Posts
In the Midst of Sorrow
“In the midst of life, we are in death; from whom can we seek help?” Those are the words that begin a Service of Committal, the time after death when the loved one is either buried or cremated. “In the midst of life, we are in death.”
How true those words are, first written in a ninth century prayer book. So where does our help come from? The service goes on to read, “Our help is in the name of the Lord who made heaven and earth.” It is so often at times of death that people do turn to the name of the Lord, the creator of all, the Holy One who holds together the entire universe.
I’m not sure what it is about the month of July, but it seems to be a time when many do die, especially the elderly. I have spent much of the last few weeks at the bedside of the dying, comforting the families, preparing and attending funeral services. In conversation with several clergy friends, I find that they, also, have an unusually heavy load of funerals right now. In the last two weeks, I have lost two friends whom I had been privileged to know in these last few years, a high school classmate of my brother, and my mother just phoned with the news of yet another death of someone I had known since early childhood.
And late last week, I found that a friend whom I’ve known as soul mate has developed a particularly virulent and fast-acting form of leukemia. She was in New York City when it was discovered, was immediately put into a hospital there and is now undergoing heavy, heavy blasts of chemotherapy.
I long to be at her bedside, but cannot leave here right now, so I’ve been calling her daily. In today’s conversation, she said, “I am just beginning to understand that I probably won’t make it through this.” Yes, in the midst of life, we are in death.
Our help? It is in the name of the Lord. The worship service goes on to say, “God, who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your moral bodies also through the Spirit that dwells in you.”
This is the hope that Christianity offers to the world that cannot be found elsewhere: Christ was indeed raised from the dead. In that act, death lost its sting. Because there is a resurrection, because our mortal bodies will indeed put on immortality, death has lost its victory.
Does it hurt when we have to say these final good-byes to those whom we love? Oh my—the pain is so great that sometimes I wonder how we bear it. But we, who call upon Jesus as Lord, do above all have hope. And so in our final prayer at the graveside we say, “Gracious God, we thank you for those we love but see no more. Receive into your arms your servant and grant that increasing in knowledge and love of you, they may go from strength to strength in service to your heavenly kingdom though Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
May all who find themselves in sorrow discover anew the words of hope.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Monday, July 07, 2008
Still Drugging Our Children
A few months ago, I wrote about my concern that normal teen-aged rebellion is now being considered a mental illness to be treated with drugs that would make youth more compliant. In a recent news release, the American Academy of Pediatrics now recommends that children as young as eight start routinely being given cholesterol-lowering drugs, and that babies as young as one year old be switched over to lowfat milk. By the way, they also note this: “The academy has long recommended against reduced-fat milk for children up to age 2 because saturated fats are needed for brain development.” However, these wise pediatricians have apparently decided that brain development is far less important than weight issues.
These recommendations come “from recent research showing that cholesterol-fighting drugs are generally safe for children.”
Kudos to the American Academy of Pediatrics—by all means, let us grow up a nation of skinny teens and adults whose brains stay at a childlike level so they’ll happily accept whatever expensive drug therapy next devised by the ever-hungry-for-profits pharmaceutical companies. By all means, let us routinely give “generally safe” drugs to our children while having no idea what the long-term impact of such drugs would be. Great idea! Why worry about proper food and good exercise when we can just give a pill instead?
Yes, I’m being sarcastic.
And yes, childhood obesity is a problem and seems to be getting worse. And yes, we are a nation of overweight people who live with the consequences of those extra pounds. My son, who currently lives in France and has spent much of the past five years in South American and Australia, was here in the States for a visit recently. His comment to me, “Wow, Americans really are big aren’t they?” The years away give him a different set of eyes.
Here, as always, I am reminded again of the wisdom contained in the Bible. Wisdom that reminds us that gluttony and greed—the need for more and more, well past the satisfying of necessary and important needs—sets us up for unhappiness and failure. When unrestrained gluttony and greed are mixed with laziness and the desire for a quick fix, i.e. an easy to swallow pill rather than the hard work of changed habits, then we’ve left behind the wisdom of God’s word to us. We’ve exchanged wisdom for foolishness, and we all pay the price.
Right now, it looks like the ones getting most hurt are our children. It’s time to stop this craziness.
A few months ago, I wrote about my concern that normal teen-aged rebellion is now being considered a mental illness to be treated with drugs that would make youth more compliant. In a recent news release, the American Academy of Pediatrics now recommends that children as young as eight start routinely being given cholesterol-lowering drugs, and that babies as young as one year old be switched over to lowfat milk. By the way, they also note this: “The academy has long recommended against reduced-fat milk for children up to age 2 because saturated fats are needed for brain development.” However, these wise pediatricians have apparently decided that brain development is far less important than weight issues.
These recommendations come “from recent research showing that cholesterol-fighting drugs are generally safe for children.”
Kudos to the American Academy of Pediatrics—by all means, let us grow up a nation of skinny teens and adults whose brains stay at a childlike level so they’ll happily accept whatever expensive drug therapy next devised by the ever-hungry-for-profits pharmaceutical companies. By all means, let us routinely give “generally safe” drugs to our children while having no idea what the long-term impact of such drugs would be. Great idea! Why worry about proper food and good exercise when we can just give a pill instead?
Yes, I’m being sarcastic.
And yes, childhood obesity is a problem and seems to be getting worse. And yes, we are a nation of overweight people who live with the consequences of those extra pounds. My son, who currently lives in France and has spent much of the past five years in South American and Australia, was here in the States for a visit recently. His comment to me, “Wow, Americans really are big aren’t they?” The years away give him a different set of eyes.
Here, as always, I am reminded again of the wisdom contained in the Bible. Wisdom that reminds us that gluttony and greed—the need for more and more, well past the satisfying of necessary and important needs—sets us up for unhappiness and failure. When unrestrained gluttony and greed are mixed with laziness and the desire for a quick fix, i.e. an easy to swallow pill rather than the hard work of changed habits, then we’ve left behind the wisdom of God’s word to us. We’ve exchanged wisdom for foolishness, and we all pay the price.
Right now, it looks like the ones getting most hurt are our children. It’s time to stop this craziness.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Afflict the Comfortable
“Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” That phrase often serves as a succinct job description for those who serve as church pastors. The “comfort the afflicted” part is easy to understand. But the “afflict the comfortable” part carries complex implications. One of which is that most pastors could easily be considered “comfortable” so any affliction we think we are to put upon others should rightly land in our own laps as well.
While the Bible abounds with words of great comfort—Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want” being a well-known example—it also abounds with words of admonition and challenge. If we want the words of comfort, we must also receive the words of admonition. And that’s where things get a little sticky.
Some of the most pointed words remind us that we don’t get a “bye” where suffering is concerned if we really want to be followers of Jesus. He told his followers, “The student is not greater than the teacher.” Now, I suspect that a lot of students like to THINK they are greater than their teachers, but they are not. The point: if Jesus could not escape suffering and being called evil and being hated, the students, i.e., those who follow Jesus, shouldn’t expect to find it much easier.
So why did so many people hate Jesus? Because, among other things, Jesus unmasked their hypocrisy, their pretend lives, the times they had taken the easy path of compromise with the pressures of the world around them rather than the hard path of standing up and saying, “No, this is not right. I will not go that direction.” Every culture, every time, every people group presents temptations to give us, to do things that seem to make life easier, to compromise the basics of living as full humans as God created us. In the first century, the temptations were to just get along with the ruling class so their taxes would not get higher and their burdens greater. So what if “getting along” meant a little cheating, a little lying, a little mistreatment of certain people, a little winking at those who just pretended to be religious in order to gain favor and position. What difference would it make if their comfort levels could be increased?
Oh yes, what difference would it make? According to Jesus, it means the difference between life and death, between living in the kingdom of heaven and the kingdom of hell. And people really, really didn’t like those words. They are just too hard—and the best way to stop them is to get rid of the person who is bringing them.
As I look around the world today, those similar compromises are all around us. The ones that concern me the most are the compromises we’ve made where children are concerned. It seems that we’ve permitted the media to make decisions about the moral base that our children will build their lives upon—and that, in my opinion, is a very, very shaky base. The hyper-sexualization, the glorification of violence, lack of respect for intellectual attainment, nearly complete disregard for the necessity of building healthy spiritual lives for our children and youth.
Oh yes, we are comfortable. And we may be destroying the next generation in our comfort.
“Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” That phrase often serves as a succinct job description for those who serve as church pastors. The “comfort the afflicted” part is easy to understand. But the “afflict the comfortable” part carries complex implications. One of which is that most pastors could easily be considered “comfortable” so any affliction we think we are to put upon others should rightly land in our own laps as well.
While the Bible abounds with words of great comfort—Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want” being a well-known example—it also abounds with words of admonition and challenge. If we want the words of comfort, we must also receive the words of admonition. And that’s where things get a little sticky.
Some of the most pointed words remind us that we don’t get a “bye” where suffering is concerned if we really want to be followers of Jesus. He told his followers, “The student is not greater than the teacher.” Now, I suspect that a lot of students like to THINK they are greater than their teachers, but they are not. The point: if Jesus could not escape suffering and being called evil and being hated, the students, i.e., those who follow Jesus, shouldn’t expect to find it much easier.
So why did so many people hate Jesus? Because, among other things, Jesus unmasked their hypocrisy, their pretend lives, the times they had taken the easy path of compromise with the pressures of the world around them rather than the hard path of standing up and saying, “No, this is not right. I will not go that direction.” Every culture, every time, every people group presents temptations to give us, to do things that seem to make life easier, to compromise the basics of living as full humans as God created us. In the first century, the temptations were to just get along with the ruling class so their taxes would not get higher and their burdens greater. So what if “getting along” meant a little cheating, a little lying, a little mistreatment of certain people, a little winking at those who just pretended to be religious in order to gain favor and position. What difference would it make if their comfort levels could be increased?
Oh yes, what difference would it make? According to Jesus, it means the difference between life and death, between living in the kingdom of heaven and the kingdom of hell. And people really, really didn’t like those words. They are just too hard—and the best way to stop them is to get rid of the person who is bringing them.
As I look around the world today, those similar compromises are all around us. The ones that concern me the most are the compromises we’ve made where children are concerned. It seems that we’ve permitted the media to make decisions about the moral base that our children will build their lives upon—and that, in my opinion, is a very, very shaky base. The hyper-sexualization, the glorification of violence, lack of respect for intellectual attainment, nearly complete disregard for the necessity of building healthy spiritual lives for our children and youth.
