Gospel

…And Yet

One of the most significant differences in me, now, and me, for the previous nearly 50 years, is the amount of lies running around in my head. Before I fell in love with Jesus, one of the things I absolutely knew about myself was that I was not enough. Of what? (There’s a cool movie called The Wild One with a young, awesome Marlon Brando. In it, he’s asked, “What are you rebelling against?” He answers, “What have you got?” That’s my answer…) What do you have? Wherever it’s possible for a person to be inadequate, I was. Not a good enough husband, son, daddy, worker, athlete, not pretty enough, strong enough, funny enough, and on and on.

Then, when I fell in love with Jesus, He slowly began to unwind those ties that bound me in their ever-tightening grip. Unwind and Replace with Truth, His Truth. It’s been very nice, to feel some peace & quiet, some rest.

I’d be lying if I said I never hear those lies anymore. When I do, the big problem is that they sound so much like truth. They’re the same old lies – I can’t do it, I’m not enough, and I never will be. They deserve better, someone more…well, not me. Someone more than me.

What then? What if the perceived evidence supports the lie? Is the evidence an illusion that should be discarded? This is one of the hardest things about a life of faith: it requires trust in steps we can’t see, and distrust in steps we can.

What I am learning is actually pretty simple: patience. These lies, once you know the Truth, don’t generally hang around too long. When Jesus gets the first & last word in your head/heart, the noise in the middle can get drowned out after their initial deafening detonation.

The other big plus is the Gospel. What I mean by that is that this story is His. We can’t earn it or be great enough to punch our own tickets. So, when the lies roll in, screaming how “not enough” of whatever that I am, they can be met with a resounding, hilarious “that’s TOTALLY right! I’m NOT!!” which disarms this enemy, transforms the evil piercing attack of the lie into a reminder of the beautiful affirmation of the Truth.

“You’re not enough.” That’s right…and yet.

What would an enemy say to that?? It mostly neuters him with the sword of the Spirit, the Scriptures, and the shocking Truth of Jesus.

Of course, the ‘initial deafening detonation’ hurts. I guess the best analogy is a stubbed toe. It hurts like crazy, feels like our toe is broken, but it does go away. The pain of hitting the edge of the bed isn’t forever, it fades and is forgotten. Sometimes, it does break the bone. In that case, it lasts a little longer, but that doesn’t change the fundamental reality, that the toe is not broken, will heal and be whole again.

I’m not a good enough husband, daddy, pastor, teacher, whatever – all true. (This is what I mean by evidence. I lose my temper, say the wrong thing, don’t come through, swing and miss, all of the things that come with being a beautifully flawed human being.) These people I serve – you – are all made in the image of a wildly, passionately loved by The Creator Of The Universe. How could anyone possibly be enough for someone like that, for someone so valuable to Him? In other words, how could anyone possibly be enough for you?

…and yet.

We get back up, we move on, we show up with all we are and love these treasures of His. (By the way, we are one of these treasures, too. Imagine how He feels hearing us run down His beloved with all of our mean, nasty self-talk.) We show up the best we can, in any & all situations, every moment. You’re right, I’m not enough, not what you deserve, but I’m sure going to love you, from where I am, now. I’m going to keep moving forward, becoming more and more of who He has created me to be. I’m going to love this world of His, and I’m going to tell everyone who He is, and who we are. I’m imperfect, messy, I get it wrong a lot, I will let you down, but I am really really loved, anyway.

This is probably what Grace means to me, personally, right now. And it’s also what it feels like to have Jesus destroy the prison walls I’ve built that keep me from Him.

How Do We?

The BIG question from Sunday’s message is: How do we bring the Gospel into this world, here & now? It’s especially charged because we are less than 3 weeks away from Christmas Day, when we celebrate the birth of Jesus the Christ. He was the Gospel, that is how He brought the Gospel into this world. But as He left, after His resurrection, He gave us a Great Commission. “Go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Teach them to obey all the commands I have given you.” And ends with my favorite part: “And be sure that I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Essentially, take this Gospel into this world.

So, again, how do we intend to do that?

