only water. He had very little else to occupy his mind; it was empty and ready to be filled.

This story was recounted by artist Christine Valters Paintner, who lives in Ireland and hosts the online Abbey of the Arts. Grace and hospitality are St. Kevin’s response to the blackbird. He had not planned for this, and he must have spent very little time thinking about how to extricate himself from this situation. He was simply too busy submitting to it.

So Christine asks, “How many times in our lives do we reach out our hands for a particular purpose, and something else arrives? But in our wiser moments we know that this is a holy gift we are invited to receive.”

And then Lord, may I simply become too busy submitting to it to notice my discomfort. Let me reset with you, let me rest with you today, Jesus. Let me flutter down and rest in the palm of our Father’s hand.

 

 

Yada, yada

March 29, 2016

Peter told the people, “Let the whole house of Israel know for certain that God has made Jesus both Lord and Christ. This Jesus whom you crucified.” … Jesus said to Mary Magdalene, “Go to my brothers and tell them I am going to my Father and your

Father, to my God and your God.”

– From Acts 2 and John 20

Jews listening to Peter – surely some of them challenged his words, “Know for certain.” Pilate wasn’t the only one to ask, “What is truth?” What can we know for certain?

No wonder science is so seductive. 2 plus 2 is four. Desire for mathematical certainty extends itself into the micro and macro worlds of our inhabitance. Gravity will surely bring me down. I can be certain about that.

We have been uncertain about certainty since the Fall, so painfully described in the story of Adam and Eve. In chapter one of his book Death on a Friday Afternoon, Richard Neuhaus describes before and after:

Before what we call the “fall” they knew the good in the fullest way of knowing, which is to say that they DID the good, they lived the good. They knew the good honestly, straightforwardly, simply, uncomplicatedly, without shame … Now they know no longer simply and directly, but reflexively; now they know in the consciousness of knowing.

This affects how we know God. The second-guessing, self-conscious mind is mostly not a mark of maturity but a womb for the false self, for what we usually call the ego. Our world becomes the only world that matters. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine. All this, while God watches, patiently or not.

The Hebrew verb yada, “to know” is rich in meanings, including to aspire to create our own truth. True knowledge of the good is, in Jesus’ words, “to love the Lord our God with all our heart and all our soul and all our mind, and your neighbor as yourself.”

God walks in our garden and does not shy from asking questions about our own truth, if we would only answer him when he calls. “Where are you, Adam?”

God’s questions come at us straight on. Who told us we are naked? Who so complexified our existence? From whence did we get this reflexive knowledge, so that we no longer simply know, but know only our act of knowing?

Where are you, my prodigal son, Adam? Into what distant country have you gone? The questions probe us all.

But Peter is not paralyzed by what he doesn’t know. He spent time with Jesus. “Let the whole house of Israel know for certain!” His friend Jesus is sure of what he knows. “I am going to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.”

Our treasured “knowledge of good and evil” gets thrown out with the bathwater. “My precious” – even Gollum’s ring is proven worthless. This visitation of God, the resurrection of Jesus, has thrown an infinite wrench into the finite works of the serpent.

We can know for sure again. All we have to do is answer God when he calls. “Where are you?”

Here I am, Lord.

 

Hickory, dickory, dock

March 30, 2016

Peter and John were going up to the temple area for the three o’clock hour of prayer.

– From Acts 3

By the end of today in the year of 2016 so far, we will each have been alive for 129,600 minutes. That is 90 x 24 x 60.

It’s only just turned spring! Time flies.

Macbeth was not so sure. Time made of him a captive and a fool, moving always at the wrong speed:

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets its hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

Ask the mavens living in nursing homes or monasteries, others, who have lived many a long year. What do they do to mark the ninth hour of their days?

Time it was,

And what a time it was, it was

A time of innocence

A time of confidences

Long ago it must be

I have a photograph

Preserve your memories

They’re all that’s left you

– Simon and Garfunkel, “Bookends”

In Praying With the Church, Scott McKnight asked himself and his readers one question: “Do you pray around your work, or do you work around your prayers?” Peter and John worked around their prayers. Many others do too, lots of priests, some monks and sisters, some of the rest of us. Many Muslims work around their prayers. The prayers always are the first priority.

But most of us don’t. We pray around our work. And thereby we lose our race with time, and find ourselves chasing the mouse in the nursery rhyme. Or we get caught on the gerbil’s treadmill, and then we die.

Not the way to go, I say. Work around your prayers, like Peter and John, and Jesus, and others that we know love God. Learn the art of the fixed-hour prayer, the liturgy of the hours, and life does not pass us by.

You are near me now, Father, and then again at noon and 3, and 6 pm, and always, Lord, you are near.

Time of refreshment

March 31, 2016

Jesus stood in their midst and asked, “Why are you troubled? Look at my hands and feet. It is I myself. Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you can see I have. While they were still incredulous for joy he asked them,

“Have you anything here to eat?”

– From Luke 24

We don’t do ourselves the justice God does for us. God’s joy over us can resonate like our joy for God-in-us. Those words get tied up on my tongue; here is how Psalm 8 puts it: “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have made us a little less than the angels and crowned us with glory and honor.”

Jesus brings the glory home. His body – Jesus’ resurrected physical body – rejoices with his brothers and sisters while he eats the meal he’s hungry for. Got milk? Forever after we too can eat what is put in front of us, and let our bodies lead the way to glory.

My body diminishes in strength and flexibility, and each of its important parts eventually wears out. My body dies. If I pretend this is not true, I will be disappointed!

But the moment with Jesus shows me what happens next. As our pastor said Sunday, perhaps even heaven is not our final destination. Our resurrected bodies will not inhabit a solely spiritual world, but a reborn physical one. Call it the Garden of Eden, as Genesis does.

This is the Good News for modern man. We need not be gnostic, barely breathing in suspended physicality. We don’t wait for heaven. We are alive and lifted up right now, in the presence of Jesus sharing our food and drink. The colors and tastes and smells and sounds and sights of our world are good, true and above all beautiful.

There are many awful things happening within me and around me. Great burdens, great pain, and great suffering flush out my pious innocence. What’s left? Not despair, but surrender.

What’s left is the determination to keep the journal: one good thing from today, one thing I’m grateful for. The One Thing shines through all the crud and creepy grimy gopher guts, all the suffering, all the evil. None of it is as real or true as the moment with Jesus when his mouth forms the words and he speaks them out, “Do you have anything to eat?”

We must not let each other forget it. Jesus is alive!

We put our hands together and praise your presence here, now, Jesus. When we open mouths to sing, we sing for joy and sing to you. You make all things new. You make us new. “New every morning is your love, O Lord; fresh your compassion daily dawns. New every morning is your mercy and grace, you are faithful, you are strong. Lord, we thank you for this day!”

– lyric from “New Every Morning” by Rory Noland

 
Solid rock

April 1, 2016

Peter spoke to the assembly of Jewish leaders in Jerusalem. “All of you and all the people of Israel should know that it was in the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarean whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead; in his name this man stands before you healed. He is the stone rejected by you, the builders, which has become the cornerstone. There is no salvation through anyone else, nor is there any other name under heaven given to the human race by which we are to be saved.”

– From Acts 4

I’m drawn to Peter’s power in these chapters of Acts. Like most of us, I prefer strength to weakness. I would rather experience self-esteem than self-hatred. I hope to feel some control in my own life rather than being controlled by others. But in all these preferences, I tend to stray away from Jesus’ constant, clarion call to be the last, not the first. He shows me by his example that death precedes resurrected life. There’s no way around it.

I want to perceive Peter’s love for his listeners, not envy his power over them.

Peter’s claim for Jesus as “the” way strangely confuses both Christians and non-Christians. Richard Neuhaus tries to clear this up by saying, “Christ is not my truth or your truth; he is the truth. He is not one truth among many. He is THE truth about everything that is true. He is the universal and cosmic truth.”

But who am I to claim that I have the truth and others do not? That isn’t how it works. Rather, as Neuhaus says, “Truth is not a possession under our control. The Christian claim is that we have been encountered by the truth revealed by God in Jesus Christ and by his grace we have responded to that encounter by faith.”

Neuhaus goes on to discuss both sides of the case for universal salvation. There is certainly a hell, but like many of us, Neuhaus hopes it’s empty.

Jesus is the cornerstone, not because he followed all the rules and believed the right things, but because he loved his Father with all his heart and soul and mind. And he loved his neighbor as himself. And he didn’t take any shortcuts. Ever. Jesus IS love. God is love.

It’s wonderful to have the opportunity to respond to God, respond to love, respond to being loved. But our response is not the cornerstone. Jesus is the cornerstone. That he was rejected does not make him the cornerstone. He is the cornerstone because he was “in the beginning with God.”

Neuhaus writes, “Everything that is true – in religion, philosophy, mathematics or the art of baseball – is true by virtue of participation in the truth who is Christ.” Dallas Willard said that Jesus is the smartest man who ever lived.

Lord, you are the foundation for all our lives. Your love reigns. Glory be to the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen!

 

 Day by day

April 2, 2016

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, and his mercy endures forever. I shall not die but live and declare the deeds of the Lord. The Lord chastised me harshly, but did not hand me over to death. The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. By the Lord has this been done; it is wonderful in our eyes. This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice in it and be glad.

– From Psalm 118

On Netflix, I watched “The ’85 Bears.” 15-1, Super Bowl winners – the only Super Bowl champion in Chicago Bear history. Mike Ditka, still smoking cigars and surprisingly humble. Buddy Ryan, in a wheelchair and full of love for his players. Jim McMahon, diagnosed with early onset dementia, doing jigsaw puzzles in Arizona, four at a time, as unpredictable as ever.

At the end of the show everyone said, “Of course. We’d do it all again.” It was a wonderful time. But circumstances changed and they could not repeat their success. Ditka said, “Before the Super Bowl it was WE. And after we won, it all became ME.”

Still, thirty years later affection and joy mark both players’ and coaches’ comments. Richard Rohr talks of moving from the “first half” to the “second half” of life, saying the transition comes via either great love or great suffering, or both. These guys have learned a lot, and left at least some of both arrogance and bitterness behind. Through their own great love and great suffering, they have moved into the second half of life.

Psalm 118 sings out gratitude for the past, encouragement in the present, and hope for the future. These are available to us all, every moment, regardless of the “chastisement” of the day. By the Lord this is done. Let us rejoice and be glad.

In the moment of quiet, Lord, open me right up to your love. Let me rest my eyes and see through yours. Let me rest my hands and be guided by yours. For you are good and your mercy endures forever.

I am involved in mankind

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Jesus breathed on his disciples and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.”

They carried the sick out into the streets and laid them on cots and mats so that when Peter came by, at least his shadow might fall on one or another of them. A large number of people from the towns in the vicinity of Jerusalem also gathered, bringing the sick and those disturbed by unclean spirits, and they were all cured.

– From John 20 and Acts 5

But this power is laid upon the foundation of love and mercy. We see so few healings in the West because we have forgotten that foundation.

Richard Rohr says, “Mercy refuses our capitalistic calculations, but most religion now offers no corrective to the culture.”

Thomas Merton’s poem says, “Make ready for the Christ, whose smile like lightning sets free the song of everlasting glory that now sleeps in your paper flesh.” We’ve gotten into a very self-centered place, where we live unawares, settled into our personal paper flesh.

Paper flesh not-caught-fire forgets two thousand years of Jesus’ teaching on compassion and mercy and settles for narcissism, self-protection and rage. Rohr speaks the obvious: “This is just way too small an agenda.”

Caught-fire-flesh weeps and bleeds for the immense suffering of the world. We are not separated and safe from that suffering as we might seem to be. The pictures on television flicker as we sit comfortably with food and drinks in easier chairs; but at night, remembering, we are stricken too. We are all one people. When one of us suffers, we are all diminished.

John Donne was not writing poetry but a sermon for his congregation when he wrote, “I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.”

For the sake of Jesus’ sorrowful passion, eternal God, have mercy on us and on the whole world. Your mercy is endless and your compassion an inexhaustible treasure. Increase your mercy in us and keep us from despair or despondency in the face of evil. Show us the way to submit with great confidence to your holy will, which is love and mercy itself.

 

 

 

When I look at you

Sunday, April 10, 2016

And I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, everything in the universe, cry out: “To the one who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor, glory and might, forever and ever.” The four living creatures answered, “Amen,” and the elders fell down and worshiped.

– From Revelation 5

Have you ever walked a labyrinth? There is a labyrinth just a few blocks from our house in Urbana. There is only one way through a labyrinth; and when you reach the middle, you rest and pray, then turn around and walk back the same way you came. Sounds simple, because it is.

Call it a walking meditation. Contemplation with your legs moving … no hurry … just a way to DO “being.” Be still and know that I am God. Walk a labyrinth, and know that I am God. Reach the center, say “Amen,” and fall down to worship.

What joy in heaven when we reach that place to say “Amen.” Every creature in heaven AND earth, and under the earth. What joy. All of us are known in every cell by God who makes us; and what’s more, we know we’re known.

A woman spent a restful night on retreat and in the morning walked to the bathroom. As she passed the mirror she glanced at herself and said, “No wonder God loves me!” What did she see? She didn’t think so highly of her looks. But she saw what she called “God-in-me.” She looked again and saw only herself.

Thomas Merton visited Louisville frequently to run errands for his fellow monks at the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky. Merton stood at the corner of Fourth Street and Walnut one day in 1958 and fell in love: “I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers … There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.”

The labyrinth at St. Louis’ Mercy Center is quiet and beautiful. At its entrance a welcome-stone carries Merton’s words. On warm days the stone soaks up the sun. It reminds me that God-in-me sings together with God-in-you, and God-in-all-of-us. The harmonies are sweet, and the echoes are infinite, and we all fall down and worship.

Lord, when I look at you I see your eyes open and friendly and full of hope. I see you beckoning to me, to us, as you sit on the edge of the well full of water, and I know I can come sit down and lean against your knees. Words aren’t what we share, but rich silence. When I look at you.

When you look at me

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me. I give them eternal life and they shall never perish; no one can take them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one can take them out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.”