Oh yes, we are comfortable. And we may be destroying the next generation in our comfort.
The Gospel of Flowers
I was doing a bit of housecleaning and realized that I needed to discard some flowers that had passed their prime. This lovely grouping had been given to me by some special friends on the day of my long-awaited ordination, June 10, 2008. I had been enjoying them daily each morning as I sat at my dining table and enjoyed breakfast. But, as happens for all live things, decay was setting in. Time for them to land in the compost pile; there to more fully decompose and eventually give life to something else.
This action prompted me to reflect a moment on my ordination. I have often said that I worked for ten years to get to this point, but it is really much, much longer. Really since my first discovery of a life alive to God when I was a student at Rice University—and that is MANY more than ten years ago. There, in the gentle embrace of a small Baptist church, I experienced powerful, redemptive love. We Rice students were their life, their ministry. They gave themselves away for us. They fed us, drove us places, kept us overnight, offered their wisdom and friendship and time and energy for us. All who came through that ministry were touched for life; some of us went into the life of vocational Christian ministry.
About 15 years ago, I contacted that church to let them know the power of their ministry in my life. With great graciousness, they invited me into their pulpit, and I was able to see familiar faces and again sense the power of their love. Just a small, obscure Baptist church, knowing their call: care for those Rice students. They had no idea how all this would turn out. They just knew what they were supposed to do at that point in their lives.
Surely it must have been frustrating to them. I so well remember the choir director working vainly to teach me to sing harmony. I never did catch on, despite multiple private lessons. And our Sunday School teacher, a man of enormous learning (he himself had a Ph.D. in chemistry from Rice University), wondering if he could ever pound into our heads even the basics of Christian faith and how to integrate our faith into our academic and personal lives.
Work with university students is so transient—we come, we learn what we can, we graduate, we move away. Never are we contributing members; never can we support the church financially, or with many acts of service. Barely surviving academically, still highly immature socially and emotionally, living financially precarious lives, we turn to them for comfort and support. Just a bunch of takers, really.
Yet for those fellow “takers” that I have remained in contact with, I notice that we have all eventually turned into a bunch of givers. We are living out the pattern set for us—serve where we are planted, give all we’ve got, don’t worry about ensuring the outcome, but know this is the path of real joy. Very much like those flowers now in the compost pile: give away the joy of their color and brightness, represent the love of my friends, and then die in a way to bring even more nourishment and life to others.
The gospel of flowers. The gospel of Jesus.
I was doing a bit of housecleaning and realized that I needed to discard some flowers that had passed their prime. This lovely grouping had been given to me by some special friends on the day of my long-awaited ordination, June 10, 2008. I had been enjoying them daily each morning as I sat at my dining table and enjoyed breakfast. But, as happens for all live things, decay was setting in. Time for them to land in the compost pile; there to more fully decompose and eventually give life to something else.
This action prompted me to reflect a moment on my ordination. I have often said that I worked for ten years to get to this point, but it is really much, much longer. Really since my first discovery of a life alive to God when I was a student at Rice University—and that is MANY more than ten years ago. There, in the gentle embrace of a small Baptist church, I experienced powerful, redemptive love. We Rice students were their life, their ministry. They gave themselves away for us. They fed us, drove us places, kept us overnight, offered their wisdom and friendship and time and energy for us. All who came through that ministry were touched for life; some of us went into the life of vocational Christian ministry.
About 15 years ago, I contacted that church to let them know the power of their ministry in my life. With great graciousness, they invited me into their pulpit, and I was able to see familiar faces and again sense the power of their love. Just a small, obscure Baptist church, knowing their call: care for those Rice students. They had no idea how all this would turn out. They just knew what they were supposed to do at that point in their lives.
Surely it must have been frustrating to them. I so well remember the choir director working vainly to teach me to sing harmony. I never did catch on, despite multiple private lessons. And our Sunday School teacher, a man of enormous learning (he himself had a Ph.D. in chemistry from Rice University), wondering if he could ever pound into our heads even the basics of Christian faith and how to integrate our faith into our academic and personal lives.
Work with university students is so transient—we come, we learn what we can, we graduate, we move away. Never are we contributing members; never can we support the church financially, or with many acts of service. Barely surviving academically, still highly immature socially and emotionally, living financially precarious lives, we turn to them for comfort and support. Just a bunch of takers, really.
Yet for those fellow “takers” that I have remained in contact with, I notice that we have all eventually turned into a bunch of givers. We are living out the pattern set for us—serve where we are planted, give all we’ve got, don’t worry about ensuring the outcome, but know this is the path of real joy. Very much like those flowers now in the compost pile: give away the joy of their color and brightness, represent the love of my friends, and then die in a way to bring even more nourishment and life to others.
The gospel of flowers. The gospel of Jesus.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
My Treasures, His Junk
By the time this article comes out, I will have changed residences. In the last several weeks, the Krum United Methodist Church has sold the parsonage, the house where the pastor lives, and purchased another one. So, it is time to pack up and move.
For a United Methodist pastor, the act of moving is not unusual. We have a strong heritage of itinerant ministry, where the pastors go where and when most needed for the good of the larger connection. John Wesley, that great and visionary man of God, began this practice in order to make sure that rapidly growing churches had pastors. These were churches full of people who had discovered that the observance of certain methods (it is from these “methods” that the word “Methodist” emerged) of spiritual discipline and practice brought them to a much greater experience of the transformational love of God and a willingness to bring that transformation to the world around them. Pastors serving under John Wesley's leadership moved frequently, and did so willingly in order to most effectively serve God and the community of Christians.
Because my husband and I are both United Methodist clergy, we've been particularly prone to moves, and have become pretty good at the packing/unpacking process. Nonetheless, the same issues surface with each move. Simply put, here is the oft-repeated scenario:
Christy: “My beloved, since we are moving again, don't you think this would be a good time to sort out some of your stuff and get rid of things you don't want or use any more?”
The Beloved Spouse: “No.”
Christy: “But my sweet one, this is such a good time to go through your things, and toss out all those unnecessary things.”
The Beloved Spouse: “What unnecessary things?”
Christy: “Oh my adorable one, you know—all that junk that you have—the papers and stray nails and odd tools and old magazines and all those empty boxes you collect.”
The Beloved Spouse: “And your junk?”
Christy: “What junk?”
The Beloved Spouse: “Your books and your paintings and all those pots you save just in case you need one for another plant . . .”
Christy, (interrupting): “My precious one, please, wait just a minute—those things aren't junk—those are beautiful and valuable.”
The Beloved Spouse: “My stuff is beautiful and valuable to me.”
Christy: “C'mon—it's just junk.”
The Beloved Spouse: “Not to me.”
OK, by this point in the conversation, I'm beginning again to catch the picture. The two of us have very different opinions as to what constitutes “junk.” It's all in the point of view—my things are treasures, his things are junk. Except they aren't junk to him. Nor do my things look like treasures to him.
So, as I often do, I must return to the basic command in the Bible about how to relate to other people: “love your neighbor as you love yourself.” I suspect that “husband” and “wife” are included in the term, “neighbor.” Love my husband as I love myself. Love my wife as I love myself. Since I want to make room for my treasures, that means I need to make sure there is room for my husband's junk . . . sorry, for my husband's treasures.
This is about living the Christian life in the trenches. While I love the luminous moments of inspiring worship and connection with God, those moments must be informed by the day-to-day interactions of generous, open-handed living. Those are the things that bring us into the space known as “the kingdom of heaven.” Jesus often told his followers, “the kingdom of heaven is all about you.” We find it when we really do love our neighbors as ourselves.
Time to go pack my husband's junk . . . I mean “treasures!”
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Cooperation: Two Way Traffic to Life
Why doesn’t God_______? You fill in the blank—you’ve probably asked the same question. Why doesn’t God heal the sick and stop the tragedies and right the wrongs and turn back evil and make everything nice? Yes, why doesn’t God?
Well, that question isn’t going to be answered in one short column. There are libraries full of books trying to answer that question as people wrestle with the whole issue of evil and nastiness and horror and general yuckiness in a world that is declared “good” by a God who is also declared “Good.”
My own take on it is that God could easily make everything good again, but we’d just mess it up again because people really don’t want to be all that good themselves. There is one point in the Bible where Jesus tells his followers to get busy and get out there and heal the sick and raise the dead and cleanse the lepers and cast out demons. All those things surely sound like turning the world good again. But right after Jesus tells them to get going, he also tells them that some people really aren’t going to be happy about being cleansed and healed and alive and demon-free and are not going to offer any welcome to those coming for such tasks.
Why? Because getting healed and cleansed and being alive and demon free are not one way actions that come only from God to us. We have to cooperate in getting healed and being clean and staying alive and demon free. It’s a two-way street here—traffic has got to flow both ways for it to work.
This spring when I was in France, my son and I wanted to drive into the center of a very old town. To get there we had to pass over a small bridge and go inside what were the original city walls, built to hold off invaders. The street through the city was very, very narrow, and traffic could only flow one way at a time, yet there were entrances on both sides of the town. So the street was always one way, but it changed directions every few minutes. It was the only way it could work. It meant long waits as the stop light on one side of town let in a series of cars. Those cars had to get through the town and out the other side before that light could turn green and let in a few going the other way. A bit cumbersome for this normally rapid moving American, but it worked. Everyone cooperated with the need for two way traffic in a one-way town. Cooperation—it means things go both ways.
I really can’t see any difference between the need for traffic cooperation and the need to cooperate with the Spirit of God. We’re constantly being offered healing, cleansing, life and freedom from our demons. But to be healed means actually receiving the healing—and then living like well people. To be cleansed means getting bathed, and then getting bathed again and again and again, because we all get dirty all the time. To be made alive means leaving behind the things that lead to death and intentionally living in the light the holy call to be fully human. To be free of our demons means we no longer show hospitality to the things which destroy us and those around us, but say “no” to those destructive forces.
It takes two of us, but many just start and stop with “Why doesn’t God ...” and never get to “why don’t I . . .” and then never see that God is doing those things—we’re just not cooperating.
Why doesn’t God_______? You fill in the blank—you’ve probably asked the same question. Why doesn’t God heal the sick and stop the tragedies and right the wrongs and turn back evil and make everything nice? Yes, why doesn’t God?