Do we do it with our theology? With our fancy commemorative, personally embossed Bibles that are specially made for left-handers or racecar drivers or pilots or Libertarians or whatever group we happen to be a part of? With our bumper stickers or decals? With our exemplary church attendance? With our perfect hair and shoes?

Or do we do it with our love? With our hands and feet? Our hearts and words?

Of course, theology is important. If we put our faith in a grocery store chain or a football team to save us, they won’t. That isn’t the Gospel at all. And our Bibles are important, inside those fancy faux-leather covers and pandering marketing ploys is the inspired Word of God. Bumper stickers and decals can testify, and being a regular member of a local church is a really big deal. These things do matter. (Maybe perfect hair and shoes don’t matter too much, though.). But they are not the point, they are not the Gospel, they do not save on their own.

Jesus Christ does, and when He was asked what we’re supposed to do, He said, “Love God with all of your heart, soul, and mind. And love your neighbor as yourself.” Is that the answer? Can it be that simple? It sounds that way. (Simple. Not easy.)

We are the cover songs (a cover song is when an artist interprets a song that they haven’t written, that others have previously recorded, in their own perspective and style) playing the Gospel of Jesus Christ, however we play it. Maybe we love with our hands, our presence, our gifts. Maybe we love through our money or our brownies. Maybe we love with a phone call or a meal delivery or a present under a tree. That’s our own interpretation. The lyrics are the same. Jesus Christ’s life, death, resurrection, and in Him, our creation, forgiveness, and salvation.

I think we can make our faith so complicated waiting for someone to tell us exactly what to do. But no one can. The guy that asked Jesus what he was supposed to do wanted a checklist to follow, and instead he got a word: love. What does that mean? How do we do it? Love can look different from different people in different circumstances, right? But maybe the point isn’t a solid structured checklist. Maybe it moves, evolves, maybe it’s dynamic. Maybe it’s better characterized as a relationship. Maybe it’s not what we do as much as Who we’re WITH. Maybe we don’t get a list because He wants us to keep holding His hand, asking Him, growing with Him. Maybe the way we play the song when we’re 15 shouldn’t be the way we play it when we’re 40. Maybe we’re supposed to be transformed through our journey with Him, in thought, action, situation, in the street and with our in-laws. Maybe we’re supposed to fall in love with Him.

Maybe that’s why, when He came, He came as a baby. Maybe that’s why He came at all.

Those People

Sunday, we discussed a gigantic question that sprang forth from a quotation by David Guzik in his Bible commentary.

Guzik wrote, “If the Lordship of Jesus Christ is not greater than any difference you have with others – be it political, racial, economic, language, geography, or whatever, then you have not fully understood what it means to be under the Lordship of Jesus.” And the question was, “is it?” Or “Has it?” Or something like that. Have we decided that our wholly arbitrary love of the Dallas Cowboys and hate of the New York Giants is bigger and more important than a cross and empty tomb? Or where we live, or what we do, or what we think about the tax code? Are there places in our lives where we use the phrase that can so easily expose the innermost parts of our own perspective, “those people?”

Then, as so often happens, I was immediately faced with a situation that confronted me with the implications of living a life without walls, and free of “those people.” It’s a bit of an occupational hazard, but more than that, it’s a human phenomenon. When we decide to consider our own patience, for instance, we immediately receive opportunities to practice that patience, where we can easily see where we are deficient.

A boy on the basketball team is academically ineligible for the rest of the season and playoffs. He is very likable and a nice basketball player, and he is also lots of other things we might infer from his situation that takes him out of the game. And probably those inferences are the gate to a path we don’t belong. Maybe those inferences are right, too. But does their rightness matter?

Inferences invite us to look at their motivation from across the room, empathy asks us to imagine from inside their skin. Jesus asks neither. Jesus asks us to love them, without thought of motivation.

Now, as a side note, it can be important teaching & learning to explore the behavior of others. In addition, it’s vital to practice empathy (whether we are gifted with it or not) to make connections and allow us to better agape someone else. We can use another person as case study to look inside our own motivations. They become, in effect, mirrors. It’s not gossip (unless it is), it is curiosity and accelerates growth.