– From John 10

My room of convalescence fills with sun by 6:30 each morning. Gradually its sky-blue walls brighten and rescue me from night. The weather this week has been wonderful. Beyond the open windows the chickens scrabble all day, hunting for worms.

But all those poetic lines from the Bible and other great poetry feel true to me. The hours before dawn can get very dark. Often it is difficult for me to swallow (tube down my throat during surgery?). Now and then I feel stretched out and torn inside at one particular spot on the right side of my abdomen. The swelling in both my legs got much more severe a couple of days ago, and I was surprised and scared.

And then of course there is the stiffness of every muscle in my left leg. Not to mention my new knee. Did I really need this new knee so much after all?

Everyone encourages me. It will get better. Do your exercises, do your work. Stretch and move and wear compression hose and get plenty of rest. Eat, drink, and do jigsaw puzzles, but don’t sit too long. Drink up the Cubs and other fine baseball vintages. Things will be better in the morning.

And they are. I notice some slight increase in range of movement every day, just a week after Dr. Kohlmann made the Long Incision. How thankful am I for that? Very Thankful!

At a day of reflection last week, a dozen of us were asked by our spiritual guides, Bridget and Eileen, to reflect on personal moments of call, search, struggle, breakthrough, and return – then to put those moments on a timeline. I don’t need to tell most of you that those moments usually occur at times of great love and great suffering.

Just now I have been massaging the sides of my knee. The shaved skin is growing out again. It’s a little red. The flesh is warm.

And it turns out that the best word for this warmth is not physical but spiritual. As I massage my leg, I feel the opposite of depressed. So many of you are praying for healing in my mind and body, and I feel it. I feel exalted. In spite of my turned-inward, Job-like self-pity, God loves me even through my own hands.

There is healing here. I would not know this if it were not true.

During our day of reflection, Bridget read a prayer from Thomas Merton’s Thoughts in Solitude. Thomas Merton knew he was exalted, knew how loved he was. He saw that we are all walking around, shining like the sun. He also “knew” how much he didn’t know.

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.

Still, Father Merton throws himself on the mercy of Jesus, and in doing so he is exalted. Life is beautiful.

Lord, when you look at me, you smile. You think of where I came from and where I’m going, so I don’t have to guess about what you already know. That’s enough for me. Your look is invitation enough for me to relax and simply BE your son. This created-me knows how much you love; and that it is good, right, true and beautiful for me to love, too. When you look at me.

 
Don’t kill the mockingbird

Sunday, April 24, 2016

I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, God’s dwelling is with the human race. God himself will always be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain, for the old order has passed away.”

– From Revelation 21

When Tom Robinson had been escorted “guilty” from the court, and while Atticus Finch gathered up his papers, the Negroes in the upstairs gallery reserved for them rose in silence. Reverend Sykes had brought Atticus’ children up to the gallery with him so they could watch their dad defend Tom. Reverend Sykes said to Scout, “Miss Jean-Louise! Stand up, Miss Jean-Louise. Your father’s passin’.”

In that moment of “To Kill a Mockingbird,” I burst into tears. I think I was weeping for the ageless awful sins of us in the world, our intended and unintended carelessness with each other’s dignity and our desperate self-protection, which closes our eyes and our mouths while we crave the false comfort that comes with walking away. So few of us walk toward. Still, I am thankful for them.

Actor Gregory Peck, quietly stating the heroism in Atticus Finch, won the 1963 Oscar. But in truth, Atticus could neither save nor protect. His children were attacked and nearly killed, and Tom Robinson was shot attempting escape. Atticus drove to Tom’s home, where the family sat outside talking of the coming appeal. “There will be no appeal,” Atticus told them. “Tom’s dead.” And Tom’s mother just fell down on the floor and cried.

No more death! No mourning or wailing or pain, no more. Revelation is the story of “already, but not yet.” We still die and feel great pain. We wail. We whisper, “I’m sorry for your loss. … Let me sit down with you while you thrash about and scream your sadness out.” Already in this, even this, we throw ourselves into the arms of God. He holds us there with all his strength. And his hands are touching our faces, and he is wiping every tear away from all our eyes.

In the morning we go on to the next day. A great “not yet” breathes all through the day. Friday’s here, but Sunday’s coming.

I have no doubt that Reverend Sykes took Tom’s mother in his arms, in his spiritual arms, and preached the hope of Jesus to her and to her family and to her friends. And they wept storms of tears, and they knew God’s touch and God’s healing.

Evil is nothing more than the absence of goodness. It has no original source or meaning or substance. The “old order” never existed except as an absence of what is Real and True. Jesus came to break through the old lie and rescue us all.

Need a reminder? Stand up, Miss Jean-Louise! Your father’s passin’.

Lord, in our weakness you are strong. We can trust you to protect the core of our being and save us for yourself. We need not fear evil, because your good has never left us, and your love has never washed away. We are safe with you. You are what makes us whole.
Leave the light on for me

Sunday, May 1, 2016

Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever loves me will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our dwelling with him.”

– From John 14

As T.S. Eliot’s “cruelest month” gives way to the merry month of May, the view from my room is dreary, cold and gray. Wet streaks run down the tightly closed windows. Our chickens cower in their coop as the rainy wind rushes in at them.

Because the muscles around my new knee are stiff, I am not sleeping very well. Can’t get comfortable. Last night for the umpteenth time, I got up around 3 a.m. to walk around a little and get some of the stiffness out. And I noticed again the light at the back of our neighbor Geri’s house. Always on, all night, a warm light beside her door.

Geri broke her leg last summer and recently retired, age 72, from the UIUC library system. She is from New York. We talk sometimes about religion, which she has had little use for. But she is very well read and has a wonderful Brooklyn accent. Geri loves her garden and knows the names of both the flowers and the weeds.

She often cares for others in the neighborhood. She took a special liking to Andi as our daughter grew up, and found special books and things to give her on birthdays and graduations.

To love Jesus is to love his world and the creatures in it. Will you come and make your dwelling with Geri, Jesus? And with Margaret? And with me?

Perhaps I’m thinking about Geri’s nightlight because my favorite physical therapist of the present moment, Trusha, is staying at the local Motel Six and driving home to Chicago for her weekends. For 30 years Tom Bodett has told us that his favorite motel chain will leave the light on for you. Late at night, there isn’t much that matters more.

In the pain of these dark nights, I want to remember to leave my own light on. The quality of my mercy shapes the love I have for Jesus and for others. And this is something I am mostly powerless to manage on my own. It’s when Jesus’ love pours into me that I have something to pour out on others.

I think Geri is no more or less merciful than most of us when she’s in pain, and neither am I. C.S. Lewis said wisely, “Kindness is a quality fatally easy to attribute to ourselves on quite inadequate grounds. Everyone feels benevolent if nothing happens to be annoying him at the moment. We think we are kind when we are only happy.”

God’s love is tough and strong, demanding and without end. God does not settle for mediocrity of any kind in his children. He loves us into wholeness, and that involves painful stretching every time. But his light is always always On.

Don’t let me turn away my eyes, Lord, from the Light of love you have turned on for me. There are no conditions put on the brightness or clarity of your light. Now thank we all, our God.

 

Famous last words

Sunday, May 8, 2016

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. Blessed are they who wash their robes … the Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” Let the one who thirsts come forward, and the one who wants it receive the gift of living water. The one who gives this testimony says, “Yes, I am coming soon.”

– From Revelation 22

Amen! Come, Lord Jesus! This is Ascension Sunday, but why would we celebrate Jesus leaving us?

Why? Because now his presence is everywhere, all the time, within you and without you. This is my body, Jesus says. Feed my sheep. You are, we are, the church, the Eucharist, the body of Christ.

Our granddaughter Aly has been four years old for six days. She celebrated her birthday with all her might, at the top of her voice. One of her gifts was a strap for her guitar. In tune or not, she strums and sings and smiles and laughs, and we laugh with her. She is enthusiastic. En-theos!

One warm afternoon this week she climbed to the top of her playhouse. There, up in the air, she can see across the back fence to her friend Elly’s house. Elly climbs her swimming slide ladder. Now they can see each other and they talk awhile.

Finally Aly said, “I have to go now.” And Elly said, “OK. I’ll go in the house now.” And Aly said, “Why are you going?”

“Because you said you have to go.”

“No,” Aly said. “I don’t have to go. Let’s talk some more.” Maybe it didn’t make much sense at first. But then something hit me about Aly and me, and all of us.

There is such a fine line between solitude and loneliness. All my life I have been pleading with the world, “Please pay attention to me.” We’ve all said it, in one way or another, since long before we were four years old.

When others turn away from me to their own pursuits, I’m not sure what to do. Should I turn away first so I won’t be hurt? Should I ask them to come back and play some more? Can I lift my eyes to heaven, to the departing body of Jesus, and know how full with him I really am? Without regular swallows of his nourishment …

When I lack the sweetly savored, living water of Jesus on my tongue, I am apt to fall headlong into paranoia and shame. In his book The Examined Life, Stephen Grosz discovers to his own amazement that “it is less painful, it turns out, to feel betrayed than to feel forgotten.”

At our wedding Don Romack read from a poem, “I am loved, I am loved. I can risk loving you.” Jesus pours himself into me, and I must open the valves and let that love come right on in.

It’s then I know with confidence and joy that my love belongs to you, and yours to me, and we are free to be known as deep as deep can be.

You, O Lord, are most high over all the earth, exalted far above all gods. And still, and still, I can come to you and put my hand in the hand of the man who stilled the waters, calmed the sea. Jesus you are near as near as near can be. And when I look at you, you are always looking back at me. Nothing matters more. Sweet songs we sing, and jump for joy. Amen, come, Lord Jesus!

 

 

 

 

 

Advent and Christmas

Devotions

2016-2017

 

Happy Angel at Marytown, Libertyville, Illinois

 

Goblins’ll gitcha

First Sunday of Advent, November 27, 2016

Two women will be grinding at the mill; one will be taken and one will be left. Therefore, stay awake! For you do not know

on which day your Lord will come.

– From Matthew 24

Can you spell “rapture”? Jesus tells a story which we can choose to take literally. Or not. Regardless, we must know he is insisting on our mindfulness. Stay awake. Stay alert.

Matthew frames his story of Jesus’ ministry with two of Jesus’ sermons. The first, the Sermon on the Mount, tells us how to live in our world. In the second Jesus tells us how to prepare for moving on. It reads a little like a scary campfire story: “The sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will fall from the sky, and the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”

Like a great movie soundtrack, these words shiver my timbers. The shiver starts with fear and uncertainty. Although I am certain of one thing, my failure and fault. I’m tired. I’m full of myself. All I’ve been thinking about is stuff-stuff-stuff. Cleaning stuff, cooking stuff, buying stuff. Stuff and nonsense. What is this mindful thing?

Jesus presses these dark portents into my campfire ears, and I hearken back to the morning music of his beatitudes. This is where God reminds me of his love. Jesus sings of that love in the meadow, “Do not worry about tomorrow. See the lilies of the field, and don’t you know that God loves you … you … yes, You! … even more? Don’t you know that God will prepare a table for you in the presence of your enemies?”

Our grandson Miles Tadashi Tomita (correct and righteous warrior) was born on Veteran’s Day. Margaret is in Austin with his parents, Andi and Aki. I am getting into mischief alone at home. And happy I am to remember how much God loves us all. On this first day of Advent, it is good to watch and wait for a rebirth of wonder once again inside my soul.

I’m held and loved by you, Lord, and I can breathe deep and wait as the days get shorter and the nights grow long. So it goes at the end of one year and the beginning of another. We stand together by the river. Let the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in thy sight. O Lord.

God’s margin

November 28, 2016

A smoking cloud by day and a light of flaming fire by night, over all the LORD’s glory will be shelter and protection, shade from the parching heat of day, refuge and cover from storm and rain.

– From Isaiah 4

There has been lots to do, and I have been so Tired! Not enough sleep. Not enough quiet mind.

My friend Frank and I found an acronym: REST. Relax. Exercise. Stay still. Take time.

Relax.

Exercise.

Stay still.

Take time.

Take time before it takes you. That’s what I haven’t been doing.

And breathe, which doesn’t fit the acronym but matters most of all. Breathe deeply, breathe often, don’t forget to breathe.

I ate lots of turkey and mashed potatoes and cranberry jello salad. I walked around many stores, up and down the aisles. Coffee with friends. Movies with family.

During all of this there was, up in the air not quite visible to the naked eye, a cloud by day and fire by night. “God, don’t ever leave me.” That glory, my shelter and protection … and not just mine but yours.

Just a glimpse is worth all we have, all we will ever have.

In those moments the shade of God’s word lets me rest my eyes and wash my skin. Like a baby, new and born again.

Which reminds me, Lord, to thank you thank you thank you for the new baby in our family, resting in Andi’s arms. Your prophet Isaiah has a way of opening my mind and eyes. Come and save us, Lord our God. Let your face shine upon us, and we will be saved.

Upon the place beneath

November 29, 2016

A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom. The Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him: a Spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a Spirit of counsel and of strength, a Spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord.

– From Isaiah 11

Driving south into southern Illinois, into Indiana, into Kentucky, the sun has been shining. The winter wheat has sprouted and makes for fields of sweet promising green. Grain for us and for our animals.

Further south in Texas, a new sprout named Miles is gaining strength and living life day by precious day. The baby rules. I am so happy to think of him every day while he sleeps and eats, sleeps and eats.

And there is Jesus (so say we Christians, that Isaiah was speaking into the future about Jesus when he wrote this amazing passage), sprouting from the family of Jesse and blossoming up into the world to save us.

Can you imagine lying in the ground, just a simple seed sitting completely still, waiting for the day when you feel just a tickle of movement on the top of your head? And then a crack that kind of hurts, and up through the plate of slightly hardened soil, and then … whoosh! Here comes the sun.

What then? How self-protective must I be if all that might just happen? Can I trust the Spirit to protect me? The Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and of strength, the Spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord?

If I work back from the end, from fearing the Lord, then of course I’ll trust the Spirit. That’s what “fear of the Lord” allows. That’s what “fear of the Lord” promises. It becomes a synonym for faith, for trust, for hope.