Well, that question isn’t going to be answered in one short column. There are libraries full of books trying to answer that question as people wrestle with the whole issue of evil and nastiness and horror and general yuckiness in a world that is declared “good” by a God who is also declared “Good.”
My own take on it is that God could easily make everything good again, but we’d just mess it up again because people really don’t want to be all that good themselves. There is one point in the Bible where Jesus tells his followers to get busy and get out there and heal the sick and raise the dead and cleanse the lepers and cast out demons. All those things surely sound like turning the world good again. But right after Jesus tells them to get going, he also tells them that some people really aren’t going to be happy about being cleansed and healed and alive and demon-free and are not going to offer any welcome to those coming for such tasks.
Why? Because getting healed and cleansed and being alive and demon free are not one way actions that come only from God to us. We have to cooperate in getting healed and being clean and staying alive and demon free. It’s a two-way street here—traffic has got to flow both ways for it to work.
This spring when I was in France, my son and I wanted to drive into the center of a very old town. To get there we had to pass over a small bridge and go inside what were the original city walls, built to hold off invaders. The street through the city was very, very narrow, and traffic could only flow one way at a time, yet there were entrances on both sides of the town. So the street was always one way, but it changed directions every few minutes. It was the only way it could work. It meant long waits as the stop light on one side of town let in a series of cars. Those cars had to get through the town and out the other side before that light could turn green and let in a few going the other way. A bit cumbersome for this normally rapid moving American, but it worked. Everyone cooperated with the need for two way traffic in a one-way town. Cooperation—it means things go both ways.
I really can’t see any difference between the need for traffic cooperation and the need to cooperate with the Spirit of God. We’re constantly being offered healing, cleansing, life and freedom from our demons. But to be healed means actually receiving the healing—and then living like well people. To be cleansed means getting bathed, and then getting bathed again and again and again, because we all get dirty all the time. To be made alive means leaving behind the things that lead to death and intentionally living in the light the holy call to be fully human. To be free of our demons means we no longer show hospitality to the things which destroy us and those around us, but say “no” to those destructive forces.
It takes two of us, but many just start and stop with “Why doesn’t God ...” and never get to “why don’t I . . .” and then never see that God is doing those things—we’re just not cooperating.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Promiscuous Love
The Bible simply abounds with stories about people who really seem unlovable that God just decides to love anyway. One writer has described this as “God’s promiscuous love,” i.e., a love that seems to show no discernment and gets scattered anywhere, to such a point that it almost seems immoral. I mean, some of those people really, really don’t deserve to be loved.
Well, at least I don’t think they deserve to be loved. Here are a few I can think of quickly off the top of my head.
I’ll start with Cain—he killed his brother and then lied about it. But God just spares him and makes sure that no one else can take retribution on him and sends him on his way. Now, how about Abraham? Twice, this fellow, traveling with the beautiful wife, arrives in a foreign country and is afraid that someone is going to kill him because his wife is so beautiful and the inhabitants will want her for themselves. What does he do? He tells people that she’s his sister, lets her be taken into a different household and be subject to the whims of other men, and is left sitting pretty and safe. What a jerk.
Lot is another great one. This guy is Abe’s nephew, and ends up living in a place that is pretty degraded morally. He has a couple of visitors one night, and the people in the town want to hurt his guests and violate them sexually. Lots offers his unmarried daughters instead to the townsmen so they can violate his daughters instead. He may win the prize for jerkdom.
Now, to be fair, there are also some women who really have no business receiving God’s love. There’s this story about a woman who is considered ritually impure and anything she touches is also considered dirty and impure. She rashly pushes her way through a crowd to touch Jesus’ clothes. Stupid woman—who is she to be so selfish as to want to make Jesus dirty? Why didn’t she just fade into the background like she should have? But Jesus insisted on healing her. Made no sense to anyone around him then.
All this makes me wonder what Jesus would do today with people who have made a total mess of their lives by stupid decisions and immoral behavior and lack of proper respect for the right way to do things. I have this strange sense that God loves them, too. Promiscuous love—that’s what God is about.
The Bible simply abounds with stories about people who really seem unlovable that God just decides to love anyway. One writer has described this as “God’s promiscuous love,” i.e., a love that seems to show no discernment and gets scattered anywhere, to such a point that it almost seems immoral. I mean, some of those people really, really don’t deserve to be loved.
Well, at least I don’t think they deserve to be loved. Here are a few I can think of quickly off the top of my head.
I’ll start with Cain—he killed his brother and then lied about it. But God just spares him and makes sure that no one else can take retribution on him and sends him on his way. Now, how about Abraham? Twice, this fellow, traveling with the beautiful wife, arrives in a foreign country and is afraid that someone is going to kill him because his wife is so beautiful and the inhabitants will want her for themselves. What does he do? He tells people that she’s his sister, lets her be taken into a different household and be subject to the whims of other men, and is left sitting pretty and safe. What a jerk.
Lot is another great one. This guy is Abe’s nephew, and ends up living in a place that is pretty degraded morally. He has a couple of visitors one night, and the people in the town want to hurt his guests and violate them sexually. Lots offers his unmarried daughters instead to the townsmen so they can violate his daughters instead. He may win the prize for jerkdom.
Now, to be fair, there are also some women who really have no business receiving God’s love. There’s this story about a woman who is considered ritually impure and anything she touches is also considered dirty and impure. She rashly pushes her way through a crowd to touch Jesus’ clothes. Stupid woman—who is she to be so selfish as to want to make Jesus dirty? Why didn’t she just fade into the background like she should have? But Jesus insisted on healing her. Made no sense to anyone around him then.
All this makes me wonder what Jesus would do today with people who have made a total mess of their lives by stupid decisions and immoral behavior and lack of proper respect for the right way to do things. I have this strange sense that God loves them, too. Promiscuous love—that’s what God is about.
Friday, May 30, 2008
The Betrayal
Over the past year, I have been watching trust slowly erode between me and another person. We were never close, but had what I thought was mutual respect and goals coupled with an ability to bridge differences in style and methodology.
Bit by bit, the trust links broke. Happened on both sides, I believe, but I can't be sure. I can only know for sure what I experienced here. And if I am to use this as a learning experience so that I might walk in greater integrity, then it is worth examining carefully.
I made a bundle of mistakes. I assumed understanding when there apparently was none. I didn't take the time to check things out and make sure we were on the same page. I was a coward when it came to setting up and living with genuine accountability standards. I would take my frustrations with the situation elsewhere rather than dealing with them straightforwardly and with much more honesty. Yes, I made a huge number of mistakes.
Now is where the true wrestling begins, for those are the easy things to admit. For I discovered what looked like a systematic undertaking to by the other party to avoid, betray, undermine, and ultimately destroy, all clothed in niceness and innocent looks and face-to-face agreement with plans and requests.
There's a part of me that wants to think the whole world is my fault—that if only I would have/could have done things differently, that the outcome would have been more to my pleasing. While this can be seen as misplaced guilt, it is also the ultimate power play. If the world is my fault, then I have the ultimate power over the world and everything in it. But what if others are as autonomous and as responsible (or irresponsible) as I am? What if I really can't control the actions of others, but only my own? Then what do I do with this betrayal here? No matter how many mistakes I made, there are still the independent actions of another to consider.
It has long been my choice to trust first, to make trust my default position, and leave that place only when overwhelming evidence exists to suggest that I am wrong to continue to trust. I believe this is the proper way to act as a Christian, as one who firmly believes that, no matter how hard it may be to find, that each of us is indelibly marked with the Imago Dei, the Image of God, upon our souls. Leaving behind that foundation to relationships fills me with pain and grief. The loss throws me off balance.
I believe that the basis of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is that God choses to trust us again by virtue of our reconciliation, our reconnection with God. ,made real and possible by the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. God chooses to trust us again, to trust me, Christy, to walk through my life seeking to love God and to love my neighbor, whomever that may be. God trusts that I, Christy, will not betray that powerful calling. And God gets it wrong over and over again. So how does God choose to trust again? Or does sometimes it get to be too much for God after all?
There do seem to be place written about in our Bibles where God appears to just give up and give people over to their own wickedness. So folk just sink deep into their selfishness and their destructive activities they call pleasures and stop trusting and caring about anyone else and then finally discover that since they don't trust or care about anyone else, no one else trusts or cares for them and finally, finally, will start to turn back to God and say, “help; I'm sorry—please let me come back again.”
And that becomes the hinge-point. That moment of real metanoia, repentance, mind-change that provides a radically new perspective on the situation. When I can finally say, “I have seen this whole thing wrongly. I have wanted only what I wanted, and never taken into account who or what or how I was destroying in my pursuit of my own goals.” That process is called “idolatry” and it is why the Bible is filled with admonitions against it. Idolatry—the old fashioned word for what all of us do day in and day out—worship something, anything besides the Holy God who calls us to the same state of holiness that God exists in.
Idolatry is wonderfully seductive. It's full of thoughts like: just turn aside for a little while—it will pay off in the long run. Or: This moment of illicit pleasure taken at the expense of another or of your integrity, of power used to kill rather than create, of exposure to the sordid in the name of education will not really hurt anyone.
The practice of idolatry invites us to take the wide and lazy path to destruction, not the narrow and demanding path to become fully human. It invites us to the easy way out, not the hard way in. It invites us to downgrade the holiness and expectations of God to a “well, God is gracious and all is forgiven anyway, so what does it matter?”
I seem now to have wandered a long way from the betrayal and lack of trust that began this post. But I believe that a willingness to betray others only comes when we have decided to betray God and worship something else. Like our own ambitions, our own comfort, our own grievances, our own slights. A rebirth of trust can only come when these things are faced—by all concerned. It will only happen by long, hard looks at ourselves and repentance that doesn't give us wiggle room but makes us face the actions with honesty and courage.
Hardly anyone gets there, in my opinion.
Hope I'll be different.
Over the past year, I have been watching trust slowly erode between me and another person. We were never close, but had what I thought was mutual respect and goals coupled with an ability to bridge differences in style and methodology.
Bit by bit, the trust links broke. Happened on both sides, I believe, but I can't be sure. I can only know for sure what I experienced here. And if I am to use this as a learning experience so that I might walk in greater integrity, then it is worth examining carefully.