But back to this boy. When I heard, I was disappointed and frustrated at the impact upon the team. I inferred, and began the foundation on a wall that separated us. In my initial reaction, I was one thing and he was another, both of which are completely irrelevant, “under the Lordship of Jesus.” In this Kingdom, we are not different in the least, we are both children of the Living God, created in love, by love, and for love. He’s ineligible, I wasn’t (but could have been as a high school junior), but neither matters in the way Our God sees us, and the way we are called to see each other and bring peace.

Now, is it ineligibility, or is it the party designation on our licenses, how we maintain our yards, cars, and garages, or our habits and/or personality quirks? There is no us & them, only we.

To be honest with you, it’s uncomfortable and a real nuisance when this happens. It’s just eligibility on a high school basketball team, I’d like to leave it there, just once. Offhand thoughts and comments might not be windows into our souls. Not everything is a matter of divine significance. Except, of course, that it is. And that is kind of a pain in the neck.

The choice we’re asked to make, that plays out in a bazillion different ways, several bazillion times per day, is simple (yet never easy), “He is either the Lord of our lives, or we are.” Now what?

What If We’re Wrong?

We have to make decisions in, and about, our faith, right? Big decisions. Like, is the point to get out of here, escape this place, His creation, and go somewhere else? And if it is, what does that say about how we treat our neighbors, our pets, our environment, and everything else that we can see and touch? But what if that’s not the point, and we’ve neglected our home for this long? When God says “reconciling all things,” what does that mean? Is it like a reset, or a mulligan (like in Endgame when the Avengers go back in time and take a re-do)?

What if we’re wrong about each other? What if we are actually very trustworthy? Or what if we’re not? What if we should not have treated each other so awfully? Or what if we were too easy, and love is closer to what those people in the documentary I watched who ran teen camps in the deserts called “tough love?” What if we should’ve said “I love you” and “I’m proud of you” more often? Or is it possible that we said them too much and they lost all significance?

And I guess that’s my point.

Some decisions on how we live our lives don’t matter too much. Like the brand of toothpaste we use or how we fold our pants or what our favorite football team is. (Obviously, the right answer is the Dallas Cowboys, but everybody already knows that.) If we buy strawberry jelly and don’t like it too much, we can get another one next time. If our detergent gives us a rash, it’s uncomfortable, but it’ll go away and we can make a note to stay away from that particular kind.

But other decisions have much wider consequences. Some have eternal consequence.

If we choose the wrong person with whom to spend our lives, nothing is easy, we don’t want to go home, it’s tense and we’re full of anxiety, walking on eggshells. If we don’t tell them “I love you,” we might regret it forever. If we never hear “I’m proud of you,” we might spend our whole lives searching for it in all sorts of destructive ways.

Are we really thinking about our choices, are we intentional, consciously evaluating the things we value? Or are we sleepwalking, being swept along by what our parents or friends or celebrities believe & live, or are we just too busy and distracted to pay attention?

We’re going to be talking about community a lot. Are we spending time with our friends and family, with our tribe, taking the steps through this life together? Or do we find that most of our time is spent alone, isolated, behind screens, windshields, and walls? If that’s the case, is that really the choice we made, or did it just happen? Did we just wake up one day with no one to call with the celebrations or in our suffering?

Did we decide we weren’t worthy of beauty and peace? Or is that simply how we’ve always thought? And, really? Always???

Some of these questions absolutely need to be asked, because we didn’t choose them, it feels like they chose us. If we hear a lie often enough, it can sound like the truth, but it’s still the same filthy lie.

This morning, driving to the grocery store, I was thinking about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. If we continue to allow the heresy of a salvation by works to subtly creep in, what exactly does that mean? And what if we’re wrong?

So, if the right theology is Grace+… If our salvation is lots of grace, but we have to do our part (no matter how large our part is)… If the True Gospel is closer to the gospel of Jesus and Chad (or Sally or Kevin or whatever your name is), and we partner with God to clean ourselves off to become acceptable, then what?

What if the Gospel you hear every Sunday, of Christ ALONE, is wrong?

Well, 2 things about that. First, the works: Ideally, our response is to live lives of love and peace and kindness and beauty, so maybe that might count. But does it really matter?