An acronym for fear is “Face Everything. And Recover.” Keep calm, and keep looking up. And as Paul said to the Thessalonians, “DO NOT put out the Spirit’s fire!”

Let your gentle rain from heaven fall on my new green self, Lord. Then let the warmest sun of all warm me way down deep. I am learning to wait for you, to wait out the weather and know how near the sun of God is at all times. Now and always.

 

One day at a time

November 30, 2016

Jesus was walking alone by the sea. He saw two brothers, Simon Peter and Andrew, fishing. He said to them, “Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.” At once, they

left their nets and followed him.

– From Matthew 4

Today is the feast day for St. Andrew in the Episcopal, Anglican, Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches. In Scotland, this is St. Andrew’s Day, Scotland’s national holiday. There will be parties galore in Edinburgh, Glasgow, and all places in between.

The flags of Scotland, Tenerife, the Confederacy, Florida, and Alabama are all adorned with “St. Andrew’s cross.” Andrew is the patron saint of Scotland, Russia, Romania, Ukraine, Barbados, and parts of Italy, Portugal, Malta, the Philippines and Greece.

Who knew?

We named our first child Christopher Andrew. We named our daughter Andrea. The name means “brave and manly, or womanly.” Does the meaning of a name follow your children through their lives? Did it follow Andrew, Jesus’ disciple?

Andrew hardly knew what he was in for when he left his nets and “at once” followed Jesus. And after Jesus was crucified, after Jesus’ resurrection and ascension into heaven, Andrew became a world traveler. He heard Jesus say, “Go into all the world,” and he did just that.

I’ll bet he didn’t plan it all out either. One thing happened, and then the next. He just kept his eyes open and his skin in the game. Like the rest of us, Andrew was dependent on God’s strength, direction and support to be his “manly” self. Like we do, he lived his life one day at a time.

If we don’t live in Scotland, we might not party down and eat all night. But this is a feast day, nonetheless. A good day to live. A good day to be brave and manly, or womanly, and thank God for ears to hear and eyes to see what happens next.

Let me live one day at a time, Lord, enjoy one moment at a time. Let me accept hardship as a pathway to peace and take, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it. Show me how to trust that you will make all things right as I surrender to your will, so that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with you forever in the next. Amen.

– prayer written by Pastor Reinhold Niebuhr and adopted by AA

Our house is a very,

very, very fine house

December 1, 2016

Jesus said, “Everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, the winds blew, but it did not collapse. And everyone who does not act on them will be like a fool who built his house on sand. The rain fell, the floods came, the winds blew, and it was completely ruined.”

– From Matthew 7

And the people were amazed at Jesus’ teaching, because he spoke with authority, unlike their other teachers.

Most of these folks went home to family dwellings where they rode out storms of all kinds together. Living out Jesus’ words essentially meant living lives of love and sharing, turning away from selfishness and hate.

Living Jesus’ way protects me from all the awful elements, whether I’m indoors or not. Turning away from Jesus’ way of love sets me up for calamity on day one. It’s only a matter of time.

My eyes don’t see this truth clearly or consistently, but Jesus is happy to remind me from time to time. His brother James wrote, “Count it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, when you fall into trials. For you know that this testing of your faith produces steadfastness. Let that have its full effect, that you may be mature and complete, lacking in nothing.”

Graham Nash’s lovely musing about happily-ever-after requires that we be patient with adversity. “… with two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard, now everything is easy ‘cause of you …”

Thank you, Jesus, for living with me in the house you showed me how to build.

 

Being blind

December 2, 2016

As Jesus passed by, two blind men followed him, crying out, “Son of David, have pity on us!”

– From Matthew 9

We are mostly embarrassed to do such a thing. We mostly don’t believe in this kind of healing, because we have been enlightened by the Enlightenment and several centuries of rationalism.

If we’re from the west, from the First World, then we know better. We believe the doctors when they say we’ll be blind for the rest of our lives.

Jesus walked the streets of a Third World country, and the people didn’t know what we know now. They called out to Jesus, and they were healed. Their blindness was not a fact of life after all. They could see!

In The First Christmas, Marcus Borg distinguishes between fact, fable and parable when reading and seeking to be lifted up by God’s word. This Bible story may be any one of these. But if I read it as a parable, I am not only reading it to hear the history and ascertain the facts … more than that, I’m reading it to learn how to respond to my own blindness and to understand more of how to walk with Jesus.

Today’s lectionary text from Isaiah 29 outlines an important syllabus of events in our experience: We see God’s work among us, we praise and worship him, and we “acquire understanding and receive instruction” about how to live.

How much does this class cost? What is the tuition? It’s free, if I choose to open my eyes, open my mind, and open my mouth in gratitude. And to be still while God speaks in his still, small voice.

The silence today is pregnant with your presence, Father. That is always true, but sometimes I feel it a little more deeply. Free my mind and eyes and mouth today to follow you and cry out to you and love you.

Sent out in the morning

December 3, 2016

Jesus summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority … and said to them, “Go out and say, ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’ Then cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, drive out demons. Freely you have received, now freely give.”

– From Matthew 10

Rather than being intimidated, I want to follow in the disciples’ footsteps. Freely I have received, so I can freely give. And whatever happens next is up to God.

I can ask, “Can I pray for you right now?” God has poured out his blessing, his “authority,” and we can swim rejoicing. Like honey on our heads, his gift smells good, tastes good and feels good if we let it.

After they have been touched and filled with the power of God’s Spirit, Peter and John pray for a crippled man. His healing excites everyone: “They were amazed and began to recognize them as having been with Jesus” (Acts 4:13).

My friend Ruth is a retail clerk. During the Christmas season she prays to carry God’s honey along with her for the often stressed-out folks whom she helps buy gifts. On the good days, she says, she pours that honey right on their heads. Buying gifts is not easy. We don’t read each other’s minds all that well. Our expectations swing wildly from too high to too low. This is exhausting.

But sometimes Ruth pours out the honey and can just watch them relax and be glad. There are all kinds of giving, as Jesus told his disciples: Carry your joy and share it. Give up your time. Let God love through you. Smile, say thank you, communicate respect.

Cure, heal, raise, cleanse, drive the evil out and pour on the honey.

Praise the Lord, for you are good. Blessed are we all who wait for you. On the day when you bind up our wounds, you heal the bruises left by your blows. We do not need to see the end, Lord, because you see it. We can rest in this moment, Lord, because we are resting in you. Because we have been freely given to, we can freely give.

 

 

All one river

Second Sunday of Advent, December 4, 2016

May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in keeping with Christ Jesus, you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. So welcome one another to God’s glory.

Jesus did it, now YOU do it!

– From Romans 15

Earlier in his letter to the Roman Christians, Paul writes that Jesus is the “firstborn” among many brothers and sisters. Heaven came down, and glory filled our souls. We are all in this together, Jesus and us. In our going in and our coming out, and to the very end.

Miles Tomita is just over three weeks old, and his brother is Jesus. My mother will be 95 next year, and she is the sister of Jesus. American malls, and Syrian refugee camps, and isolated cabins in the mountains are all inhabited by brothers and sisters of Jesus.

God gives up transcendence to be immanent. Not that he stops being the creator and sustainer of the universe, but he turns away from that part of himself to count the hairs on all our heads, and know each of us better than we know ourselves. He is nearer to me than my next breath. God is.

Jesus makes that clear by his being and his words. He is here to be our friend and family, to die for us, and to show us how to live.

In light of this, Paul’s action item is for us to sing God’s glory and open our arms to each other. Do not be afraid. Trust the brotherhood. We are all one people.

Tribalism is often our poor substitute. We are loyal to a certain few, but as for the others outside … well, we see them differently. We are afraid of each other, and then we hurt each other. Shut each other out. Turn inward. Get selfish. Lose sight of God, and replace God with our own chosen images of God. We justify what we’ve done any way we can.

The prophets of the Old Testament spoke against these self-protections, and were thrown into cisterns for their efforts. Most of us will not give up our righteous, redemptive violence. Jesus, and then John, said there is no fear in love, but we are afraid. We need God’s endurance and encouragement to live with each other in harmony.

It’s there for the asking.

Give me the courage to ask, Lord. Please show me how to live in love with people who are not my kin, not my color, and not like me, who don’t think like me, and who maybe don’t even like me. This is not an easy thing, is it? But you welcomed me, Lord. And I am free to be a welcomer, too.

Eyes so wide open

December 5, 2016

Astonishment seized them all and they glorified God, and, struck with awe, they said, “We have seen incredible things today.”

– From Luke 5

I haven’t been astonished enough lately.

On second thought … I look at pictures of Miles and my eyes open wide. I know during her labor, when Andi felt the baby come, when suddenly that little boy was right there beside her, her eyes couldn’t have been wider. She was astonished. I am astonished.

This week I saw both Jack (7) and Aly (4) laughing and then become silent in amazement. Their mouths fell open, their eyes got wide – more than once – astonished. It’s an everyday thing for them. And hallelujah … it’s catching!

How many eyes were opened on the day Jesus forgave the sins of a paralyzed man, and healed his body as an afterthought? Can I imagine that? I haven’t moved my legs since last year? They are wasting away. Then Jesus looks at me, and touches me, and speaks to me, and heals me.

Are Jesus’ eyes wide too? The Bible says that on this day, “the power of the Lord was with him for healing.” Maybe he grew accustomed to his own abilities. Or maybe he was continually astonished at the power of God. I know he loved those people he spoke to and touched. His compassion for them was endless and enduring. Is endless and enduring. His compassion for me is endless and enduring.

This story in Luke blows me away like a dandelion puff in the Spirit’s wind. All of a sudden I’m laughing, and jumping, and praising God, right here on the second Monday of Advent in the year of our Lord 2016. Astonished again, with my eyes open, oh so wide.

There is a hole in my roof. Storms are coming. I need to take that seriously, get that hole fixed. But I’m so glad Jesus came, and they lowered that guy down through the hole, and that we were all amazed again by God in our midst.

Lord, what stories we can tell. The days are just packed! You come and stir up our lives, and we can laugh and sing and open up our eyes, and know at last how much we’re loved. You hide us in the shadow of your wings, and then you fly up with us and the sky is blue and all around us beauty, Lord. Your joy becomes ours. Oh … what stories!

Thy rod and thy staff

December 6, 2016

Here comes with power the Lord God who rules by his strong arm. Like a shepherd he feeds his flock, in his arms he gathers the lambs carrying them close to his heart, and gently leads the ewes,

watching over their young, to good pasture.

– From Isaiah 40

There were no TVs, no video games. But there were books. Sacred books. Jesus spent his childhood absorbing the words on the scrolls of Isaiah and all the other precious Hebrew writings, passed on from century to century.

Of course there were distractions. He played in the snow. He chased the birds. He traded baseball cards with his friends (well, maybe not). And his carpentry skills came from practice, from following Joseph around and doing what he was told to do. There was plenty of hard work for Jesus growing up.

But as he said to his parents, “Don’t you know that I have to be in my Father’s house?” He learned the stories and the prophecies, considered the words and their nuances, and listened wide-eyed to what his teachers said about them.

And so reading Isaiah, Jesus saw God as the shepherd. But then, when he shares that story as an adult, he takes the story one step further. The shepherd not only cares for the sheep of his pasture, he looks for the one who is lost. He even might be willing to forsake caring for the found to look for the lost.

In Matthew 18 Jesus describes God, who loves, and loves, and never stops loving. Who looks, and looks, and never stops looking. God, who carries his rod and staff but uses them to guide, not punish. God, who holds me close to his heart when I’m there and calls out for me to return when I’m not.

Andi holds her baby, Miles, close to her heart. His dad, Aki, holds Miles close to his heart. They can feel the baby’s heart beating just right next to theirs. They know how God feels about each of us, carrying us gently one day at a time toward the rest of eternity.

We sing a new song to you, Lord, and bless your name. Jesus has shown us how close you are to us, and how you love us and look far and wide for us when we run away. There is no fear in love. We never have to run away. Remind me hour by hour that I do not need to run away, Father. Let me put my hand in your hand, and walk with you beside the sea.

 

Sabbath breath

December 7, 2016

From Matthew 11

Jesus said to the crowds, “Come to me, all ye who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy

and my burden is light.”

– From Matthew 11

What a friend we have in Jesus. That was my dad’s favorite song, after “I’ll Fly Away.” As he got older and his back grew bent, he stopped his square dancing. His now-crooked, mostly out-of-breath body might have been filled with pain, but his struggling smile seemed stronger than ever.

My breath gets short these days, when I lean over too long, or do too much all at once. Then I think of dad. His breathlessness brought him falling down at the feet of Jesus. And he said so.

“Thank you, Jesus.” I see him looking up at me. The smile. His face stretches out, his eyes implore me for help. There was a time in the hospital when he was breathing badly, and I suggested a couple of things. Breathe in as deep as you can, and then breathe out as much of your air as you can. More, more. Hold that. Let your diaphragm rest just a little. Now, breathe in.

Dad had always told me what to do, and I felt pretty strange turning the tables. But he tried my suggestion, and it helped. I think we were both amazed.

Margaret’s Apple watch gives her wrist a little thump every so often during the day, and the screen says, “Breathe!” Don’t forget to breathe.

Still, we do. Over and over we forget. Jesus didn’t say it, but when we come to him heavy-laden, we are usually out of breath, too.

Why? Well, we haven’t been taking our Sabbaths, that’s why. We’ve grown unaccustomed to trusting God. But Jesus is gentle, and doesn’t punish us for breaking a rule. He just says, “Here, let me. You just take one breath, and then another, and I’ll be with you while you do.”

Lord, let me be mindful. Mindful of breathing, yes, and mindful of being with you. Your yoke is easy, your burden is light, and oh … the places we will go!

Visitation

December 8, 2016

The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary.

– From Luke 1

No, we are no longer in Ordinary Time.

It is nearly two weeks into the Advent season before we’re reminded why we’re here, what’s going on, and what’s going to happen next. Mary, did you know?