I made a bundle of mistakes. I assumed understanding when there apparently was none. I didn't take the time to check things out and make sure we were on the same page. I was a coward when it came to setting up and living with genuine accountability standards. I would take my frustrations with the situation elsewhere rather than dealing with them straightforwardly and with much more honesty. Yes, I made a huge number of mistakes.
Now is where the true wrestling begins, for those are the easy things to admit. For I discovered what looked like a systematic undertaking to by the other party to avoid, betray, undermine, and ultimately destroy, all clothed in niceness and innocent looks and face-to-face agreement with plans and requests.
There's a part of me that wants to think the whole world is my fault—that if only I would have/could have done things differently, that the outcome would have been more to my pleasing. While this can be seen as misplaced guilt, it is also the ultimate power play. If the world is my fault, then I have the ultimate power over the world and everything in it. But what if others are as autonomous and as responsible (or irresponsible) as I am? What if I really can't control the actions of others, but only my own? Then what do I do with this betrayal here? No matter how many mistakes I made, there are still the independent actions of another to consider.
It has long been my choice to trust first, to make trust my default position, and leave that place only when overwhelming evidence exists to suggest that I am wrong to continue to trust. I believe this is the proper way to act as a Christian, as one who firmly believes that, no matter how hard it may be to find, that each of us is indelibly marked with the Imago Dei, the Image of God, upon our souls. Leaving behind that foundation to relationships fills me with pain and grief. The loss throws me off balance.
I believe that the basis of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is that God choses to trust us again by virtue of our reconciliation, our reconnection with God. ,made real and possible by the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. God chooses to trust us again, to trust me, Christy, to walk through my life seeking to love God and to love my neighbor, whomever that may be. God trusts that I, Christy, will not betray that powerful calling. And God gets it wrong over and over again. So how does God choose to trust again? Or does sometimes it get to be too much for God after all?
There do seem to be place written about in our Bibles where God appears to just give up and give people over to their own wickedness. So folk just sink deep into their selfishness and their destructive activities they call pleasures and stop trusting and caring about anyone else and then finally discover that since they don't trust or care about anyone else, no one else trusts or cares for them and finally, finally, will start to turn back to God and say, “help; I'm sorry—please let me come back again.”
And that becomes the hinge-point. That moment of real metanoia, repentance, mind-change that provides a radically new perspective on the situation. When I can finally say, “I have seen this whole thing wrongly. I have wanted only what I wanted, and never taken into account who or what or how I was destroying in my pursuit of my own goals.” That process is called “idolatry” and it is why the Bible is filled with admonitions against it. Idolatry—the old fashioned word for what all of us do day in and day out—worship something, anything besides the Holy God who calls us to the same state of holiness that God exists in.
Idolatry is wonderfully seductive. It's full of thoughts like: just turn aside for a little while—it will pay off in the long run. Or: This moment of illicit pleasure taken at the expense of another or of your integrity, of power used to kill rather than create, of exposure to the sordid in the name of education will not really hurt anyone.
The practice of idolatry invites us to take the wide and lazy path to destruction, not the narrow and demanding path to become fully human. It invites us to the easy way out, not the hard way in. It invites us to downgrade the holiness and expectations of God to a “well, God is gracious and all is forgiven anyway, so what does it matter?”
I seem now to have wandered a long way from the betrayal and lack of trust that began this post. But I believe that a willingness to betray others only comes when we have decided to betray God and worship something else. Like our own ambitions, our own comfort, our own grievances, our own slights. A rebirth of trust can only come when these things are faced—by all concerned. It will only happen by long, hard looks at ourselves and repentance that doesn't give us wiggle room but makes us face the actions with honesty and courage.
Hardly anyone gets there, in my opinion.
Hope I'll be different.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Does God Listen to Our Prayers?
Just a little while ago, I was sitting at my desk in the church office in earnest prayer for a member of the congregation who had announced on Sunday that she was losing her job and needed to find another. She's a single mother, doing a spectacular job with her children, a creative, hard-working, generous, intelligent woman and I had promised her that I would make this need my special care in prayer.
A few minutes later, I was checking email and saw one from someone who had been at the worship service on Sunday. She's not a regular attender at this point in her life, so it was one of those unusual joys to see her that day. She wanted me to pass on to the woman who was losing her job information about employment that might be suitable that had just come open at her place of work.
I immediately forward this and also phoned the woman looking for the job. We both had the same response--wow! Now, we don't know if this job will work out or not, but what a reminder that God really is listening and very aware of the circumstances of our lives. This was a moment of what some call "synchronicity"--almost like a wrinkle in time, when two things not normally joined together suddenly touch each other. It also reminded me that God is not limited by time or space, as I am.
One would think, as a pastor and one who intentionally seeks to live with spiritual eyes, that I would not find this so unusual. But I am as limited as anyone else. I am also as subject to disappointment and doubt as anyone else--perhaps even more so than others. What a needed lift and reminder this was of the loving presence of God. Thank You.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Memorial Day, 2008
My husband and I attended part of the Memorial Day service at the DFW National Cemetery (http://www.cem.va.gov/CEMs/nchp/dallasftworth.asp). Because I’m not very heat tolerant, sitting outside in the sunshine for an hour or so was not an option, but we were able to observe the moving “missing man formation” by the fighter planes, and spent some time in silence at the gravesides of Keith’s aunt and father, both WWII veterans, and both buried there.
The immaculately kept cemetery, located in the hilly area in southern Dallas, was filled people, buses, cars. It was good to see that many eager to honor those to whom we owe so much.
We are a fortunate people, and too often treat our privileged way of life without the respect and awe it deserves. We complain about minuscule things, like the price of gasoline, and the housing crisis probably primarily caused by the greedy few. In those complaints, we often neglect to honor the freedom that may lead to those problems, but also leads to creative solutions to them, solutions that very well may leave the world better than it is now.
Sunday morning prayers in liturgical churches almost always contain a phrase that pleads to God for those in power, that they may use that power to free the oppressed and bring peace. This would be a prayer that would be well offered daily, not just weekly, and especially for a country like ours. We don’t have the best track record here, but we do try. It’s a place to start.
My husband and I attended part of the Memorial Day service at the DFW National Cemetery (http://www.cem.va.gov/CEMs/nchp/dallasftworth.asp). Because I’m not very heat tolerant, sitting outside in the sunshine for an hour or so was not an option, but we were able to observe the moving “missing man formation” by the fighter planes, and spent some time in silence at the gravesides of Keith’s aunt and father, both WWII veterans, and both buried there.
The immaculately kept cemetery, located in the hilly area in southern Dallas, was filled people, buses, cars. It was good to see that many eager to honor those to whom we owe so much.
We are a fortunate people, and too often treat our privileged way of life without the respect and awe it deserves. We complain about minuscule things, like the price of gasoline, and the housing crisis probably primarily caused by the greedy few. In those complaints, we often neglect to honor the freedom that may lead to those problems, but also leads to creative solutions to them, solutions that very well may leave the world better than it is now.
Sunday morning prayers in liturgical churches almost always contain a phrase that pleads to God for those in power, that they may use that power to free the oppressed and bring peace. This would be a prayer that would be well offered daily, not just weekly, and especially for a country like ours. We don’t have the best track record here, but we do try. It’s a place to start.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Spilling Over
A friend and I were talking last week about the often heard phrase, “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” She contends, and I agree, that such a phrase is less than helpful and really not true. There are times in life when we are very much given more than we can handle. I feel quite sure the many Chinese families who have lost their only child (due to the rigidly enforced one-child rule) in the multiple schools collapses in that terrible earthquake there most definitely have on their plates far more than they can handle. I suspect those who leaped to their deaths from one of the Twin Towers in New York City on 9/11 had also been given far more than they could handle. Those have always been the tough things that are more than we can handle—our anguish and grief just spill over—we can’t handle it.
I also think there are joyful things that are more than we can handle. When I contemplate the love my husband and I have for each other, I realize that it is really more than I can handle. It is a good so great that it just spills over. I have that same sense when thinking about my children and grandchildren and the delight I have in their lives—that delight can’t be contained; it can’t be “handled.” It just spills over. I also experience that spilling-over abundance when working at a task that is beautifully suited to who I am and the kinds of talents I have—the privilege of doing something like that so fills me with joy that it also spills over. I can’t handle it.
The real question is not “Why does God give us more than we can handle?” because having more than we can handle is just the nature of life. The more important question is: “What spills out of us when we are in those situations when we can’t handle what life has handed us?”
What spills out? Is it anger, blame, selfishness, hoarding, fear, paranoia? Is it courage, personal responsibility, generosity, hope and concern for others? Do we pull deep within ourselves to find the reservoirs of self-control and the ability to face what seem to be insurmountable obstacles because we have been carefully cultivating these qualities for years? Or do we reach inside and find it empty because we have insisted that life hand us no frustrations and that all wants and needs must be immediately gratified? Do we just find more sophisticated ways to express normal two-year-old temper tantrums when things don’t go our way? Or, have we realized that temper tantrums must be transformed into a core of inner strength that will serve us well for the rest of our lives?
What does spill over for you? It tells the world who you are.
A friend and I were talking last week about the often heard phrase, “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” She contends, and I agree, that such a phrase is less than helpful and really not true. There are times in life when we are very much given more than we can handle. I feel quite sure the many Chinese families who have lost their only child (due to the rigidly enforced one-child rule) in the multiple schools collapses in that terrible earthquake there most definitely have on their plates far more than they can handle. I suspect those who leaped to their deaths from one of the Twin Towers in New York City on 9/11 had also been given far more than they could handle. Those have always been the tough things that are more than we can handle—our anguish and grief just spill over—we can’t handle it.
I also think there are joyful things that are more than we can handle. When I contemplate the love my husband and I have for each other, I realize that it is really more than I can handle. It is a good so great that it just spills over. I have that same sense when thinking about my children and grandchildren and the delight I have in their lives—that delight can’t be contained; it can’t be “handled.” It just spills over. I also experience that spilling-over abundance when working at a task that is beautifully suited to who I am and the kinds of talents I have—the privilege of doing something like that so fills me with joy that it also spills over. I can’t handle it.
The real question is not “Why does God give us more than we can handle?” because having more than we can handle is just the nature of life. The more important question is: “What spills out of us when we are in those situations when we can’t handle what life has handed us?”