Is that one answered with a far more important question, why does “Christ Alone” matter so much? If the Gospel of Jesus ALONE is wrong, we would be guilty of shrinking ourselves and our egos, making Jesus the center of this wonderful Story, making it His Story. Our mistake would be to elevate the sacrifice of Jesus to cover all of us, everywhere, for all time. His life, death, and resurrection would be Everything. His love would be deep, wide, thick enough to hold every one of us as His children. We would define ourselves by/through Him, He would have the final (and only) word on our identity. We would, essentially, make Him bigger than He is.

But, on the other hand, if Grace+ is wrong… Then we elevate us, we make our actions, our behavior, our rule-following, necessary. The story would be ours. And we would minimize the cross, we would de-value the blood of Christ. We would say, “thanks, but it’s not quite enough.” Are we prepared to say that?

But what if we say that in a million ways, just because we never asked the questions, never thought to consider what we believe and what it all means? We started this post asking questions about some specific scenarios, but what if the way we answer the last one – if it’s a Grace OR Grace+ New Creation – is the answer for all of the other ones?

the gospel of me

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I promised we’d discuss the “prosperity” (or “name and claim” or “health and wealth”) gospel his week, so here we are. This ideology is, as the Great Theologian Wikipedia writes, a “religious belief among some Protestant Christians that financial blessing and physical well-being are always the will of God for them, and that faith, positive speech, and donations to religious causes will increase one’s material wealth. Prosperity theology views the Bible as a contract between God and humans: if humans have faith in God, he will deliver security and prosperity.

The doctrine emphasizes the importance of personal empowerment proposing that it is God’s will for his people to be blessed. The atonement (reconciliation with God) is interpreted to include the alleviation of sickness and poverty, which are viewed as curses to be broken by faith. This is believed to be achieved through donations of money, visualization, and positive confession.”

The first obvious questions are if God’s definitions of blessing, well-being, success, security and prosperity are the same as ours? Even a casual reading of the Bible would suggest there is a better than average chance that they are not. Maybe God’s primary hopes for us aren’t exploding bank accounts and increasing mountains of material possessions, maybe the blessings are not quite so temporal. And the next batch of (admittedly cynical) questions revolve around the shockingly consistent penchant for human religious systems to tie spiritual giftedness to monetary donations. 

It’s not these questions we’ll talk about here, now.

It is the inversion of the Divine order of condition/grace/response into a simple if-then equation. If we give enough money, do enough, have enough faith, then He will give us whatever we want. If we put in the proper amount, say the right words, run fast enough, we will get what we order; a sort-of spiritual Amazon.

But what’s the proper amount? What is enough? 

I was visiting in a church once where the congregation laid hands on a member with a late-stage cancer and proclaimed if he had enough faith, he’d be healed. If he didn’t…well, he wouldn’t. He died within the month. Since he didn’t measure up, I wonder how much he needed? 

No wonder we’re all riddled with anxiety. We’re all trying to be good enough (of anything, of everything), but it’s a rigged game. Where’s enough? Where’s the bar? How will I know if I’ve reached it? If we don’t get our notion of prosperity or success, then it’s our fault, we’re guilty, overcome with shame. That’s terrible, but perhaps even more damaging is if we do, then it’s also our fault. We did it!!! We ARE that awesome!! 

This is ultimately a gospel of ME. The Gospel is Jesus. Jesus alone. This gospel is Jesus plus me and my work, my trying, my earning, and that is no gospel at all. The word gospel means “good news” and this isn’t good news, it’s the same news. It’s exactly how your job, your country and your world, work. This isn’t even news. 

On if-then equations: They are very often practically useful and true (If I do more push-ups, then I will get stronger. If I eat more cake, then I will gain weight), but I think we misuse them in a spiritual sense. The Bible is full of commands and if we follow them, then we will benefit. If we stop lying, then we will be free of the consequences of those lies. We won’t drag that baggage around, we won’t have those broken relationships, we won’t carry the worry that they’ll find out or endure the wrath when they do. We live a far more peaceful life. So we naturally think there are strings attached. IF we follow His commands, THEN He will love us, accept us, and bless us.      

This is pretty understandable, but the Gospel gives us a different if-then scenario. IF He loves us, accepts us, rescues us, blesses us, THEN we will WANT to respond in love towards Him and everything that is His. Given that He loves, accepts, rescues, blesses us, that reality releases us from all of the anxiety that comes with climbing The Ladder Of Enough and we are free, truly free, to do what we’ve been created to do all along; give everything to Him and fly.