She’s the first to know. We celebrate Christmas in July, and Christmas in October, and Christmas on Black Friday. But those are Christmases when we buy and sell. The one coming up, the one Gabriel tells Mary about today, is about Jesus.

This moment with the angel is Mary’s wonderful gift. Wrapped in silence, adorned with the bow of God’s smile, this gift leaves her pregnant with Jesus. Now she is Theotokos, the mother of God. Her life will never be the same.

Mary will lead many to Jesus, and she will lead Jesus to many. She remains involved with him throughout his life. Early on she sometimes tells him what to do; always she loves him. And finally she walks with him in the shadow of Golgotha while he struggles, beaten and exhausted, to carry his cross.

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. And the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God.”

We rise today, and call her blessed. God chose her to carry Jesus, to bear his son and raise him up. Every mother, carrying her own baby, knows how sweet a time this is.

And we await the dawn of celebration. Come, Lord Jesus. Come, Holy Spirit. Mary is waiting, and so are we.

Lord, you remember your kindness and faithfulness to us and send us our redeemer. Thank you for these days of remembrance and recollection. Thank you, Father. Thank you, Jesus.

The good life

December 9, 2016

Blessed is she who delights in the law of the Lord and meditates on it day and night. She is like a tree planted near running water that yields its fruit in due season and whose leaves

never fade. What she does, prospers.

– From Psalm 1

There is so much to do. Even without deadlines, obligations, or appointments I am swallowed up by my own desires, my own wide eyes looking in one direction and then another. I am overtaken, to put it bluntly, by my own anxiety. What am I doing to make my life worthwhile?

Being fades away. But there are moments. Thank you, Lord, for the dawn of day and the moments before sleep, because those are the times I am learning to be still, to be still and know, to be still and know that you are God.

In the morning I sit on the edge of my bed and do … nothing. Just sit there and breathe a few times. You could say I am meditating on the law of the Lord. Kind of.

At the close of the day I think a little and thank God for the day. What was I grateful for? What was I not grateful for? A simple “Examen” of whatever comes to mind about my life today, and suddenly I am asleep.

These are moments beside the running water. Without them I’m afraid all my leaves are brown, and the skies are gray. Woolgathering would turn me over in my already-and-not-yet grave. And then turn me over again. I would wander aimlessly into the storm, not even noticing the lightning.

We run the risk this Christmas shopping month of losing track of our “being” time. But don’t do it. There are many important things for me to do in the next few weeks. None of them are more important than paying close attention to Jesus-in-my-mind, Jesus-in-my-soul, walking with him beside the quiet waters.

On my deathbed, Lord, what will I say? That I’m glad for the moments of quiet with you and that I’d wish there’d been more? Of course that’s what I’ll say. What I won’t say is that I wish I had spent even more of my life frantically chasing my tail. Please straighten me out, Lord, and set my eyes on straight, and let me see what YOU have for me to see.

 

Friends are friends forever

December 10, 2016

Blessed are they who shall have seen you and

who fall asleep in your friendship.

– From Sirach 48

In the twelfth century, a charismatic courtier-become-monk helped establish several monasteries in northern England and Scotland. But this man, Aelred of Rievaulx, was most famous simply for how he was a friend.

He wrote a book, On Spiritual Friendship, which might be centuries old but is on many 21^st century reading lists. After a prologue he begins the book with, “Here we are then, you and I, and I hope a third, Christ, is in our midst.” Aelred delights in the relationship between himself and another, mediated and blessed by the presence of God.

Another man who knew something about friendship, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, wrote in his masterpiece Life Together, “Human love is directed to the other person for his own sake, but spiritual love loves him for Christ’s sake … Christian brotherhood is not an ideal, but a divine reality. Christian brotherhood is a spiritual and not a psychic (human) reality.”

In other words, we don’t do this alone.

Without the grounding that comes as I absorb God’s love for me, I run a high risk of unconsciously seeking what Bonhoeffer calls “a complete fusion of I and Thou … but spiritual love knows that it has no immediate access to other persons.”

No wonder so many of our relationships seem shallow and impermanent. No wonder so many of us end up divorced and/or alone. In America, at least, we are not good at grounding ourselves in God’s love. We don’t seem to need it when we are comfortable and well-fed. We have most everything at our fingertips.

But this affected affluence does not extend to the love of others, or to loving others. How that happens seems beyond us, mysterious to us, until we find our way to each other through the mediation of Christ. “And I hope, a third is in our midst.”

In my going in and my coming out, Lord, in my rising and my resting and my sleep, let me be held close and warm in your friendship. Bring us together as men and women because we know our kinship as children of God. Because you are our friend, and we sleep first with you in safety.

 

Precious fruit

Third Sunday of Advent, December 11, 2016

Jesus said, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them. And blessed is the one who takes no offense at me.

– From Matthew 11

The Lord sets the captives free!

How long, O Lord, how long? Jesus’ brother James wrote, “Be patient, brothers and sisters … see how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth; you too must be patient. Make your hearts firm, do not complain.”

On this cold Sunday morning smack in the middle of Advent, we wait for Jesus. Jesus, God with us, Emmanuel. Marcus Borg calls him “the decisive disclosure of God, to whom we make a confession of commitment, allegiance, and loyalty.” Sweet Jesus, set us free.

I long to be beside the road, knowing Jesus will soon pass by. “Lord Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me, a sinner!” Just let me touch the hem of your garment. Cover my eyes with mud, and I will be clean. Speak to my inmost parts, and purify my heart. Let me be as gold, pure gold. You are honey, Jesus, honey from the honeycomb. Pour on down and set me free.

In this dark time of such short days, light is precious to me. I don’t want to close my eyes. Dusk turns dark so soon, and the clouds roll in. The sun goes … away. Jesus is waiting to be born. And we wait, without much knowing that we’re waiting, for a rebirth of wonder.

Our baby grandson Miles gurgles when he’s happy, and he has dimples you could drown in. His skin smells new. So soft. He too waits for Jesus. Soon enough he too will cry out, “How long, O Lord, how long?”

“Blessed is the one who takes no offense in me.” We did not and do not do Jesus justice. Tar and feathers, nails in hands, a crown of thorns, death on a cross. Humiliate him! We have no idea.

Jesus only knows compassion. “They do not know what they do.” His mercy rains down and down and suddenly we’re drowned in mercy, with him in paradise. Knowing that we’re always loved.

You keep faith forever, Father. You sustain the weakest among us and thwart our wicked ways, so that we can come home to you. You reign always, O Lord, through all generations. We praise you.

What price, this peace?

December 12, 2016

The dragon’s tail swept away a third of the stars in the sky and hurled them down to the earth. Then the dragon stood before the woman about to give birth, to devour her child. She gave birth to a male child destined to rule the nations with an iron rod. Her child was caught up to God and his throne.

– From Revelation 12

And there is war in heaven. A woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and a crown of twelve stars on her head, stands up to a huge red dragon with seven heads and ten horns. The sky is falling, the sky is falling! Chicken Little is right this time.

In This Present Darkness Frank Peretti brings the heavenly battle to life. Angels battle demons, and everything is at stake. In his book, the prayers of the saints are fuel for the angels.

John’s vision pits the empire of war (Roman at the time) against the kingdom of heaven. Jesus brought this kingdom to earth with his words and his love. His “iron rod” rebuked the devil and his minions, but everywhere he walked Jesus stirred up victory through justice and mercy, not war.

Jesus and Caesar, contemporaries, brought peace, but they came upon it differently. Marcus Borg reminds us of Tacitus’ famous comment about the Romans, “Where they make a desert, they call it peace.” But Jesus’ peace of non-violence turned the other cheek, died on a cross, and then came resurrection. O death! Where is thy sting?

Empires rise and fall. Jesus means it when he says, “I am with you always.” He stretches out his arms and invites me, too, to be caught up “in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air” (1 Thessalonians 4:17).

These visions unfold before our eyes as we quiet our souls and wait for Jesus during Advent. God is so good.

Let us sing and rejoice, Lord, because you are coming to dwell with us. And we shall be your people. Let us be silent in the presence of the Lord, as you stir forth from your holy dwelling. Let us rejoice and call you blessed, baby Jesus. Let it be done to us according to your word.

Of mice and men

December 13, 2016

Woe to the city, rebellious and polluted, to the tyrannical city! She hears no voice, accepts no correction; in the Lord she has not trusted, to her God she has not drawn near … I will leave as a remnant in your midst a people humble and lowly … they shall pasture and couch their flocks with none to disturb them.

– From Zephaniah 3

The Lord hears the cry of the poor. And there are poor everywhere, in the city and the country.

In God Is in the Manger, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Advent sermons return again and again to Jesus taking on our guilt in his sinlessness. Neither can we be satisfied with our personal freedom from the guilt of sin. We too must take on the guilt of others.

There is a pendulum in my life, and I swing from one side to the other. On the one side is the freedom of forgiveness. “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free” (Galatians 5:1). On the other side is staining, remorseless, personal guilt because I continue sinning. “O wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death” (Romans 7:24)?

How can I get off that pendulum, whose violent swings are slowly stealing my energy. Exhausted, I fall asleep and sleeping, fail to join in the suffering prayer of Jesus for the sins of the world. The Lord hears the cry of the poor.

We are country mice and city mice; we are from red counties and blue counties. But we are all rebellious and polluted, and Jesus insists that we accept his forgiveness, get over our own personal guilt and start praying for each other.

Zephaniah’s picture of pastoral holiness draws me in as I put out new bedding for our chickens. I remember Dad’s consistent cows, which he milked every day at 5 am and 5 pm. That’s 730 times a year. With his quiet smile, Dad was a humble man. Was he humble because he milked the cows, or did he milk the cows because he was humble?

I never bought the dream of dairy farming. When I was sixteen, Dad’s cows went out the door at a public auction. He was busy that day, but I imagine him in tears before and after all the crowds came and bought him out.

My happiest day, his saddest. I have to think he was the humble one, and I … well, I was ambitious for what seemed right to me. In other words, rebellious and polluted and not quite touched by grace.

But Dad would have seen himself the same way. Selfish, tyrannical … and perhaps he was. But to see himself as he is … that’s the nature of humility. That is what allowed him to fall on his face and seek forgiveness. More than anything, that’s what I learned from him. More than anything, that’s what I’m thankful for.

Let me learn from my father and mother, Lord, and bless the Lord at all times. Let your praise always be in my mouth, and let my soul glory in you and be glad.

 

 

Let justice reign

December 14, 2016

Let justice descend, O heavens, like dew from above, like gentle rain let the skies drop it down. Let the earth open and salvation bud forth … Turn to me and be safe, all you ends of the earth,

for I am God; there is no other!

– From Isaiah 45

Isaiah says in this passage that God did not create and establish the earth to be a waste, but that he designed it to be lived in. That has become difficult for us.

Wendell Berry points out that we regularly overreach our potential. We dream up schemes to take advantage of the world’s resources, but we neither anticipate the consequences nor know how to fix the problems those consequences create. Too often our response to this disaster is a mix of pride and denial. We stick our heads in the sand.

And so the earth becomes a wasteland, more and more difficult to live in. God cries out to our generation just as he did to Isaiah, “Turn to me and be safe! You are not God, but I am.” And there is no other.

As the leaves finish falling and the snow prepares its arrival, I wait for Jesus. I wait to see if my snow blower will work this year. The sunset came so quickly yesterday. The wind is cold and gray. Time is short. Life goes on, but I am learning day by day that waiting on God is more important than getting my plans in order.

God’s justice descends like gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. Shakespeare’s rendition (in The Merchant of Venice) of Isaiah’s words reminds me that justice not only clarifies and softens relationships between people; it is an imperative for my relationship with God. It is the essence of what makes me safe with myself. But if I can’t wait for it, this depth of justice is something I cannot and will not have. I’m not in charge here.

God is. And God does not fail us.

Lord, it is in you that kindness and truth finally meet. Justice and peace kiss as your mercy falls from heaven. We are your children, and we need your strong sweet arms, Father, to hold us and make us strong.

Trusting God

December 15, 2016

“For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with great tenderness I will take you back. In an outburst of wrath, for a moment I hid my face from you; but with enduring love I take pity on you … Though the mountains leave their place and the hills be shaken, my love shall never leave you nor my covenant of peace be shaken,” says the Lord, who has mercy on you.

– From Isaiah 54

Victims of domestic violence often experience the “honeymoon” effect when, for awhile, their violent partner feels remorse and becomes better-than-ever. Sadly, the sweet period of grace between them grows ever shorter if no work gets done on deeper stuff, usually experiences of abandonment.

However, the coming collapse is not easy to predict. Denial is not just a river in Egypt. Sometimes it kills people. And a person who desperately wants their marriage to work, wants their kids to thrive rather than suffer through divorce, and feels like they might be letting God down if they can’t keep things going, will simply close their eyes.

That person needs what is brilliantly called a “reality check.” However they can, they need to get up in the air above their relationship and see it more clearly, look at it from other perspectives, and listen to God instead of their own falsely guilty conscience.

Counseling helps. Friends help. Family helps. Sometimes. Other times, all those folks take sides and just muddy the waters. Their perspectives are just as skewed as the victim’s.

Do we have the same trouble with how we see God? What about this confession from God of his anger? Is God a perpetrator, and are we the victims? I don’t think so. But to many of us – who haven’t developed a lifelong confidence in God, because we just didn’t grow up that way – this passage is scary.

How can I trust God’s word for the future when he sounds so angry in the past? Does he really mean what he says: “Though the mountains leave their place, my love shall never leave you?”

I trust God more now that I am better at knowing my own polluted rebelliousness, my own failures, my own selfishness, my own Sin. I can see how God really has no business trusting me, and how, when I don’t trust him, I am just projecting on God my own shame.

That’s not fair, but it’s convenient. I might do it less as I grow older, but I’m still tempted.

Isaiah understood this, that wise old man who had been through so much. At the beginning of his ministry God came to him in a cloud of dust and Isaiah cried out, “Woe is me, I am undone!” His mantel of self-protection and self-righteousness burned up in that moment of maturity, and then he could say to God, “Here am I, send me.” And God did.