What spills out? Is it anger, blame, selfishness, hoarding, fear, paranoia? Is it courage, personal responsibility, generosity, hope and concern for others? Do we pull deep within ourselves to find the reservoirs of self-control and the ability to face what seem to be insurmountable obstacles because we have been carefully cultivating these qualities for years? Or do we reach inside and find it empty because we have insisted that life hand us no frustrations and that all wants and needs must be immediately gratified? Do we just find more sophisticated ways to express normal two-year-old temper tantrums when things don’t go our way? Or, have we realized that temper tantrums must be transformed into a core of inner strength that will serve us well for the rest of our lives?
What does spill over for you? It tells the world who you are.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Power and Corruption
So, we have a cyclone in Myanmar, a small country also known as Burma in Southeast Asia, and countless numbers are dead and goodness knows how many more are homeless and in desperate circumstances. As always, the international aid community, led by the United States, swings into action. Supplies ready, medical staff standing by. And, according to a report by the Associated Press, here’s what happened:
“Even as the death toll climbed, Myanmar's authoritarian regime continued to bar nearly all foreigners experienced in managing humanitarian crises from reaching survivors of Cyclone Nargis.
With hundreds of thousands of homes destroyed in the disaster zone, refugees packed into Buddhist monasteries or camped in the open, drinking dirty water contaminated by dead bodies and animal carcasses. Medicine and food were sorely lacking — even as supplies bottled up at the main international airport.”
Want a little more on this one? Here’s another quote from that report: “Children — many of them orphans — are suffering from fever, diarrhea and respiratory infections, it said. Many survivors complained of getting rotting rice while soldiers kept the best food for themselves.”
I’m just disgusted. That cyclone devastated the country on May 2. I’m writing this on May 12—ten days later. And aid is just now being let into the country. Why? Because a bunch of power-hungry people who control the county don’t want the world to know just how badly they’ve managed to muck things up over there. Why not let a few hundred thousand people die or suffer in unimaginable ways in order to keep the world press ignorant of their cruelty and incompetence? It’s worth the cost so they can stay in power.
Yes, I’m just disgusted. And I can’t even imagine how the Creator of the universe and of humanity must look at this. Surely God weeps over this travesty.
Power is such a dangerous thing. The ability to control the destiny of others opens the soul to corruption and rot and the insatiable need for more and more power and less and less accountability. It’s no wonder those in power made sure they got rid of Jesus, the sent one of God who said things like, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must put aside your selfish ambition, shoulder your cross daily and follow me. If you try to keep your life for yourself, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for me, you will find true life. And how do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose or forfeit your own soul in the process?” (Luke 9:23-25, New Living Translation).
What is real power? Being able to give it up for the sake of others. Being so confident in the goodness of God that we can lay down our lives for others, rather than asking them to lay down their lives for us. At this point in my life, I tend to be pretty careful before suggesting that someone is in danger of eternal separation from God, but I’m guessing those military leaders in Myanmar are right on the edge of that place. I’m almost ready to say that I hope what they experience at the hand of God is equivalent to what they have forced upon the people in their regime. I hope we all learn from this horror what damage we can do when grabbing power over the lives of others and remaining unaccountable for what we do with it. Real power gives life. The kind of power we see in Myanmar only offers death. This is why Jesus said, “I am the way, the life, and the truth.” Let’s all try Jesus’ way and see what happens.
So, we have a cyclone in Myanmar, a small country also known as Burma in Southeast Asia, and countless numbers are dead and goodness knows how many more are homeless and in desperate circumstances. As always, the international aid community, led by the United States, swings into action. Supplies ready, medical staff standing by. And, according to a report by the Associated Press, here’s what happened:
“Even as the death toll climbed, Myanmar's authoritarian regime continued to bar nearly all foreigners experienced in managing humanitarian crises from reaching survivors of Cyclone Nargis.
With hundreds of thousands of homes destroyed in the disaster zone, refugees packed into Buddhist monasteries or camped in the open, drinking dirty water contaminated by dead bodies and animal carcasses. Medicine and food were sorely lacking — even as supplies bottled up at the main international airport.”
Want a little more on this one? Here’s another quote from that report: “Children — many of them orphans — are suffering from fever, diarrhea and respiratory infections, it said. Many survivors complained of getting rotting rice while soldiers kept the best food for themselves.”
I’m just disgusted. That cyclone devastated the country on May 2. I’m writing this on May 12—ten days later. And aid is just now being let into the country. Why? Because a bunch of power-hungry people who control the county don’t want the world to know just how badly they’ve managed to muck things up over there. Why not let a few hundred thousand people die or suffer in unimaginable ways in order to keep the world press ignorant of their cruelty and incompetence? It’s worth the cost so they can stay in power.
Yes, I’m just disgusted. And I can’t even imagine how the Creator of the universe and of humanity must look at this. Surely God weeps over this travesty.
Power is such a dangerous thing. The ability to control the destiny of others opens the soul to corruption and rot and the insatiable need for more and more power and less and less accountability. It’s no wonder those in power made sure they got rid of Jesus, the sent one of God who said things like, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must put aside your selfish ambition, shoulder your cross daily and follow me. If you try to keep your life for yourself, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for me, you will find true life. And how do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose or forfeit your own soul in the process?” (Luke 9:23-25, New Living Translation).
What is real power? Being able to give it up for the sake of others. Being so confident in the goodness of God that we can lay down our lives for others, rather than asking them to lay down their lives for us. At this point in my life, I tend to be pretty careful before suggesting that someone is in danger of eternal separation from God, but I’m guessing those military leaders in Myanmar are right on the edge of that place. I’m almost ready to say that I hope what they experience at the hand of God is equivalent to what they have forced upon the people in their regime. I hope we all learn from this horror what damage we can do when grabbing power over the lives of others and remaining unaccountable for what we do with it. Real power gives life. The kind of power we see in Myanmar only offers death. This is why Jesus said, “I am the way, the life, and the truth.” Let’s all try Jesus’ way and see what happens.
Monday, May 05, 2008
To See a President
Every four years, a group of people come together for a somewhat strange gathering for the uninitiated: it is called the General Conference of The United Methodist Church. At this gathering, there will be representatives from across the world, who have traveled to pray and worship and debate and learn and eventually to make decisions that will affect all members of this large group, over eight million strong.
The process is slow, laborious, often tedious, frequently frustrating. Because we are international in scope, and because there is high value placed on diversity and openness and careful listening and cultural sensitivity, simple motions on the conference floor may take hours to "perfect" before they can be voted upon. Every delegate (about 1,000) has the privilege of speaking to every motion. Most don't exercise that privilege, thank goodness, but all know it is theirs if needed.
The United Methodist Church has been described as a "wide umbrella" able to offer covering and space for people of radically divergent opinions. As I heard one person say recently, "Senator Hillary Clinton and President George Bush are both United Methodists. If they can both fit under that umbrella, then we have room for just about anybody!"
Underlying all those radically divergent opinions, however, is one common mandate: we are all called to make disciples of Jesus Christ. Every one of us. As United Methodists, we work through this mandate held together by something called "the connection."
"The connection:" it's the glue that holds and preserves us. It's the connection that holds us up when someone begins to fall. It's the connection that leads us to rush to the aid of others when tragedy strikes. It's the connection that gives Christians from a big city in the US a sense of love for Christians from rural Africa, and vice-versa.
As part of that connection, I was privileged to hear Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, President of Liberia, a small nation in Africa, speak last week. This powerful woman, born and reared in Liberia, educated in schools established and supported by The United Methodist Church, has stepped in to lead a country left devastated by the previous president, Charles Taylor, now exiled from that country. The challenges she faces boggle the mind—85% unemployment, a economy ruined by the greed and corruption of the former president, mass illiteracy, poverty so intense I personally can't even imagine it.
With courage, conviction, presence and power, President Johnson-Sirleaf and her administration are beginning to make inroads to recovery. As I listened to this woman speak, I became even more aware of the responsibility of every Christian, not just one called to political office, to work to fight injustice and help bring peace to the world. How often we pray, “thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” God has called each of us to connect with one another and to help bring about the kingdom of heaven on earth—a place of justice, righteousness and hope. Let us all have the same courage that President Johnson-Sirleaf evidences as we live as God's men and women in this world.
Every four years, a group of people come together for a somewhat strange gathering for the uninitiated: it is called the General Conference of The United Methodist Church. At this gathering, there will be representatives from across the world, who have traveled to pray and worship and debate and learn and eventually to make decisions that will affect all members of this large group, over eight million strong.
The process is slow, laborious, often tedious, frequently frustrating. Because we are international in scope, and because there is high value placed on diversity and openness and careful listening and cultural sensitivity, simple motions on the conference floor may take hours to "perfect" before they can be voted upon. Every delegate (about 1,000) has the privilege of speaking to every motion. Most don't exercise that privilege, thank goodness, but all know it is theirs if needed.
The United Methodist Church has been described as a "wide umbrella" able to offer covering and space for people of radically divergent opinions. As I heard one person say recently, "Senator Hillary Clinton and President George Bush are both United Methodists. If they can both fit under that umbrella, then we have room for just about anybody!"
Underlying all those radically divergent opinions, however, is one common mandate: we are all called to make disciples of Jesus Christ. Every one of us. As United Methodists, we work through this mandate held together by something called "the connection."
"The connection:" it's the glue that holds and preserves us. It's the connection that holds us up when someone begins to fall. It's the connection that leads us to rush to the aid of others when tragedy strikes. It's the connection that gives Christians from a big city in the US a sense of love for Christians from rural Africa, and vice-versa.
As part of that connection, I was privileged to hear Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, President of Liberia, a small nation in Africa, speak last week. This powerful woman, born and reared in Liberia, educated in schools established and supported by The United Methodist Church, has stepped in to lead a country left devastated by the previous president, Charles Taylor, now exiled from that country. The challenges she faces boggle the mind—85% unemployment, a economy ruined by the greed and corruption of the former president, mass illiteracy, poverty so intense I personally can't even imagine it.
With courage, conviction, presence and power, President Johnson-Sirleaf and her administration are beginning to make inroads to recovery. As I listened to this woman speak, I became even more aware of the responsibility of every Christian, not just one called to political office, to work to fight injustice and help bring peace to the world. How often we pray, “thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” God has called each of us to connect with one another and to help bring about the kingdom of heaven on earth—a place of justice, righteousness and hope. Let us all have the same courage that President Johnson-Sirleaf evidences as we live as God's men and women in this world.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
What have you done for me TODAY?