Patricia’s Blog – Living Water

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[This post has been written by Patricia Snyder – Enjoy!! Love & Peace. Chad.]

John 4: 4-41. Living Water

When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” 8 (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)9 The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.[a]) 10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

At the well, Jesus meets the Samaritan woman and offers her living water. It was a place He shouldn’t have been, according to the culture of the day. It was a place where she went alone, away from the morning crowds. She went alone, maybe because in her culture she was considered immoral. Jesus doesn’t mince words when He points out her past. He speaks only the truth. It is this particular person that Jesus chose to approach. This is possibly the longest interaction, between Jesus and another person, that we read about in the Scripture. He asked her for water. He spoke truth to her about her life, a painful truth. He brought the truth from the places of her heart and from the voices of public gossip into Divine light and grace.

In the time of Jesus, living water also referred to water that flowed and moved as opposed to water that was still and stagnant. It was considered the most pure of waters and also used to cleanse oneself before entering the Temple. Living water cleansed and purified. This is what he offered her and offers us. With this water, not only will we never thirst, we will be cleansed and purified.

13 Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”15 The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”

16 He told her, “Go, call your husband and come back.”17 “I have no husband,” she replied. Jesus said to her, “You are right when you say you have no husband. 18 The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”

No matter what she did in her past or present, He chose to meet this person on that day. The water he offered could not be earned by any action or non action in her life. It could only be given.

This story has always struck a chord for me. It is one of the most powerful stories in the life of Christ. Christ met this woman, exactly where she was in her life. The truth of her life comes out of the mouth of the Savior, and in the very same encounter, He offers her everything her soul needs, truth and living water. He chose this woman to meet and carry a testimony of grace and love to others. 

Christ also meets us exactly where we are. Right now, many of us remain physically distant from those outside of our homes. Some folks are the helpers, going out, and with their servant hearts, they face the frontlines in a war zone. Some are the helpers behind the lines, doing what can be done to support others. Some of us are at home with others; some of us are alone. Some are ill. For some of us, this will be the most painful time of our lives. For some of us, this will be a revealing time. For some of us, this will be a growing and healing time. For some of us, this will be a time of great thirst and for some, a time of cleansing. For most of us, it will be a bit of everything.  

Every single one of us, Jesus will meet exactly where we are. He will meet us alone, and He knows every bit of our story.  He brings truth to Light. Our stories never stop Him. Nothing from our past or present stops Jesus. He offers us this living water, that purifies, cleanses and takes away every  thirst. 

Jesus will meet us in the fear, the aloneness, the togetherness, the loneliness, the growth, the despair, the grieving, the pain, and the joy. He will meet us in the desolation and the recovery. He will meet us with consolation and grace.

The other day I felt the warmth of tears come down my cheek.  They come more easily during this time. I remember the woman at the well and how Jesus asked her for water. She felt so inadequate. The weight of her culture and her life was upon her.  She asked Him, “How can you ask me for water?”  It occurred to me that sometimes all we have to give Jesus is the water of our tears. All we have is the water that carries part of our souls. The tears are so sacred in their journey from our heart and souls to the flowing of tears. There are times our soul overflows. It is sacred and holy water. I believe that Jesus asks us for that. He comes to our well, when we are alone, meets us where we are and asks us for water and sometimes tears are all that we can give. He takes our offering and reminds us that He has the water that quenches our souls for eternity and lifts us into the grace of God.  

21 “Woman,” Jesus replied, “believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. 22 You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23 Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. 24 God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth.”25 The woman said, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.” 26 Then Jesus declared, “I, the one speaking to you—I am he.”

Imagine that. The Messiah revealed Himself to this particular woman and chose her to give testimony to her community. She is any one of us.

39 Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I ever did.” 40 So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to stay with them, and he stayed two days. 41 And because of his words many more became believers

This encounter with the Samaritan woman is the same encounter that we are offered. He meets us where we are, and reveals Himself to us.  He is the Messiah! On Good Friday, we will be reminded again of the gift that our Savior gives us. From the cross, water from His side poured out; the gift of living water that “wells up to eternal life.”