Thank you, Lord, for letting me say, “I don’t trust you.” And thank you for not listening. Please turn my eyes back around toward myself and let me see what you’ve been patient with, what you’ve endured, what you’ve loved. I am the untrustworthy one. You are so good. And if I let you, you’ll make me good too. Teach me all my days.

 

 

 

Precious, blessed fruit

December 16, 2016

May God have pity on us and bless us; may he let his face shine upon us … The earth has yielded its fruits; God, our God has blessed us. May God bless us, and may

all the ends of the earth fear him.

– From Psalm 67

In the 1840’s after Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol, he agreed to write four more stories for Christmastime publication. They were strong moral statements, every one. He wanted to “strike blows for the poor.” John Forster, Dickens’ friend and first biorapher wrote, “They had always been his clients, they had never been forgotten in any of his books.”

Dicken’s second story, The Chimes, endeavored to “convert Society, as he had converted Scrooge, by showing that society’s happiness rested on the same foundation as those of the individual, which are mercy and charity not less than justice.”

His story begins. The world’s blows rained down on Trotty Veck, Dicken’s protagonist, and by his mid-sixties Trotty Veck was nearly finished. “Wrong every way. Wrong every way!” said Trotty, clasping his hands.

“Born bad. No business here! I have no business with the New Year nor the old one neither. Let me die!” The bells pealed forth, “Put ‘em down, put ‘em down! Good old Times, Good old Times, Facts and Figures, Facts and Figures! Put ‘em down, put ‘em down!”

I hear other bells, and Luke’s words ring in my ears: “Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which will be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.”

Unto you. Unto you. Unto You, Trotty Veck! Unto you is born a Savior! By the end of his night’s visions, Trotty cries, “I know that our inheritance is held in store for us by Time. I know there is a sea of Time to rise one day, before which all who wrong us or oppress us will be swept away like leaves. I see it, on the flow! I know that we must trust and hope, and neither doubt ourselves, nor doubt the good in one another.”

“And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, good will toward men!”

The bells ring, the bells ring, all God’s children ring their bells. And Tiny Tim rises up on his uncle’s shoulder and sings out his eternal song, “God bless us, every one!”

Oh, Lord, break into our fruitless fear that we are all alone. For we are not! Show us your face, and hold us close beneath your wings, and fly with us toward the warm sun. Bring us home, bring us home, bring us all, bring us all the way home.

 

 

Family meeting

December 17, 2016

Jacob called his sons and said to them: “Assemble and listen, sons of Jacob, listen to Israel, your father.”

– From Genesis 49

Today is Chris’ birthday. He was born 36 years ago in Bloomington, Illinois, after Margaret’s very long first labor.

He was colicky at first, but soon he became more quiet and even helpful – very protective of his brother Marc, who was born 20 months later.

I have a picture of myself (p. 243), grown a Christmas beard to be a wise man in our Waynesville nativity, with Chris and Marc draped all over me. About that time we read Karen Mains’ book Making Sunday Special and began spending our Saturday nights in a sweet Sabbath routine.

Margaret worked hard at this, because she fixed most of the food. By Saturday night, everything was ready for the next 24 hours. We sat down for our dinner, and then came “blessing” time.

The parents blessed the children with words of affirmation. We wanted to follow in the footsteps of our Old Testament heroes, the fathers of our faith. The children blessed the parents by being patient with all of this.

We did our best to listen to God’s words for our kids and then share what we heard, using the gifts God gave us of imagination, creativity and communication. Two ears to hear, one mouth to speak. We tried to get the ratio right.

In Eric Metaxas’ biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, he describes dinnertime. The only approved-of conversation was about important matters, things considered significant. Otherwise, silence was fine.

We don’t hold ourselves to such a high standard. And we didn’t then. Saturday nights in Waynesville involved games and laughter and a touch of friendly sarcasm, along with prayer.

Sunday mornings changed for us because we awoke in the middle of our Sabbath, and going to church centered us rather than banging so hard on the beginning of the day. I think God was pleased. I know we were.

We moved to Urbana and that particular Sabbath style fell away. But it was great while it lasted, and I remember it with great joy.

Lord, as one generation passes into the next, may your name be blessed forever, as long as the sun shines, till the moon is no more. May your mountains yield peace for us, and the hills justice. We are like the sheep of your pasture, and we want to learn from you how to love.

 

 

O come, o come Emmanuel

Fourth Sunday of Advent, December 18, 2016

Then Isaiah said, “Listen, o house of David! Is it not enough for you to weary people, must you also weary my God? Therefore the Lord himself will give you this sign: the young woman shall conceive and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel.”

– From Isaiah 7

“God with us” – such a beautiful name for a Hebrew baby, and so encouraging to Ahaz when this baby was born, as a sign to him that God was with him in the war with Syria and the northern kingdom of Israel.

When he wrote his gospel, Matthew was convinced this passage from Isaiah also referred to the coming of Jesus. God with us. I think of Matthew’s patience and prayer as he sat with his pen listening for words to share the good news that had changed his own life completely.

Jesus must have had a penetrating stare.

He looked right through Matthew, and told this alienated tax collector he was coming to his house for dinner that night. Matthew “stood up and followed him.” He loved Jesus. He wept when Jesus was killed, and leaped in joy when Jesus’ returned in resurrection, and now he tells his story.

We are like Matthew. For just a little longer, we wait in our own alienation for the birth of Jesus.

Jesus comes along and says to me, “Follow me, David. Tonight I’ll be eating at your house.” Like Matthew, I’m not sure of my worthiness. Psalm 24 says it well, “Who can ascend the mountain of the Lord? Who may stand in his holy place? One whose hands are sinless, whose heart is clean, who desires NOT what is vain.”

Matthew knew he didn’t measure up, and I know I don’t measure up. Jesus knows Psalm 24, but he invites us anyway. Something he sees in Matthew, deeper than his sinful hands, breaks in. The psalm continues, “Such is the race that seeks for him, that seeks the face of the God of Jacob.”

I know I want to be part of that race, to seek the face of the God of Jacob. As these last days of darkness before the solstice lengthen into Christmas, our season of waiting nears its end. We prepare for our celebrations and rejoicing. We will always seek God’s face. There is never never never enough touching his cheek, running our fingers alongside his nose, and feeling what it’s like to be held tight by our Father.

This earth, Lord, and all its fullness belong to you. You founded this home of ours upon the seas and established it upon the rivers. All our blessings come from you, all our rewards from you, our Savior.

Pay it forward

December 19, 2016

You are my hope, O Lord, my trust, O God, from my youth. On you I depend from birth; from my mother’s womb

you are my strength.

– From Psalm 71

On Christmas Eve at the Zion Lutheran Church in Lincoln, Illinois we all sang the songs, and some of us said the Mary-Joseph-Gabriel lines, and when the show was finished we had snacks and got wonderful candy-and-the-rest gifts from our Sunday School teachers, and then we went home around 7:30 for our family celebration, for our annual oyster stew and spinach balls.

Finally we put on our pajamas and giggled and jumped around and tried to settle down to say our prayers. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord, my soul to keep.

Christmas almost here! So much preparation and waiting, singing the songs of Advent and lighting candles, and now Christmas is almost here! How on earth could anybody sleep tonight?

Somehow we did. Santa made his way in and out, ate the cookies, drank the milk, and we never saw a thing. One of us three woke up first, and then it wasn’t long before we all huddled in front of the tree and looked at everything. Piles of presents, wrapped in three colors of paper. Which pile is mine?

I wonder if Dad started milking the cows early on Christmas morning. Somehow he was finished by 6:30 or so. Of course we waited for him. Mom made coffee cake, and we ate it without the coffee. Mom and Dad sat down comfortably, slowly, restfully … while we leaped and laughed and didn’t sit down at all. And then at last, the gifts.

I only remember one or two of the gifts. What I do remember are the Christmas Eves – quiet, dark, cold, devoted. I had no idea how much worshipping God would later mean to me. I didn’t realize how much I was paying forward on those sweet December nights, preparing for doubt, despair, fear, betrayal, frustration, pain, and finally death. Where is God when it hurts?

A substantial enough part of me knows exactly where God is. And I can go in my mind to find him every time … at the Zion Lutheran Church in Lincoln, Illinois on Christmas Eve.

Lord Jesus, from baby to man you have walked with me. Your grace has held me fast, and your strength has made me more whole day by day by day. Thank you teaching me to trust you a long time ago, and sustaining that trust now. You are my friend, and I thank you.

 

The solace of fierce landscapes

December 20, 2016

Of his kingdom there will be no end.

– From Luke 1

I remember a scene in David Lean’s film Dr. Zhivago. The doctor-poet had abandoned that military physician’s position into which he had been kidnapped and was walking in the winter, into Siberia, through trackless snow. His beard caked with ice and his eyes went wild with cold and loneliness. He frightened a passing family when he thought he recognized Lara and their baby.

“Lara’s Theme” echoed in the sunny, snow-covered icescape. Daytime temperatures barely rose above zero. No one walking out there should have survived. And I felt so cozy on my couch, covered with a quilt, watching the landscape flow up and up into the sky … endless kingdom.

The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it. All that snow, and the tropical paradise in the Caribbean, and the deserts of Africa, and the mountains … oh, the mountains. Everest and Kilimanjaro, Fuji and Rainier, the Swiss Alps, Appalachians, Apennines and Himalayas.

Of his kingdom there will be no end. None of these fierce landscapes marks completion. God does not know borders. His love has seven league boots, and he walks with confidence and glory into each one of his children’s lives.

Mary holds her belly and wonders, “How can this be?” Gabriel rises in her vision for a moment, and then she is alone. No, not alone. God has crossed whatever border she imagined for herself and begun to make his home inside her. Might her body sing with joy? Mary’s womb welcomes Jesus. “May it be unto me as you have said.”

In the midst of our very own polar vortex I cherish the warmth of my bed, and I listen to the echoes of Gabriel calling out to Mary, “Hail Mary, full of grace!” I can hold my palm cross made of olive wood from Jerusalem, I can rest without fear in the presence of God. I, like you, like every one of us, can wait for Jesus, walking, walking, walking in the kingdom which has no end.

And praising God. Let the earth sing and let me sing along with it. Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let earth receive her king. There is no end to your justice and no end to your mercy in my life, Lord. No end to your love. No end.

Tickled babies

December 21, 2016

Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come! For see, the winter is past, the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth, the time for pruning the vines has come ,and the

song of the dove is heard in our land.

– From Song of Songs 2

Mary visits her Auntie Elizabeth, and springtime beckons to them both. Their babies rush toward each other, and the mamas are tickled pink. Let us celebrate, they sing to each other. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” And Mary’s soul magnifies the Lord.

To think all this happens today, the shortest day of the year, the first day of winter, yes, even on this, the Winter Solstice. After today, the days get longer. Brother Sun reminds us of our kinship and his commitment to our care, to the care of all the earth.

And to think, the One who made the sun and the moon and carried light into the darkness of the deep, is tickling Mary’s womb with his laughter just now on this amazing day in the house of Zechariah and Elizabeth.

Aren’t you glad we can be here too? Do these stories ever cease to delight us? We are not just hangers-on; we are God’s children of every generation. For all this time God loves us, and these stories make for the joy of our salvation.

John dances in his mother’s womb, and we dance right along with him. It will be awhile before he lives in the desert on locusts and honey. He is not yet wearing a hair skin shirt. For now, in the presence of his king, little baby John leaps and laughs and praises God, and we do too.

Gabriel has been busy. Perhaps the angel is resting today, while those he touched remember his words and sing out their joy together. We are so blessed to join them.

Lord, as your angel said, let me not be afraid. Free me up from the restraints I have, Jesus, to be laughing and singing with joy in your sudden, surprising presence. Mary and Elizabeth lead the way. The wine flows, and your banqueting table groans, heavy with precious fruit, so that we all might be filled.

 

 

Hopes and dreams of all the years

December 22, 2016

Hannah approached Eli with Samuel and said, “Pardon, my lord! As you live, my lord, I am the woman who stood near you, praying to the Lord. I prayed for this child, and the Lord granted my request. Now I, in turn, give him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he shall be dedicated to the Lord.”

– From 1 Samuel 1

Oh, the hopes we have for our children, and the dreams we have for our children’s children!

Whither will they go, and from whence shall they come? And on what grounds can we claim their greatness? My mother considered the presidency a noble goal for me, or becoming a surgeon and saving peoples’ lives. We knew either Chris, or Marc, or Andi could/would find success, raise families, follow their dreams, build great cities, and surely be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Hannah kept it simple for Samuel. She spoke for him, and she spoke into his life. “As long as he lives, he shall be dedicated to the Lord.”

We’ll be seeing little guy Miles, Andi and Aki’s new baby just six weeks old, on Christmas Day in Austin. His dimples seem to be getting deeper every day.

Jack and Aly Sandel, now nearly 8 and 4½ years old, spent the night with us this week. A sleepover is an unusual occurrence, one for which we overprepare and are overjoyed to experience. Our thoughts about their future are sharpening as we get to know them better month by month. As they get to know themselves better.

Their silences are as pregnant with meaning, and questions, as their words. Where is Jack? Where is Aly? In every case they are doing something that captured their attention. They forget the important social graces because they are caught up in fascination somewhere. Who cares where?

Why do kids have trouble catching up with themselves, cleaning up before they start something new? Well … because there is something new! Let’s do that now. No, let’s do this! Their eyes flit here and there, and a thousand possibilities fill their heads. Visions of sugarplums swim by thoughts of chocolate. How about a banana split? We have all the fixings!

So … what? What doesn’t change? What stays solid and always in the center? As play becomes study becomes work becomes career becomes retirement, what doesn’t move? Of course we know. “As long as he lives, he shall be dedicated to the Lord.”

So before each meal/snack, we hold hands and pray. Aly prays. Or Jack prays. Or Margaret prays. Or I pray. Everybody gets to play. And then, at the end of the day, we answer one question, sometimes spoken. What was good today? And then, at least sometimes, what was not so good today? That, as the Linns so beautifully characterize it, is our heart-bread.”

The “tummy-bread” is quickly gone, but that heart-bread is simply and always “his promise of mercy, the promise God made to our fathers, to Abraham and all his children forever.”