My husband put himself through college with an athletic scholarship as an offensive lineman for the SMU Mustangs ever so many years ago. He often uses football analogies to describe life and growth and the human condition and our relationship with God.
One of his favorite phrases is this one, “You are only as good as your last play.” By which he means, of course, that one can have played a powerful game two or three weeks before, or even earlier in the game, but the only thing on the minds of the fans is how good was he on the last play. Past glory really means very little compared to the present need to win the game going on.
How true: it is not particularly helpful to “rest on our laurels,” to use a very old-fashioned phrase. So what if five or ten or fifteen years ago, such and such was accomplished or some award received? What are you doing now? Such an understanding helps to keep us in the present, working on keeping skills sharp, and integrity intact.
However, in case you hadn't noticed, there is also a downside to this. It means a lot of pressure to perform, and perform NOW. And everyone has an off day, or off week, or off month, or off season, or even an off year. Does that mean such people should be written off? What if God doesn't jump to our insistence on immediate response? Do we write God off?
Since my husband and I are both clergy, we find this is true in church life. Many people come to God and demand, “What have you done for me TODAY?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that yesterday there was unusual blessing and the day before I became especially aware of the glory of the Presence of God, and last year I began to really understand the gift of reconciliation but . . . what have you done TODAY?”
When this happens, demandingness replaces gratefulness. Demandingness is that part of us that says, “I want what I want and I want it now and I don't care if you are inconvenienced or have to compromise yourself or leave someone else behind, get it NOW.”
Oh, this one hurts. I wonder how many times I've prayed to God and implored, “C'mon God—I need this NOW. Don't make me wait.” How many times have I pushed someone to get what I want on my time frame, no matter what the cost to them. But in waiting, much of our character gets formed. In waiting, I learn real patience—the openhanded stance that no longer insists on my own way but watches grace move in. In waiting, I learn not to take vengeance on others because I stop long enough to see how destructive this is to my soul. In waiting, I give others a chance to grow, to learn new skills, to bloom at their own pace. In waiting, I see how lovely it is to think of others as more important than myself. In waiting, I sit still long enough to see the power of the moment. In waiting, I have time to remember past blessings and prepare myself for the future ones. So God, what have you done for me NOW? You've taught me to wait.
Now, that's worth waiting for!
My husband put himself through college with an athletic scholarship as an offensive lineman for the SMU Mustangs ever so many years ago. He often uses football analogies to describe life and growth and the human condition and our relationship with God.
One of his favorite phrases is this one, “You are only as good as your last play.” By which he means, of course, that one can have played a powerful game two or three weeks before, or even earlier in the game, but the only thing on the minds of the fans is how good was he on the last play. Past glory really means very little compared to the present need to win the game going on.
How true: it is not particularly helpful to “rest on our laurels,” to use a very old-fashioned phrase. So what if five or ten or fifteen years ago, such and such was accomplished or some award received? What are you doing now? Such an understanding helps to keep us in the present, working on keeping skills sharp, and integrity intact.
However, in case you hadn't noticed, there is also a downside to this. It means a lot of pressure to perform, and perform NOW. And everyone has an off day, or off week, or off month, or off season, or even an off year. Does that mean such people should be written off? What if God doesn't jump to our insistence on immediate response? Do we write God off?
Since my husband and I are both clergy, we find this is true in church life. Many people come to God and demand, “What have you done for me TODAY?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that yesterday there was unusual blessing and the day before I became especially aware of the glory of the Presence of God, and last year I began to really understand the gift of reconciliation but . . . what have you done TODAY?”
When this happens, demandingness replaces gratefulness. Demandingness is that part of us that says, “I want what I want and I want it now and I don't care if you are inconvenienced or have to compromise yourself or leave someone else behind, get it NOW.”
Oh, this one hurts. I wonder how many times I've prayed to God and implored, “C'mon God—I need this NOW. Don't make me wait.” How many times have I pushed someone to get what I want on my time frame, no matter what the cost to them. But in waiting, much of our character gets formed. In waiting, I learn real patience—the openhanded stance that no longer insists on my own way but watches grace move in. In waiting, I learn not to take vengeance on others because I stop long enough to see how destructive this is to my soul. In waiting, I give others a chance to grow, to learn new skills, to bloom at their own pace. In waiting, I see how lovely it is to think of others as more important than myself. In waiting, I sit still long enough to see the power of the moment. In waiting, I have time to remember past blessings and prepare myself for the future ones. So God, what have you done for me NOW? You've taught me to wait.
Now, that's worth waiting for!
The Redeemable Mistakes
Who among us has never done something that is regretted later? Who has never said an unkind word about someone or to someone? Who has never gossiped or spread untrue rumors? Who has never deliberately inflicted hurt or pain on another in a moment of high emotion? Who has not made some life choices that turned out in retrospect to be destructive to one person or another? Who has not violated written or unwritten moral codes at one point?
Would that all could live without some sorrow over the past. Is it possible to do that?
Yes and no. It is possible if the sorrow leads to greater illumination about ourselves. It is not possible if the sorrow only leads to blaming others for those choices made.
It's the human tendency to want to blame others. No one has to teach a child this—they seem to figure it out all on their own. “But Mom, he/she started it!” That's the universal mantra of young children. It's someone else's fault. They started it—so that relieves me of any responsibility to stop it or return good for evil. They started it, so I get to continue it. They started it and I continue it and the cycle just keeps going on and on and on. Blaming never, ever leads to self-illumination. That is one fact of life we can all hang our hats on. It just perpetuates the problem.
But what happens when we make the hard effort to stop the blaming and seek to shed some light on ourselves instead? This doesn't mean going into some “woe is me” pity party. It does mean recognizing that all of us make mistakes, some major with perhaps worldwide repercussions, some minor that may only affect a small circle. But we all make them. All of us. No one gets excluded from this one.
In that recognition, and in the time taken to look carefully at ourselves, we are invited to a place of real liberation. Blaming others leaves us helpless, for all circumstances are the fault of others and we can't do anything about it. But a careful look at our own mistakes gives us the chance to learn and gain strength and confidence for the future.
It's not easy to do this. It is often painful to say, “Wow, I really blew that one. I can't believe I did that, or acted like that or said that.” Sometimes the pain seems too much to bear, and we want to retreat to blaming others to take the pressure off. But if we go there, and if we go there knowing that God both forgives and redeems—God lets it go and changes it to something far better—then we come out with renewed hope.
I say it often that one of my favorite verses in the Bible is from the very, very sad book of Lamentations where the prophet, after agonizing over all the bad things happening ends up saying, “God's mercies are new every morning.” I love that phrase, “new every morning.” It gives me hope. It reminds me that in the eyes of God, it all gets wiped clean. When I can learn about myself from that “wiped clean” experience, I can then turn around and offer to others the option of also being “wiped clean.”
As my congregation often hears from me, the “grand do-over” is always an option for us Christians. And in the “do-over,” that sorrow and regret over past mistakes turns to future hope and thanksgiving. This is the only way I know to live without sorrow over the past: face it, learn from it, stop blaming others, and receive the “do-over” grace that God keeps offering.
Thank you, Jesus.
Who among us has never done something that is regretted later? Who has never said an unkind word about someone or to someone? Who has never gossiped or spread untrue rumors? Who has never deliberately inflicted hurt or pain on another in a moment of high emotion? Who has not made some life choices that turned out in retrospect to be destructive to one person or another? Who has not violated written or unwritten moral codes at one point?
Would that all could live without some sorrow over the past. Is it possible to do that?
Yes and no. It is possible if the sorrow leads to greater illumination about ourselves. It is not possible if the sorrow only leads to blaming others for those choices made.
It's the human tendency to want to blame others. No one has to teach a child this—they seem to figure it out all on their own. “But Mom, he/she started it!” That's the universal mantra of young children. It's someone else's fault. They started it—so that relieves me of any responsibility to stop it or return good for evil. They started it, so I get to continue it. They started it and I continue it and the cycle just keeps going on and on and on. Blaming never, ever leads to self-illumination. That is one fact of life we can all hang our hats on. It just perpetuates the problem.
But what happens when we make the hard effort to stop the blaming and seek to shed some light on ourselves instead? This doesn't mean going into some “woe is me” pity party. It does mean recognizing that all of us make mistakes, some major with perhaps worldwide repercussions, some minor that may only affect a small circle. But we all make them. All of us. No one gets excluded from this one.
In that recognition, and in the time taken to look carefully at ourselves, we are invited to a place of real liberation. Blaming others leaves us helpless, for all circumstances are the fault of others and we can't do anything about it. But a careful look at our own mistakes gives us the chance to learn and gain strength and confidence for the future.
It's not easy to do this. It is often painful to say, “Wow, I really blew that one. I can't believe I did that, or acted like that or said that.” Sometimes the pain seems too much to bear, and we want to retreat to blaming others to take the pressure off. But if we go there, and if we go there knowing that God both forgives and redeems—God lets it go and changes it to something far better—then we come out with renewed hope.
I say it often that one of my favorite verses in the Bible is from the very, very sad book of Lamentations where the prophet, after agonizing over all the bad things happening ends up saying, “God's mercies are new every morning.” I love that phrase, “new every morning.” It gives me hope. It reminds me that in the eyes of God, it all gets wiped clean. When I can learn about myself from that “wiped clean” experience, I can then turn around and offer to others the option of also being “wiped clean.”
As my congregation often hears from me, the “grand do-over” is always an option for us Christians. And in the “do-over,” that sorrow and regret over past mistakes turns to future hope and thanksgiving. This is the only way I know to live without sorrow over the past: face it, learn from it, stop blaming others, and receive the “do-over” grace that God keeps offering.
Thank you, Jesus.
Monday, April 21, 2008
The Real and the Almost Real
Supermarkets are truly amazing places to shop. There is almost nothing of daily need that can’t be found there and occasionally, one can even find food.
On a recent, fact-finding shopping trip, I netted some of the following items:
· Fresh Fruit: blackberries, strawberries, oranges, and lemons.
· Fresh Bread: a whole grain, heavy and rich loaf.
· Fresh Cheese: a wedge of flavorful Jarlsberg.
· Fresh Vegetables: several ears of corn, still in the husk, a potato, some fresh basil
I also picked up:
· A can of potato chips, made from reconstituted potato flakes and fake cheese flavoring.
· A container of “breakfast orange drink” and “lemonade drink mix.”
· A box of corn flakes, made from cooked, mashed, extruded corn and preservatives.
· A package of strawberry sponge cakes, with no strawberries actually listed in the ingredients.
· An aerosol can of spray on cheese food.
Quite a bit of difference between these two lists, isn’t there? One provides freshness, richness of flavor and the reality that in a few days, if this food is not all consumed, it will all go bad. Mold will grow, bread will get stale, other signs of aging will occur. Either eat it fresh or toss it. It’s only good immediately. Frequent grocery shopping is necessary to feast on such things.
The items in the other list would probably still be consumable even after a nuclear blast. Full of preservatives, very little actual real food in there, they could provide calories in an emergency. But these things are far, far removed from the power and freshness of the things in the first list.
Our spiritual lives aren’t a whole lot different from these two shopping lists. We can have a vital, immediate relationship with God that must be renewed frequently with times of worship, learning, helping others with sacrificial service and seeing the mundane things of our lives turned into acts of holiness. Or, we can have a second-hand experience, with the real encounter with a living and often terrifying God replaced by the occasional thought about God, maybe even wandering into a church once in a while, but not much else. The rest of life is totally separate from any possibility of transformation into hope and holiness.
In both cases, we will still live. We can work, play, rest, and do necessary chores. But those who are vitally engaged with God will be able to do these things with the same burst of flavor that comes from eating an ear of corn picked moment before cooking. Those who go for the second hand experience can still get nutrients from a box of mashed, cooked, extruded, boxed and preserved corn flakes—but the deep joy and transformative nature has been lost.
Just something to think about—on your next trip to the grocery store and the next opportunity to truly encounter the living, loving and powerful God of the universe.
Supermarkets are truly amazing places to shop. There is almost nothing of daily need that can’t be found there and occasionally, one can even find food.
On a recent, fact-finding shopping trip, I netted some of the following items:
· Fresh Fruit: blackberries, strawberries, oranges, and lemons.
· Fresh Bread: a whole grain, heavy and rich loaf.
· Fresh Cheese: a wedge of flavorful Jarlsberg.
· Fresh Vegetables: several ears of corn, still in the husk, a potato, some fresh basil
I also picked up:
· A can of potato chips, made from reconstituted potato flakes and fake cheese flavoring.
· A container of “breakfast orange drink” and “lemonade drink mix.”
· A box of corn flakes, made from cooked, mashed, extruded corn and preservatives.
· A package of strawberry sponge cakes, with no strawberries actually listed in the ingredients.
· An aerosol can of spray on cheese food.
Quite a bit of difference between these two lists, isn’t there? One provides freshness, richness of flavor and the reality that in a few days, if this food is not all consumed, it will all go bad. Mold will grow, bread will get stale, other signs of aging will occur. Either eat it fresh or toss it. It’s only good immediately. Frequent grocery shopping is necessary to feast on such things.
The items in the other list would probably still be consumable even after a nuclear blast. Full of preservatives, very little actual real food in there, they could provide calories in an emergency. But these things are far, far removed from the power and freshness of the things in the first list.
Our spiritual lives aren’t a whole lot different from these two shopping lists. We can have a vital, immediate relationship with God that must be renewed frequently with times of worship, learning, helping others with sacrificial service and seeing the mundane things of our lives turned into acts of holiness. Or, we can have a second-hand experience, with the real encounter with a living and often terrifying God replaced by the occasional thought about God, maybe even wandering into a church once in a while, but not much else. The rest of life is totally separate from any possibility of transformation into hope and holiness.
In both cases, we will still live. We can work, play, rest, and do necessary chores. But those who are vitally engaged with God will be able to do these things with the same burst of flavor that comes from eating an ear of corn picked moment before cooking. Those who go for the second hand experience can still get nutrients from a box of mashed, cooked, extruded, boxed and preserved corn flakes—but the deep joy and transformative nature has been lost.
Just something to think about—on your next trip to the grocery store and the next opportunity to truly encounter the living, loving and powerful God of the universe.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Je suis désolé
“Je suis désolé. Je ne parle pas français.” This is the phrase I memorized: “I am sorry. I do not speak French.”
I said this many times on my recent trip to France. For the most part, my apology did not bring about a sympathetic response. French people expect people to speak French. Period. And while many do speak English, there was an expectation that I would have also sought to learn their language.
I did give myself a quick crash course before I went, but it was not enough to even carry on a basic conversation. I could read some of it, and occasionally understand a bit, but that was about it.
We are fortunate, of course, that English is the international language of commerce, so that makes it easier to get by without the bother of learning the words of another. But I also became even more fully aware that our language insularity does not speak particularly well of us as a nation.
Two weeks ago, I was celebrating my oldest son’s birthday with a group of international friends he has made at the school he is attending near Paris. Gathered in one room were an Australian (married to a Dutchman who couldn’t come), two Spaniards, one German, one Colombian, two Americans, and three from France. We conversed in English since that was the one common language.
There were also seven children under the age of 2 ½ there, and I asked each parent what languages they were teaching their children. The Spaniards speak primary to their sons in Catalan, a Romance language with some French characteristics and one of the official languages of Spain, and also expect them to speak Spanish. They do not speak English to them. The French couple speak only in French to their children. They would like for him to learn English someday, but do not wish to be the ones who teach it to them. The Australian-Dutch couple speak primarily in English to their daughter, with some Dutch thrown in, but do not expect her to be fluent in Dutch. The American-Colombian couple speak primarily in Spanish to their children (my grandchildren), and expect that to be the first language, but with considerable facility in English.
All this leads me to thinking about the whole issue of words and communication and languages and misunderstandings. I know that even if we speak the same language, we may not understand each other at all. As one who has spent possibly way too many years in school, studying theology and things of God, it is easy for me to throw around words like, “sanctification, ecclesiology, redemption, proclamation, hamartology, and supralapsarianism” and not realize these words are rarely, if ever, used in everyday conversation. Every person with specialized work also develops a specialized vocabulary which may also sound incomprehensible to those on the outside.
Then I look to the words of Jesus and find that he spoke in the common language and used the words that everyone knew to help them bridge the gap between their lives and the joy of intimate connection with God. Living and working in a farming and ranching world, he reminded them that he’s a good shepherd, and his sheep respond to his loving voice. As did farmers, Jesus willingly scattered the seed of the kingdom of God everywhere—knowing, just as those who work the ground for a living know, that not every place would be immediately receptive and that some seed would fed the birds rather than growing into new plants that would feed the people. But that didn’t stop him from spreading it out everywhere. He reminded people that the things we experience daily can serve as doorways to the heavenly places, should we chose to hear the invitation to enter in.
Yet as I write this, I also know that as we enter into deeper intimacy with God that we must also learn to see and speak differently. We must learn to find the holy and sacred in the common things. We must learn the language of prayer, of worship, of radical generosity and service, and these words and concepts do not come easily to most of us.
With all this, I believe there is a call on all of us to expand our vocabularies and our language abilities. We need to learn the languages of others, and the language of God. By so doing, we open ourselves to far deeper experiences and find ourselves amazingly enriched. It’s worth the effort.
“Je suis désolé. Je ne parle pas français.” This is the phrase I memorized: “I am sorry. I do not speak French.”
I said this many times on my recent trip to France. For the most part, my apology did not bring about a sympathetic response. French people expect people to speak French. Period. And while many do speak English, there was an expectation that I would have also sought to learn their language.
I did give myself a quick crash course before I went, but it was not enough to even carry on a basic conversation. I could read some of it, and occasionally understand a bit, but that was about it.
We are fortunate, of course, that English is the international language of commerce, so that makes it easier to get by without the bother of learning the words of another. But I also became even more fully aware that our language insularity does not speak particularly well of us as a nation.
Two weeks ago, I was celebrating my oldest son’s birthday with a group of international friends he has made at the school he is attending near Paris. Gathered in one room were an Australian (married to a Dutchman who couldn’t come), two Spaniards, one German, one Colombian, two Americans, and three from France. We conversed in English since that was the one common language.
There were also seven children under the age of 2 ½ there, and I asked each parent what languages they were teaching their children. The Spaniards speak primary to their sons in Catalan, a Romance language with some French characteristics and one of the official languages of Spain, and also expect them to speak Spanish. They do not speak English to them. The French couple speak only in French to their children. They would like for him to learn English someday, but do not wish to be the ones who teach it to them. The Australian-Dutch couple speak primarily in English to their daughter, with some Dutch thrown in, but do not expect her to be fluent in Dutch. The American-Colombian couple speak primarily in Spanish to their children (my grandchildren), and expect that to be the first language, but with considerable facility in English.
All this leads me to thinking about the whole issue of words and communication and languages and misunderstandings. I know that even if we speak the same language, we may not understand each other at all. As one who has spent possibly way too many years in school, studying theology and things of God, it is easy for me to throw around words like, “sanctification, ecclesiology, redemption, proclamation, hamartology, and supralapsarianism” and not realize these words are rarely, if ever, used in everyday conversation. Every person with specialized work also develops a specialized vocabulary which may also sound incomprehensible to those on the outside.
Then I look to the words of Jesus and find that he spoke in the common language and used the words that everyone knew to help them bridge the gap between their lives and the joy of intimate connection with God. Living and working in a farming and ranching world, he reminded them that he’s a good shepherd, and his sheep respond to his loving voice. As did farmers, Jesus willingly scattered the seed of the kingdom of God everywhere—knowing, just as those who work the ground for a living know, that not every place would be immediately receptive and that some seed would fed the birds rather than growing into new plants that would feed the people. But that didn’t stop him from spreading it out everywhere. He reminded people that the things we experience daily can serve as doorways to the heavenly places, should we chose to hear the invitation to enter in.
Yet as I write this, I also know that as we enter into deeper intimacy with God that we must also learn to see and speak differently. We must learn to find the holy and sacred in the common things. We must learn the language of prayer, of worship, of radical generosity and service, and these words and concepts do not come easily to most of us.
With all this, I believe there is a call on all of us to expand our vocabularies and our language abilities. We need to learn the languages of others, and the language of God. By so doing, we open ourselves to far deeper experiences and find ourselves amazingly enriched. It’s worth the effort.
Monday, April 07, 2008
This will be the last post for this trip. Tomorrow is my last day here, and I will be doing "kid duty" again as Adriana needs to go back to Paris to finish getting her travel visa. Then it is time to pack. We will leave very early Wednesday morning so I can catch my plane.