Like the stars in the sky.

Oh Lord we proclaim your greatness, along with Mary. Our spirits rejoice in God our savior, for you have looked upon your lowly servants and have mercy on us. Show us the strength of your arm, our Father, and fill the hungry with all good things. Thank you, Lord.

The goose has gotten fat

December 23, 2016

Suddenly there will come to the temple the Lord whom you seek, and the messenger of the covenant whom you desire. Yes, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts. But who will endure the day of his coming? And who can stand when he appears?

For he will be like a refiner’s fire.

– From Malachi 3

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat … and in a flash that goose is eaten, and Christmas has come and gone. Advent slips silently away as the Baby is born. The muted minor songs of waiting give way to major keys. Celebration reigns, perhaps for twelve days, at least for twelve hours.

And then the inexorable, bleak midwinter rises in the morning fog to greet us, unless we get lucky and flee to Florida.

Is there enough goose on our plate to last till spring? I watch the squirrels dash toward the sunflower seeds and jimmy-cracked corn we set out for wild birds and our domesticated chickens. They need more than the few acorns they have managed to squirrel away. I think I’m in their boat.

Should I worry, and store, and hold on to what I’ve got? Doesn’t life require me to do that? Old Testament prophecies that herald the birth of Jesus, bright with light and hope, are more than balanced by prophecies of doom and gloom. Isaiah, Malachi, and Jeremiah all wrote much more about the awful future than the awe-filled future.

But of course we like the sweet words best, and we listen with joy to the angels singing to the shepherds. And of course, we should. Jesus came to bring light and life and joy to all of us. He came to replenish the tables of the poor with living water and the bread of life.

More than any of his prophet predecessors, Jesus does not allow us to hoard, but calls us to the manna philosophy: “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” It’s when we fail to follow him in this that we get ourselves in trouble.

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. There has always been trouble for us when we ignore the manna-lesson. The prophets called their fellow citizens to account, and often died for their efforts. As did Jesus.

But Jesus, he came back, burning brighter than ever. The refiner’s fire does not go out. It will do its work in each of us, one way or another. Thank God for his coming, oh yes, thank God.

Make your ways known to me, O Lord, and teach me your paths. Guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God, and I am not. Guide me into justice, and teach me your way to live.

O little town of Bethlehem

December 24, 2016

In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.

– From Luke 1

These words of Zechariah’s are so beautiful! Every year they draw me inside the visions of John’s father, who spent months unable to speak. As Max Ehrmann wrote, “Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.”

How are you going to spend this particular Christmas Eve? Many of us, introverts and extraverts alike, will be at church, or at a party, maybe finish shopping. Quiet time will be hard to find.

Just playing out Luke’s Bible story … Mary and Joseph spent much of Christmas Eve looking for a place to stay. Mary was already in labor. The baby was coming, whether they had a place or not. They found the stable.

In those days women often delivered their own babies, as did Mary. Did Joseph help? (“Get me some hot water …”) Maybe. Did the cows and calves lick the baby clean, like they do their own newborns? How does that sound to you? Was it as cold as it will be tonight in Bethlehem? (Low forecast to be 41 degrees)

Outside the stable the little town … how still we see thee lie. Streets eventually silent in their deep and dreamless sleep. Slumbering, not knowing of their visitation.

Above, the stars, the silent stars go by. A 12-hour time exposure would show huge circles of starlight surrounding Jesus and his family, although nothing so bright as the light of the manger. On this day, in the city of David, see how in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.

A savior is born, and he is Christ the Lord. The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

In the silence deep inside you, listen for the angels’ song. Glory to God in the highest!

You are our shepherd, Lord, and we are the sheep of your pasture. Let us sing of your favor and your loyalty to us, let us proclaim your faithfulness on this day of days, this night of all nights, this moment of visitation that changes everything. O God our help in every need, your kindness is confirmed forever.

A thousand Christmases

Christmas Day, Sunday, December 25, 2016

Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as it had been told to them.

– From Luke 2

Depending on how you think about it, Jesus is around 2000 years old, or was always alive since before the beginning of time … or he is as old as the thoughts and imaginings we ourselves have had about him. In that case, for me, Jesus would be around 65 years old.

Depending.

In a human way, Mary knew Jesus since before the beginning of babytime; she knew God’s touch inside her, and knew his name was Jesus even before the zygote began dividing. Many Christians exalt Mary in the pantheon of human saints, and this is certainly another reason for her exaltation.

I’ve always felt quiet and reflective when I read the words, “Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.” I want to ponder them too. Mary will never forget Gabriel’s announcement, Elizabeth’s joy, Joseph’s loyalty and love, the baby’s willingness to be born in the stable surrounded by cows and calves, the shepherds’ curiosity and worship, the gifts of the magi, the prophecies of Anna and Simeon.

Never forget. Ponder these things in your heart. I want to ponder them too. It’s the closest God has ever come to us, and it’s the closest we will come to God. God is intimately with us now. God lives with us. Emmanuel!

Today I get to enjoy my gift-giving and gift-receiving. I will leap and laugh and sing for joy, as best I can. I am a privileged person; my food will be good, my house will be warm, those around me will be happy. Let me count these blessings and not take them for granted. This is Christmas Day, and in some parts of the world, there is peace.

In all this, God is alive. Magic is afoot! “Life is full of heroism … with all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.”

Merry Christmas.

Jesus, the heavens are glad because of you, and the earth rejoices. The sea sings and the plains are full of joy. Every tree in the forest bows in wonder and in love. And then there are all of us, who tend to get filled up with ourselves. Forgive us and open us again, Jesus, to your beauty and your grace. Let us know how much we’re loved, and teach us day by day to love you with all our hearts, and souls, and minds, and strength.

Snake in the airport, peace on

the plane

December 26, 2016

Into your hands I commend my spirit; you will redeem me, O Lord, O faithful God. I will rejoice and be glad

because of your mercy.

– From Psalm 31

A friend recently left with his church group and family for two weeks in Kenya. He has fibromyalgia and diabetes and a knee replacement, and he worried about two very long flights with just a short layover between.

He believes (hopes) that once he is on the plane and in the air, there will be no more attacks of doubt. It’s just that in his many moments of physical pain, he can’t help but wonder if God will heal him, or if he will not. Sometimes this lack of clarity is more painful than the aches that attack so many of his muscles.

“Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.”

Just what have we been waiting for in Advent? In The Meaning is in the Waiting, Paula Gooder says, “Advent invites us to inhabit a swirl of time that stretches forward and backward but by doing so anchors us in the present … we are waiting for God’s kingdom, for the glimmers of light that mark Jesus’ presence in our midst, for the fragments of end-times peace breaking upon us.”

End-times peace does not always mean physical healing. These are fragments, after all. But end-times peace does always include the precious recollection that if there is any unfairness in the way we are treated by God, it’s a generous unfairness. We all receive far more than our actions deserve.

If every breath we take belongs to God, well then, there you go. Go ahead and breathe. Paul told the Philippians to ask God for what they lack, but always to do it “with thanksgiving.”

My patience really only grows when I taste suffering. I learn to love God, and feel the love he has for me when I suffer. This is the feast day for St. Stephen, the first martyr of the church. It was Stephen who seemed to express joy as he was dying when he said, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”

Would we all be better off as martyrs, Jesus? It just doesn’t work that way. You attended weddings, and baptisms, and ate many festive meals. You turned water into wine. You broke up funerals now and then by returning the dead back to life. But I take all of what you give so quickly for granted. Forgive me, Lord. Let me live whatever life you have for me, no matter what.

Touching hands, touching you

December 27, 2016

What was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we looked upon and touched with our hands concerning the Word of life – for the life was made visible.

– From 1 John 1

And now for something completely different. Our minds aren’t the best tool we have to figure out eternal life, to figure out the God thing, to figure out our response to Jesus. John is using his ears, his eyes, and his hands. Touch me and see. Look on these things and see. Hear the word and see. “I am alive,” Jesus says. Come and see.

When I was young I played the piano. For several solid grade school years I went every week to the only nun I knew for lessons. She was very patient with me, teaching my hands and my heart. But then I became older and left the childish things, and lost my piano touch. Mother Mary, come to me. I want it back again. Jesus, touch my hands and let me see.

My hands want to be used. I love to touch someone when I pray for them. My hands get warm. Occasionally I get to help one of our grandkids with a splinter. It feels right to me to hold my hands still and move the tweezers in just the right way. When words fly out of the keyboard onto a computer screen, my hands rejoice!

My fingers can scramble around a guitar and somewhat lovely sounds come out. But what I really look forward to are the sounds of the keys, the black and white keys – the pianoman’s song in the morning. “This is the day that the Lord has made!” My hands want to learn that song again.

I remember the words we recited to open each monthly 4-H meeting: “I pledge my head to clearer thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands to larger service, and my health to better living for my club, my community, my country, and my world.

I think better and see better when it starts in my hands. At the end of today’s text John said, “I write this so that my joy may be made complete.” He wanted his listeners to rejoice like him. And … he was glad to be using his hands. It felt good.

Awaken all our senses, Lord. Such a gift you’ve given us, not just for us to use but also to enjoy! Thank you for my eyes and my ears and my hands. We know you better when we touch you, whether it’s the skin of a peach, or the skin of a baby like Miles, or the wrinkled skin of a wise old man. You inhabit. You are there on the surface of things, and then, as we go deeper, you are there. Beauty proclaims your presence, and everything is beautiful.

Camera … action … light

December 28, 2016

Beloved: This is the message that we have heard from Jesus Christ and proclaim to you: God is light, and in him there is no darkness at all.

If we say, “We have fellowship with him,” while we continue to walk in darkness, we lie and do not act in truth. But if we walk in the light as he is in the light, then we have fellowship with one another, and the Blood of his Son Jesus cleanses us from all sin, no matter what.

– From 1 John 5

He showed me a yoga stretch for my back and said, in his accented English, “When you stretch this way, imagine the warm blood of your heart moving inside and around the vertebrae. Feel the warmth and rest in it.”

My Japanese friend continued. “And be prepared for your spiritual eyes to open. Look for the light. It will be there and you will see it.” Then he told me a story:

“I told my tennis partner about the things I saw in the yoga, and he told a friend who asked me to visit his new home. This man told me he felt something dark, wrong, haunted … something. He asked me to come and clean up his house. So I visited him later in the week, and we walked through his new home together.

“I am not an exorcist. That is for someone else more expert than me. I just walked with him.”

There was humility but no disappointment in his words as he continued. “I left and drove home and was doing the yoga that I do every day. Then something in me opened. I could see dark blue and black blobs, stuck and dead in space, lots of them. They made me feel sick, a little ugly. Fear. Abuse. Regret.”

But the dead did not hold sway. “As I kept stretching, a great light began to pour in, pour down, pour out all over me and the eyeless blobs. This I knew was the Holy Spirit, and I felt so happy. It was not a candle burning in the darkness. It was not the lonely light of a wise man’s lantern. This was the light of the universe. This was the light of the world. And it would not go out.

“The black and blue spirits moved on. Like I said, David, keep your eyes open. See what there is to see.”

It took courage to tell his story, because my friend had been rebuffed by a pastor and another Christian friend who could not seem to access his imagination but dogmatized him instead. “No, that was not the Holy Spirit. No, you did not see what you saw. Here is what you saw. This is what it means.” My friend left feeling more alone, more sad, and no less certain of what he’d seen.

His favorite gospel had been Luke; but now he has turned to John, who saw light, and saw the darkness defeated, and wrote what he saw without fear.

Held up by your strong hands behind our necks, Lord, we flounder in your arms like newborn babes, and try to stretch ourselves up and up, and out and out. We want to be free. You are the freedom-bringer, Lord, and if we’ll just hold still you’ll bring milk and meat to our lips, and strength to our bones. We can fly when we find the light in which you float, waiting there for us with a smile and open arms.

Brothers and sisters of the light

December 29, 2016

I am writing a new commandment to you, which holds true in him and among you, for the darkness is passing away, and the true light is already shining. Whoever says he is in the light, yet hates his brother, is still in the darkness. Whoever loves his brother remains in the light, and there is nothing in him to cause a fall.

– From 1 John 2

But the darkness draws. “Lord, I’m one … Lord, I’m two … Lord, I’m three … Lord, I’m four … Lord, I’m five hundred miles from my home.” On my loneliest Christmas Eve I drove down bright streets of Charlotte, North Carolina, anxious for the Christmas tree and oyster stew with Mom and Dad, with Mary Kay . But they were hundreds of miles away. My tears made the colors run.

Perhaps we each need our dark Christmas to lighten up the rest. It is tempting for all of us, given the seductive nature of self-pity, to enter the darkness, stay a little too long, and sometimes not come out.

But then there is the light already shining. Just open up my eyes and the light blinds my self-pity, wrenches me up and into being loved.

Like all of us, urban fantasy writer R. S. Belcher is fascinated by the interplay of dark and light.

In 1119 A.D., a group of nine crusaders became known as the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon. They were a militant monastic order charged with protecting pilgrims and caravans traveling on the roads to and from the Holy Land.

In time, these Knights Templar would grow in power but then, inevitably, be laid low. This story tells us of a small offshoot of the Templars which has endured and returned to the order’s original mission: to defend the roads of the world and guard those who travel on them.

A secret line of knights – truckers, bikers, taxi hacks, state troopers, bus drivers, RV gypsies – call themselves the Brotherhood of the Wheel. They patrol the U.S. Interstate highway system, which is a secret magnetic conduit for both good and bad magic.

A string of children gone missing draws some of these knights to a forgotten Kansas town, not on any map but at the exact center of the country, and to a forest-dwelling, false family of eerie, black-eyed kids, controlled by the immortal biker/serial killer Emile Chasseur. Chasseur worships the god Cernunnos. The Horned Man.

Jimmie Aussapile, driving his own semi and returning home as often as he can to his wife and kids, is one of those knights.

“Jimmie, it looks like the universe, at its most fundamental levels, is out of whack and falling apart. We have to do something before it’s too late.”

Robert Langdon has nothing on Jimmie Aussapile. “Right, Jimmie said. “Save the universe. Got it, but first we have to merge into the damned right lane.”

And Jimmie has nothing on St. John. If you’re in the light, you love your brother, love your sister. It’s that love freely offered which saves us, and within that love “there is nothing in us to cause a fall.”

Our redemption always comes from loving, Jesus, and never from righteous violence. We may never learn this lesson very well. Let us keep our eyes watching for you as we make decisions about how to live.

West Side light

December 30, 2016

Be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to

God the Father through him.

– From Colossians 3

Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol in 1843, six years after Queen Victoria began her nearly seventy year reign in England. Sanctification of the family, as portrayed by Dickens, would become a major tenet of Victorian thinking.

Today we celebrate the holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. A week ago we celebrated family of a different kind at West Side Christian Church in Springfield. This year they threw out all the stops for six Christmas Eve services.

Outside a set of giant spotlights circled and pierced the foggy night sky. Inside the interplay of music and singing and light and dark took our breath away.

Our daughter-in-law Melissa hosted the service, which blended Second City comedy with warm remembrance. In a video, she remembered her childhood, when her mother nearly died of cancer and she discovered the power of light against the backdrop of darkness threatening to take over her life. Melissa’s four-year old daughter Aly played Melissa in the video, entirely in silence. Her eyes spoke volumes.

The service anchored on a man sitting in a darkened cabin, reading to us about light. Lit only by a lantern he read, while twenty young women carried giant white balls of light down the aisles and left them at the altar. Bring your offering to Emmanuel.

Paul’s words for his Colossian family read well at weddings. Clothe yourselves with gentleness, humility, and forgiveness. Do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus. That should keep conflict to a minimum. We don’t always do it well, but we can also always come back to it. In the name of the Lord Jesus.

This week in Austin, we grandparents are staying up in shifts with new baby Miles. My eyes are often heavy and my muscles sore. But we feel more like a family than ever. Three generations of love and respect.

Today is a good day to be blessed by Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And somehow pass it on.

As you bless us, Lord, let us thank you and walk in your ways. You give us the fruit of your handiwork for food and drink, you set a banqueting table for us in the presence of our enemies, and invite us to dwell in your house forever. I want to say, YES, Lord. Yes!

First things, only things

December 31, 2016

Children, it is the last hour.

– From 1 John 2

Now, granted, John wrote these words when he was approaching 90 years old. He lived mostly alone in a prison cell. He rarely saw the sun. And his hopes may have dimmed as often as they were raised, when he forgot to pray.

That happens to me on the opposite end of busy-ness. Morning chores call me to get up and get moving. My mind floods with things to do and promises to keep. And so I forget to sit and settle and center, and pray. And it’s not long before my chores aren’t what I thought they’d be, and my hopes dim. John was depressed, and I’m anxious. We are both prone to disappointment.

But Jesus is alive. About the other end of time, John also wrote, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” This is truth that reawakens hope for us, generation after generation. We are trapped in time, but God is not. We all die, but God does not. We trust our relationship with Jesus, and hope springs up again. There is so much more to our lives than what we see or comprehend. Industrial Light and Magic is just the tip of the iceberg.

Be still, and know that I am God. This final day of one year breaks into the first day of the next. But there is no hurry. We are waiting, and we are here. We are in the midst of God.

Be still, and know that I am. Yahweh is in our midst. Emmanuel has come. All God’s “doing” is encompassed by his being. He calls us to live like him.

Be still and know. Logos, logical, logistic – we crawled up the Tower of Babel, ever more insistent on structure and containment – but no, wait, let go … legions of wisdom march in and out of human consciousness. How much do we know, and how can we know more? All there is to know? We can’t even count the galaxies, let alone know them. The geography of the spirit is bordered by what we know, but is never contained by it.

Be still. Now we’re getting somewhere. Don’t just do something, sit there. In this best of times and worst of times, during these seasons of light and seasons of darkness, springing up in hope, but then falling down frozen in despair, we can learn to simply sit like Charles Dickens’ French women sat. Watch and wait. Spin stories and let them go. Quiet mind, open eyes. See what happens next.

Be. There are no words to modify this two-letter word. Single syllable of silence, never spoken, always heard.

Father, I think of St. Francis’ words, “Always preach and represent God well, and when necessary, use words.” Our people-parties can get kind of wild on New Year’s Eve. We have so much to regret, and so much to anticipate. What have I missed, and what is yet to come? Caught in time I am, until I reach back a notch and settle in with you, find stillness once more. For the last time this year and the first time in the next, we fly away.

 

Trees of green, red roses too

Sunday, January 1, 2017

The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make his face shine

upon you and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up his

countenance on you, and give you his peace.

– From Numbers 6

After the fear comes the blessing. After the panic comes the peace. After the losing of control comes surrender to God’s sure touch. His hands hold me fast.

I notice that 2017 resolves into 1 …

2+0+1+7=10, 1+0=1.

20+17=37, 3+7=10, 1+0=1.

201+7=208, 2+0+8=10, 1+0=1.

2+17=19, 1+9=10, 1+0=1. Well.

So … this is year one of the rest of our lives. After several years here, Andi’s close friend Jacodien leaves Austin next week to return with her family to the Netherlands. On Friday, Andi traveled around town with them one last time, photographing their family in beloved places. In one photo, Peter and Jacodien are sitting on a rock leaning over to kiss each other, while their four young kiddos sit in front of them in a precarious, short-lived row.

Six children of God prepare to meet a new world. Andi and her friend grieve, and hope, and want the best for each other. A photo book Andi made for their family was displayed at their going-away party, and many friends signed the book. Like a yearbook in high school. A little holding on, a lot of letting go.

What does this year hold for you and your loved ones, and all the children God holds so dear? So many children will be born. Miles was just an idea on the first day of 2016, and look at him now.

Lots of us will also die, like Carrie Fisher and her mom Debbie Reynolds just now at the end of this year. Say goodbye. Hello. Goodbye. Hello. Surely the Beatles wrote their song on the first day of a singular year sometime: “I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello … hello, hello!

Their song ends in the gobbledygook of two words merged and mixed and brought together. Our lives merge and mix like that, and we do well to receive God’s blessing, and God’s loving look, and God’s touch, and God’s peace in all the new and all the old. This is such a wonderful world.

So often we don’t care well for what we touch, and things fall apart for a little while. That is not the way God made it, and that is not the way we stay. God brings us back and back and back again with his blessing, with his hands on our heads, holding us close. Never going away, lo. I am with you always.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer. Let your way be known on all the earth, may the nations be glad. Guide us in paths of righteousness for your name’s sake. We want to praise you all together in one strong voice, Lord. Give us courage to sustain the notes you have given each of us in this choir of love.

Start from the beginning

January 2, 2017

Beloved, who is the liar? … let what you heard from the beginning remain in you, and you will remain in the Son and in the Father.

– From 1 John 2

It’s warm outside. I think the thermometer in Austin must be lying. But the air is clear and clean, and so many folks are out here, walking and picnicking, flying their drones, fishing and kayaking on the lake. Two older middle eastern men, overdressed in corduroy sport coats and ancient mustaches, talk up a storm in a language old as the hills. I don’t understand a word. The sun comes up, and the sun goes down.

This is a day that the Lord has made.

It’s not a day to be sorting out truth from lies … but then, what day is? A long time ago I had to realize my chameleon-ness. What I heard last is what I think next. Not always, but often enough. So consequently, my politics, and my theology, and my opinions … flow.

Because different sides of an argument often make sense to me, I experience a high ratio of acceptance to judgment. I think this makes my expectations less rigid, more fluid, and more open.

We are not all this way. Probably, that’s a good thing. Someone has to defend the truth. Once we settle on what that is.

We can read the Bible literally, morally, allegorically and anagogically – each an aspect of truth not always comfortable with the others.

Jesus’ followers listened to John, but also to Gnostics and other folks who saw truth differently. So John asks them, and each of us, to hearken back to “what you heard from the beginning.” Can you remember what you first knew about Jesus? Can I? Can I hang onto that and leave the rest outside?

For many Christians, first theology comes from the Apostles’ Creed. But for all of us, it’s our experience with Jesus that John is talking about. If I will read his words, his words will show me how to live. If I live by those words, my house is built upon a rock.

John wants us to be like Jesus, and live by the commandment of love. Love God, and love your brother, and don’t settle for anything less. John is certain of this direction because of his experience, not his creed.

Everything tastes better when it’s made from scratch. Don’t eat someone else’s Christian pudding; make your own. Put in the right ingredients, stir them up, and trust the oven. God shows up every time.

Help me stand on your promises, Father. After the torrents of rain and the screaming wind, let me stand. Standing firm with the belt of truth buckled around my waist. Keep my ears open, and my mouth shut, and my heart full of gratitude and praise.

Cool hands holding onto God

January 3, 2017

John testified, “I saw the Spirit come down like a dove from the sky and remain upon him. I did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water told me, ‘On whomever you see the Spirit come down and remain, he is the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.’”

– From John 1

When you eat mostly locusts and wild honey, and sleep outside all the time, and have taken the Nazarite vow, don’t be surprised when you hear from God and see visions. Choose these privations and be blessed with spiritual food and drink. Elijah, John, Jesus … forty days in the desert and the dove comes down.

But neither Jesus nor John call their listeners to the desert cell. We can stay with our families and eat our meat, and rice, and brussels sprouts. Jesus will still baptize us with the Holy Spirit.

What God does expect is for me to believe the dove. With questions, sure, but questions asked in trust. At the end of “Cool Hand Luke,” Paul Newman escapes from the prison farm one last time. In his own existential despair, he talks to the ceiling of an old church he’s found.

“Anybody here? Hey, Old Man. You home tonight? Can you spare a minute? It’s time we had a little talk.”

As he continues this, his prayer becomes more personal and sincere.

“You made me like I am. Now just where am I supposed to fit in? Old Man, I gotta tell you. I started out pretty strong and fast. But it’s beginning to get to me. When does it end? What do you got in mind for me? What do I do now? I’m a pretty hard case.”

Luke folds his hands, kneels, and bows his head. Another kind of prayer. “In every situation, by prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God” (Philippians 4). But Luke said what he needed to say before he began to “pray.” The dogs and bosses descend on the church.

Luke shakes his head and smiles. “Is that your answer, Old Man? I guess you’re a hard case, too.” Does Luke believe the dove? Yes. He makes his peace with God.

Just a couple of hard cases sitting down together, and waiting with each other for whatever happens next.

“What we have here … is a failure to communicate.” Or maybe, not so much.

Father God, that’s me too. I listen to those police sirens, and stand alone in that old broken down barn of a church, and pray, like Luke did. And I know your ears are open, and your hands are strong, and there is nothing there with me and you but peace. No matter what. No matter when.

Fireside chat

January 4, 2017

Children, let no one deceive you.

– From 1 John 3

James Whitcomb Riley inscribed his poem “Little Orphant Annie” to all the little children: — the happy ones and sad ones; the sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones; the good ones — yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.”

She was a busy young woman, Little Orphant Annie:

… shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,

An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep;

An’ all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,

We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun

A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about,

An’ the Gobble-uns ‘at gits you

Ef you

Don’t

Watch

Out!

But be not deceived. Orphant Annie loved those little chilluns, and so did the poet who created her. The kiddos loved being scared. Do it again, do it again!

Deception isn’t so easy to decipher. It’s about evil, not good. Surprises are often not deceptive, but loving. White lies might be evil but usually aren’t; why else call them white?

What especially is not deception is the touch of Jesus. There’s no need to ask whether or not Jesus is God, and no reason to ask whether he’s the devil. No goblins here. Jesus is just Jesus, and his touch is what tells me what that means. I don’t need no theology to learn about his love for me.

Annie had a moral for her children:

… churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,

An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,

Er the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you

Ef you

Don’t

Watch

Out!

When I think of Jesus in Annie’s place, I remember how he handled the dirty old Hebrew men and the prostitute. “Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone.” And then when they’d all left he said to her, “Does no one remain to accuse you? Well then neither do I. Go and sin no more.”

I like Jesus’ fireside stories even better than Annie’s. It is good to be not deceived, free to believe the glass is not just half full, but full up all the way. This kind of freedom comes quickly in the evening, listening to Jesus’ stories, knowing he’ll be with us always. Can I get there in my imagination and my life? Jesus tells me, “Yes. Come. Follow me.”

These stories we tell each other about you, Jesus, warm our hearts. Frozen no longer. Who wants to share? What story’s next? When we listen to you and to each other, the old dead lies all fall away. In your presence, Jesus, truth rises like the sun. Peace comes inside our souls.

Live to love, love to live

January 5, 2017

Brothers and sisters, do not be amazed if the world hates you. We know that we have passed from death to life because we love our brothers. Whoever does not love remains in death, and everyone who hates his brother is a murderer… God is greater than our hearts and knows everything.

– From 1 John 3

In fact, as Jeremiah says, “The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Who can understand it?”

Adam did not answer God’s simple question in the Garden. Instead he turned toward Eve. “She made me do it.” Wikipedia defines psychological projection as heart behavior “in which humans defend themselves against their own unconscious impulses or qualities by denying their existence in themselves while attributing them to others.”

Once more we settle for the wrong tree. Knowledge of good and evil insists that we explain and fix blame. Eating from the tree of life allows us to simply say as Jesus did, “Then neither do I condemn you (or myself. Let us) go and sin no more.”

But I am sorely tempted to hate haters. When someone else honks hard and long in a traffic jam, I judge him. Bad! All around me there are angry eyes, sharp elbows, selfish motives, and since I’m a peoplewatcher, I see lots of ugly. So often my heart fails me. I don’t love. I murder. I pass back from life to death.

I become like the one I hate.

But thank God, He is greater than my heart. God does not watch me with judgment, but knows instead how much He loves me. He does not wait for me to love before loving me.

I am not ugly to God, even when I do ugly things. Neither is anyone else! “We know that we have passed from death to life because we love our sisters and our brothers.” God shows us how to hate the sin but love the sinner. That is not something I do well on my own, but I can watch God treat me that way and learn how from him.