For the first time today, I cared for Joshua without his parents present. After the first few bad moments were over, we settled in for a lovely day. A friend of Adriana's, Jackie, and her six month old daughter, came to help so we'd have two pairs of hands for three children, especially with the situation with the steep stairs.
Joshua decided to crown himself with a halo, and was loving, fun, personable and full of hugs for his granny. What a relief! We had all been concerned because he had not wanted to stay with me before, but we probably should have just pushed the issue last week. But he made up for it today and gave me a full week of hugs in this sweet day. Samuel, on the other hand, this placid, easy baby, showed his other colors. Very charming, of course, but determined to have the time in Granny's arms that I think he now sees as his right. Adriana will now get the challenge of "unspoiling" him after I leave.
I really don't know how Adriana does it. Even with two of us, we were pretty busy, and didn't try to do anything else except a couple of loads of laundry. Just focused on the children. Adriana, on the other hand, would have done all that, and fixed a three course meal for lunch in the middle of it. Without an extra pair of hands.
She did enjoy her day away, however, and I'm glad she got it. One last gift to her.
And speaking of one last gift: I arose very early this morning because I wanted to make that one final trek into the village for the fresh crossaints--speaking of being spoiled. After dressing, I got ready to go outside and saw that everything was covered with about two inches of snow. What beauty. The gorgeous red tulips that grace the entry to the farmhouse, and which bloomed just for Jonathan on his birthday, were each wore a head dress of white lace. As I walked toward town, with the sky slowly lightening, a few flakes drifted gently down. The beautiful green spaces received their covering of lace as gracefully as though they were brides waiting for their grooms.
I got to the village before the bakery opened, so just walked around a bit in the deep silence. No one really moving yet. I was the first one at the bakery, and had watched the bread I bought be removed from the oven just a few minutes before. Oh my--Jackie and I made a simple lunch of one of the baguettes and some good cheese and we both reveled in the rich flavor and chewy texture of such a gift.
One funny note from the morning. As you may have guessed as you read these posts, I made keeping up with the laundry here and dealing with the persistent flooding from the machine my mission. Just that alone can be a constant job. Anyway, at one point this morning, I was upstairs with Samuel and Joshua was down with Jackie. He stared to get a little uncomfortable and said, "Granny?" So Jackie told him I was here but with Samuel and that she'd take him to find me. Well, he made a beeline for the laundry room and opened the door looking for me--he knows exactly where Granny hangs out here!
Well, it's time to sign off now. Thanks for taking this trip to France with me. I've been blessed beyond words. Plus the laundry got done for this one day.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
OK, the question has been, "How can I spend two weeks in France just 100 km from Paris and not see Paris itself?" Since it was becoming clear that I was in danger of doing that very thing, today, Sunday, April 6, became the day to remedy the problem. Although we had originally planned for all to go, it turned very chilly overnight and snow was predicted, so at the last minute, just Jonathan and I went.
As we entered the outskirts of Paris, Jonathan told me to get the map and to navigate our way to the center of Paris, aiming for the Cathedral of Notre Dame. I was completely flummoxed, having trouble reading the tiny print in French and also reading the unfamiliar street signs, but somehow we made it to our goal without a wrong turn--mostly due to Jonathan's superb sense of direction and a memory of a couple of others time here. Next job: finding a place to park. Even on mid-Sunday morning, central Paris is very alive with people thronging the streets and every street parking place taken, cars parallel parked with generally less than six inches between bumpers. Twice we thought we spotted a sign for an underground parking garage, but each time we followed the sign, we were unable to actually find the garage. Personally, I think the signs are just there to lead people out of the city. At this point, we are driving along the south bank of the Seine and suddenly the perfect parking space appears. With great expertise, Jonathan maneuvered the car in the spot and hopped out, looking for a place to pay. A minute later he returned and said, "You are not going to believe this: it's free on Sundays."
So we set out, heading for the Cathedral when we noticed that the street we wanted to cross was blocked off and hundreds of runners were coursing down it. After watching for a while, we realized this had to be a marathon with perhaps 30,000 runners, and we needed to change our route because we dare not cross in front of them. Anyway, a slight detour led us to our goal and we walked up the side of the Cathedral. There were a bunch of people in line for a guided tour, and we did not want to do that, so were just going to look at the outside and then go on. When we got to the front, we saw a place where we could either go in and visit or go in and attend a Mass. As it turns out, the 10:00 a.m. Mass was just ending and we were in time for the 11:30 Mass.
We decided to attend and both were a little surprised to see that visitors were permitted to continue touring during the Mass. There was a constant stream of people in the outer section of the huge cathedral coursing from one end to the other, some even taking flash pictures of the worshippers and celebrants.
Parts of the service were printed in English and German, but it wasn't all that easy to follow even so. During the reading of the Gospel, when the congregants were standing, three younger people in front of us abruptly sat down, began consulting their tour map of Paris, starting whispering to each other and then walked out.
Parts of the service were printed in English and German, but it wasn't all that easy to follow even so. During the reading of the Gospel, when the congregants were standing, three younger people in front of us abruptly sat down, began consulting their tour map of Paris, starting whispering to each other and then walked out.
The music was beautiful, and they practiced a form of open communion with these words in English, German and French in the bulletin: "The bread distributed during mass has a high significance for Christians: it is the body of Christ, their Lord and God. If you do not share our faith in the living presence of Christ in the eucharistic bread, we ask you not to join your neighbors at communion time." I was able to interpret that as an invitation to participate, so Jonathan and I both communicated.
But . . . and I had this same feeling when visiting the very old Norman church (also called Notre Dame) in Moret: It felt dead to me. I know much of the problem again is my language facility, and my frustration with not knowing the responses. They weren't even printed in French, so you either knew them or didn't. But there is something else. The buildings are certainly built to last, and they are very, very impressive. But, as many others have asked, "Is this the Church?" "Isn't it a lot more than this?" Yet we need meeting places--that has been a part of religious practice from the beginning--we need places to gather, to worship, to learn, to connect, to be launched for service. I have a lot of ponder with this one here.
Anyway, after that, we walked over to the Louvre, and I just stared in awe at the size of what was the royal palace. Didn't even try to go in, as there was no way to do justice to a place like this in our limited time. But how magnificent! After stopping at a cafe for a lunch (and real "French Fries"--not as good as MacDonalds), we decided to head back to the car. All in all, we walked about seven miles, saw much of the beauty of inner Paris, and then walked along a lot of streets that are almost indistinguishable from streets in NY City. The weather had been cold, but not nasty and on the way back we were kind of wondering at the inaccuracy of French weather forecasters when suddenly we hit a significant snowstorm, and then a mile south it was totally clear and then another five miles and it was sleeting, and then clear again, and just raining slightly when we got back here. However, a few minutes ago, it began sleeting furiously here.
So, that's my quick trip to Paris. But the real triumph of the day: have finally rigged up a temporary fix to the washing machine so laundry is possible again without constant mopping. As Jonathan said, "Laundry is my reason to be" except he said it in French. I'm so grateful that I can leave Adriana with this much done. It is difficult to describe how impossible life would be here without being able to wash at least two loads a day and most days three.
Tomorrow morning will be my last chance to walk to the town bakery for some fresh crossaints. I will never again be satisfied with an American made one, I suspect. The taste and texture delight the tongue. A special treat. The bakery is closed Tuesdays, as I know now, and Jonathan and I will have to leave for the airport by around 5:00 a.m. on Wednesday in order for me to be at the airport in time for my flight. So, shall arise very early, make my way down there, and then care for the children for the morning and into early afternoon while Jonathan heads back to Paris with Adriana to get her visa. Jonathan is so incredibly patient with the women (and children) in his life.
Hard to believe this visit is nearly over. Has been so full of joy and delight and many things to consider.
Saturday was Jonathan's 31st birthday and Adriana was absolutely determined to surprise him with a party and an American-style cookout. This party took a week in planning, unbelievable coordination, many hands to help, and much trust the people would keep it secret. The big fly in the ointment is that Jonathan decided on Friday that he wanted to taken me and the family to Paris on Saturday so I could see the city, and Adriana just had to agree to go, hoping we could change his mind in the morning.
At 9:30 a.m, Jackie (who is from Australia) and her daughter, Lotta, (six months old), came for breakfast and walked in, acting surprised at all the birthday decorations (Adriana blew up balloons and made a huge card for Jonathan). Innocently she asks, "is this your birthday? Oh, I hope I'm not intruding." When assured that she was not, we all sat down for a delicious repast--along with the usual fresh crossaints, of course, and then I equally innocently asked, "Jonathan, I really want to see that Norman church in Moret. Could we go over there and then maybe find a hardware store where we might find something to provide a temporary fix to the washing machine?" He agreed and we decided to take Joshua with us.
This worked out beautifully. We had a lovely time at the church, found a few things that might help with the washing machine situation, and then Joshua fell asleep and we took advantage of his nap to take a long, glorious drive through the countryside, seeing tiny little towns and horse stables and beautiful fields, plowed and many already lush with crop. Stopped at on point when a group of pheasants were crossing the road and just watched them. Almost all the roads we were were one lane roads (but two way) just meandering between forest and farm and tiny town. Exquisite moments, quiet and peaceful and in tune with the rhythms of nature.
It was nearly 1 before we got back and Jonathan said something about taking us all to lunch in Fontainebleu, but as he drive down the driveway, he saw the outside table covered with balloons and set for a picnic and said, "Hmm, I guess Adriana has other plans."
Somehow, this party just turned out. Besides Jackie and her six month old, two other couples with children exactly the same ages as Joshua and Samuel came along with a single man from Germany and our landlady. So in the house, we had seven children under two and a half, two Americans, one Colombian, two Spaniards, two Parisians, one German, one Australian, and one rural Frenchwoman. Adriana had cleaned an ancient grill and Jonathan managed to light the fire and cook the burgers. I couldn't find American style hamburger buns, so I had bought small loaves of bread for the buns, along with all the fixings. We had hidden a couple of cases of beer outside, and they stayed cold out there. English was the common language, so that was how we conversed. Simply wonderful time, last person left a 6:00 and we just sat and looked at each other. Jonathan truly had no idea we were doing this. And the rain held off until the last person left, thank goodness, so the men and older children could be outside while the women and smaller children crammed into the tiny living area for great conversation.
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