Lord, over and over I am learning to say in the moment of my judgment, “Help me, Jesus.” Let me love like you do. I am not ugly and neither is anyone else. We are all fearfully and wonderfully made, and you love us to pieces, every single one of us. Thank you. You are the Tree of Life, and we are all one river, all one sea. You flow through him, and you flow through me.

Gift of the magi

January 6, 2017

God gave us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever

possesses the Son has life.

– From 1 John 5

Of course John is talking about eternal life after death. But none of us has been there. There is also the eternal moment, where we all are, all the time. I seem to experience these moments on many satisfaction levels. There is pain, and there is boredom, and there is joy.

There is the joy of hearing 7 week-old Miles at midnight, purring with those soft sounds of feeling full after I give him a bottle of milk. And there is the joy of sharing in Aly’s unending imagination – decorating trees, fixing dinner and preparing for her marriage in the morning, all while tearing around the playground in the mall.

I asked her if she’d marry me, but she said no. She’d already chosen someone else. She reminded me that she was older now: 4½.

We’ve come back from Austin to Illinois, from 72 degrees to 12, feels like 4. I am once again aware of the cuts on my thumb which activate in cold weather. What I want to remember is that all these moments are precious.

This final text of Christmas makes me think of O. Henry, a short-time resident of Austin. He wrote wonderful short stories including, happily for us, “Gift of the Magi.” Two young married lovers give up their most prized possession for each other at Christmas.

Which is great! Except that their gifts each require what the other gave away. But instead of harboring blame and disappointment, they just “went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends – a mammoth task.”

Claiming an eternal moment always means giving rather than grasping. When Jesus touches me, I want to touch you. When Jesus loves me, I want to love you. Few times are more frustrating than when I can’t … or don’t and wish I did.

1. Henry’s Jim and Della couldn’t stand to keep what was most precious to them when instead they could give something precious to the other. Sounds like Jesus was in the room with them. Teaching them how to love.

Your magic, Jesus, flings caution to the winds and lets me live all there is to live, moment by moment by moment. Manna only lasts a day, but there’s always enough for all of us. We haven’t learned that lesson yet, Lord. Your patience … thank you for your patience. Keep on teaching us how to trust you, and love each other.

ENDNOTES

LENT AND EASTER DEVOTIONS

Feb 10       Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air , 2016

Feb 11       Leonard Boase, SJ, The Prayer of Faith, 1950

Feb 13       “The Revenant,” directed by Alejandro G. Inarritu, 2016

Feb 14       Henri Nouwen, In the Name of Jesus, 1989

Feb 15       Walter Wink, “Facing the Myth of Redemptive Violence,” 2007, Ekklesia.co.uk

Feb 16       Boase, Prayer of Faith

J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey, 1961

Feb 18       “Bruce Almighty,” directed by Tom Shadyac, 2003

Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, 1966.

Feb 20       M. Scott Peck, The Road Less Traveled, 1978

Feb 21       The tallest mountain in New Mexico is Wheeler Peak, near Taos, at 13,159 feet. We climbed it.

Feb 22       From the 2/16/16 entry of the blog, “Mostly Consolation”

Feb 25       Ignatius of Loyola, Spiritual Exercises, 1548

St. John Vianney was a French parish priest, born 1786, died 1859, canonized 1925

Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy, 1998

Feb 26       “Grape, Grape Joy,” sung by Amy Grant, 1977

Feb 27       Title borrowed from Heartworn Highways, documentary film about Texan “outlaw country” singers, including Guy Clarke

Henri Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son, 1992

Feb 28       The Havasupai Trail ends with ¾ mile of switchbacks up the side of the Grand Canyon, after a little more than 9 miles of uphill hiking from the campgrounds near Navajo Falls. We started hiking up at 4 am.

Mar 1         Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son

Mar 2         Richard Lyon Morgan, Remembering Your Story, 1996

Mar 3         Willard, The Divine Conspiracy

Mar 5         “In the Garden,” written by C. Austin Miles, 1912

Mar 6         Richard Rohr, “Divinization,” March 4, 2016, cac.org

“I Am the Walrus,” written by John Lennon, sung by the Beatles, 1967

Mar 7         C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory, 1965

Mar 8         Matthew and Sheila Fabricant Linn, Sleeping with Bread, 1995

Mar 9         Linns, Sleeping with Bread

Ed Wheat, Lovelife for Every Married Couple, 1980

Mar 12       “Joy to the World,” written by Hoyt Axton and sung by Three Dog Night, 1970

Mar 14       Tony Campolo, The Kingdom of God is a Party, 1990

Mar 15       Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle, 1588

“He Gives Us All His Love,” written by Randy Newman, 1972

Mar 17       “Teach Your Children,” written by Graham Nash, 1970

“Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” by Thomas Chisholm, music by William Runyon, 1923.

Mar 19       “The Marvelous Toy,” sung by Peter, Paul and Mary, 1969

“If I Stand,” written and sung by Rich Mullins, 1988

Mar 20       Faustina Kowalska, Diary: Divine Mercy in My Soul, 1938.

Mar 25       Richard Rohr, “Stories from the Bottom,” March 22, 2016, cac.org

Mar 26       Thomas Green, When the Well Runs Dry, 1979

Mar 27       Christine Valters Paintner, “Easter Blessings,” March 27, 2016, abbeyofthearts.com

Mar 28       Richard Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon, 2000

Mar 30       William Shakespeare, Macbeth, 1606

“Bookends,” written and sung by Simon and Garfunkel, 1968

Scott McKnight, Praying with the Church, 2006

Mar 31       “New Every Morning,” written by Rory Noland, 2013

Apr 1          Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

Apr 2          “The ’85 Bears,” directed by Jason Hehlr, ESPN, 2016

Apr 3          Richard Rohr, “Awakening to Mercy,” April 1, 2016 cac.org

Thomas Merton, “The Victory,” poem, 1946

Apr 10        Labyrinths world-wide can be located online at laybrinthlocator.com

Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander

Apr 17        Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude, 1958

Apr 24        “To Kill a Mockingbird”, directed by Robert Mulligan, 1962

May 1         T. S. Eliot, “The Wasteland,” poem, 1922

1. S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain, 1940

May 8         Stephen Grosz, The Examined Life, 2013

 

ADVENT AND CHRISTMAS DEVOTIONS

Nov 30       Reinhold Niebuhr, “The Serenity Prayer,” 1951

Dec 1         “Our House,” written by Graham Nash, 1970

Dec 2         Marcus Borg, Dominic Crossan, The First Christmas, 2007

Dec 10       Aelred of Rievaulx, On Spiritual Friendship, 1164

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, 1939

Dec 11       Borg and Crossan, The First Christmas

Dec 12       Frank Peretti, This Present Darkness, 1986

Borg and Crossan, The First Christmas

Dec 13       Dietrich Bonhoeffer, God Is in the Manger, 2010

Dec 16       Charles Dickens, The Chimes, 1844

Dec 17       Karen Mains, Making Sunday Special, 1987

Dec 17       Eric Metaxas, Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, 2009

Dec 20       Title borrowed from Beldon Lane’s The Solace of Fierce Landscapes, 1998

“Dr. Zhivago,” directed by David Lean, 1965

Dec 22       Sheila Fabricant Linn, Dennis and Matthew Linn, Making Heart-Bread, 2006

Dec 24       Max Ehrmann, “Desiderata,” poem, 1927

Dec 25       Max Ehrmann, “Desiderata”

Dec 26       Paula Gooder, The Meaning Is in the Waiting, 2008

Dec 29       “500 Miles,” written by Hedy West, 1961

1. S. Belcher, Brotherhood of the Wheel, 2016

Dec 30       Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, 1843

Dec 31       Charles Dickens, Tale of Two Cities, 1859

Jan 1          “Hello, Goodbye,” written by Paul McCartney, sung by The Beatles, 1967

Jan 3          “Cool Hand Luke,” directed by Stuart Rosenberg, 1967

Jan 4          James Whitcomb Riley, “Little Orphant Annie,” poem, 1885

Jan 6          O. Henry, “Gift of the Magi,” short story, 1905

 

Acknowledgments

Thank you to so many:

The spiritual leaders in my family. Mom and Dad, Grandpa Brummer, Aunt Mary, Aunt Nenie, my cousin Mike Stebbins.

Teachers: Louise Smock, Geri Rogers, John Gathman, Randy Reichert, Kathy Griffin, Willis Boyd, Dodds Meddock, Ralph Meyering and others.

Friends and more:  Debbie Moss, Terry Lessen, Gary Brown, Nancy Lehner, Jim Lansford, Stefe Bokenkamp, Sam Ewalt, Kathe Carino, Larry Kleiman, Anneke Hogeland,  Becky Thiem, Jane and Stephanie Goerss, Chad Wilson, Natalie Shea, Ron Herron, Lyndall Propst, Neal Windham, and so many more.

Unification Church teachers and friends: Angelina, Dr. Durst, Daivid, Noah, Nadine, Jennifer, Bobby, Esteban, and Patricia.

Kogudistas Al Schmidt, Bill Zimmer, Jerry Crane, Lou Logeman, Jack Ludwig, Ron Leverich, and many many others.

Pastors: Arthur Neitzel, Larry Clemetsen, Al and Pat Morehead, Gary and Leah Johnson, Don and Jennifer Follis, Mike and Gwynne McQueen, Happy and Dianne Leman, Ben and Tina Hoerr, John and Fran Chisholm, Joe and Ginger Cotton, Jeff and Christine Augustine, Greg and Jeannette Elliott, Neal and Miriam Windham, Chris and Melanie Easton.

Christian Campus Fellowship pastor Don Follis, who took me to the old LaSallette Monastery for a day of mostly silence, and who handed me a book one day by an author I’d never heard of: Henri Nouwen.

Ruth Haley Barton, Karla Green, Mark Miller, Dalene Strieff, Jerry Lee, Richard Hudzik, Nancy Miller, Diane Steward, Cynthia Walters, Galen Hiestand, and many others for my Transforming Community experience.

Mary Hogan, Chris Hopkins, Sister Melanie Roetker, Sister Renita Brummer, Jessie Vicha, and Father Albert Haase for pointing Margaret and me toward becoming spiritual directors.

My long-suffering spiritual directors: Sr. Melanie Roetker, Mark Miller, Debra Sutter and Neal Windham.

Don Savaiano, Pat Rogers, and Patrick Savaiano for their friendship and consistent hospitality over so many years. And for being fellow Cub fans.

Stacey Krejci, web designer, musician, and genius, who finds an elegant solution for every less-than-elegant problem I present to him (www.vagrantaristocrat.com).

My loving and insistent readers: Gerard Booy, Glenda Geu, and Arnie Gentile. And for Arnie’s joy and contagious enthusiasm for book-publishing. Voila!

The USCCB, for providing its internet audience with the Roman Catholic lectionary day by day, year after year.

My siblings, Mary Kay and Jim Cravens, John and Karen Sandel. And our growing family: Margaret, Chris, Melissa, Jack, Aly, Marc, Andi, Aki, and Miles.

There are so many others. We are all one river.

About David Sandel

Born 1949 in Lincoln, Illinois. Grew up on a dairy farm. Wrote short stories that began, “It was a dark and stormy night.” Got in trouble in high school for playing chess in study hall.

Missouri Synod Lutheran. Christ College at Valparaiso University. 1968 Democratic National Convention, a little tear gas and self-righteousness in Chicago. Flew hot air balloons. Transactional Analysis. Fishing in Wisconsin.

Looking for love in all the wrong places. Tried politics, psychology, pot, physical body massage, poetry, hitchhiking, finally joined the Unification Church. Creative Community Project, Berkeley, California. Rev. Sun Myung Moon.

Celibate church members aren’t supposed to fall in love too soon. I did. Left the church and went home to Lincoln, worked on the farm and met Margaret. We listened to the Divine Principle and went to a Bible study of Hebrews.

I attended a Kogudus retreat and met Jesus in the woods. Mom and I graduated together on Mother’s Day with counseling degrees from Illinois State University.

Margaret and I got married. Chris, Marc and Andrea were born. We attended Christian churches in Mt. Pulaski, Waynesville, and Urbana. We found our way into campus ministry at UIUC with Christian Campus Fellowship.

We discovered the Vineyard Christian Fellowship at church camp one summer. Music. Education. Hands-on prayer. Everybody gets to play.

Equipping Ministries in Cincinnati, the Transforming Community in Wheaton and Libertyville, Chiara Center’s Spiritual Direction program in Springfield. Centering Prayer at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church.

So many books, so little time.

And so it goes.

 

Family Index

Mom and Dad, Mary Kay and John:

Pictures: February 28, April 24, Acknowledgments

Devotions, etc.: Pages 73, 74, 75, 204, 205, 217, 235, 258, 288, 289, 290

Margaret Sandel:

Pictures: February 15, 22, 25, March 10, 16, 26, 28, 29, April 1, May 8, December 28

Devotions, etc: Pages 5, 8, 15, 24, 48, 175, 185, 205, 230, 241, 289, 290

Chris and Melissa Sandel:

Pictures: March 16, 18, 28, 29, April 1

Devotions, etc.: Pages 15, 190, 230, 240, 262, 263, 289, 290

Andi and Aki Tomita:

Pictures: February 21, 25, 28, March 12, 16, 29, 31, December 13, 28, 29, 31, January 1

Devotions, etc: Pages 15, 98, 174, 185, 187, 190, 200, 203, 240, 268, 289, 290

Marc Sandel:

Pictures: February 17, March 16, April 1, January 1

Devotions, etc: Pages 15, 66, 140, 230, 290

 

Our Grandkids

Jack Sandel:

Pictures: March 3, 12, 16, 25, 29, April 1

Devotions, etc.: Pages 200, 240, 241, 289

Aly Sandel:

Pictures: February 17, 28, March 16, 18, 26, 28, 29, April 1

Devotions, etc.: Pages 178, 179, 200, 240, 241, 263, 282, 289

Miles Tomita:

Pictures: December 15, 16, 28, 29, 31, January 1, 4

Devotions: Pages 185, 188, 198, 200, 203, 213, 240, 253, 263, 269, 282