We have more alone moments now. Maybe more than we did before. We may have more tears than we did before. The invitation remains. Christ will meet us exactly where we are with living water and grace. The only question remains is what we do with the gift that is offered.

Isaiah 12:2 God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. For the LORD GOD is my strength and my song, and He also has become my salvation.” 3With joy you will draw water from the springs of salvation.

Word Offering

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After a desperately needed week off – though it wasn’t a week free of drama and chaos, it was a week off from this space. I do love this space (the imaginary blog space and the psychological space of work, as well as this actual physical space of chair and computer) but stepping away gave me the opportunity to respond quickly and without reservation. It gave me the opportunity to answer the phone and quickly say yes, and that is something we (at least that I) don’t get the freedom to do nearly enough.

I’ll touch on last week soon enough, but I do want to dive into the Visio Divina poem from 2 weeks ago. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, please take a second to read my last post, ‘This Branch.’)

So. This branch – “This branch is blowing, sometimes gently, sometimes violently, moved, led, a dance of differing tempos. This branch, before the cool gray shy and behind the jarring, out-of-place power lines, connected to the tree, (the Vine), healthy, crisp, bright, refined, bending, swaying, it is beautiful, an extension of the tree, it’s very nature is, here, now, lovely. As it is.” – is me. You. Him. Her. Us. We are beautiful, lovely, at our deepest essence. Exactly as we are. (Despite the lies we believe distance us and make us something less, we remain made in the image of God, after all, made in, by, and for, love. As Rise Against sings, “We are far from perfect, but perfect as we are. We are bruised, we are broken, but we are ** works of art.”) Exactly as we have been created, joined, connected to the Tree that gives us life and vitality. We are acted upon by our environments, consisting of the world around us. This takes many forms, none intrinsically good or bad, like neighbors, work, viruses, winter, pizza, sex, money, the ocean, etc. The environment that blows us, weathers us, and threatens to sever us from the Tree that sustains us as it reminds us again and again that we are these amazing works of art.

Now, the condensation: “But a stripe from the window, a separation, condensation (cold meeting warm leaving unwelcome evidence of the battle on the glass) cuts through the branch, blurs, dulls, smears, makes the concrete abstract, changes perception, confuses, redefines the branch, the branch loses it’s essence, unrecognizable.” As the environment simply exists, it can engage with itself or other environments in many ways, some of them in conflict, which can change the perception we have of ourselves. We become unrecognizable (I mis-typed and was corrected to “unrecognized” but that is no correction at all, it’s 100% wrong. The Tree recognizes us, no matter where we are, how far we go, or how much condensation separates us.) and confused. We own the notion that we are re-defined by this blur, so we re-define ourselves, which encourages us to re-define others, as “sinners,” or some other broad-sweeping generalizations that reduce the beauty of the branches and the Tree for one unfortunate aspect or behavior.

I don’t have any idea how coherent this explanation of this Visio is…probably not very. Maybe it’s so difficult to convey because any revelation, any truly soul-altering experience, is ultimately a personal exchange between you and the Divine. An intimate moment beyond words… that we try to use words to catch and maybe in the attempt to capture, loses its nature or its heart.

Maybe I should delete this whole thing, maybe sharing it profanes it’s purity. But you already know I won’t. I won’t delete it because maybe its purity is instead magnified in the overwhelming goodness of a God who would meet us in a branch and smudge on a window. So, on that chance, I will post it gladly, in all of its jumbled inadequacy, His goodness displayed in my weakness, as a Word Offering (like a drink offering of the Old Testament) to the God that so thoroughly provides.

What If

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I just finished a book called The Way Of The Warrior by Erwin McManus and here are 2 questions that have settled in my head:

What if we are more than we know and in our disconnection with God have become less than we were ever meant to be?

What if miracles look like aberrations because we have accepted the world as it is and not as it should be?

Sometimes ideas, concepts, and observations stand out because they are so counter to what we’ve ever considered to be true, ever imagined could be possible. Other times they give language to what we’ve always known but didn’t have the words to express. These questions, to me, paradoxically reside squarely in both.

You see, I believe the premise of both of these questions – that our brokenness and “disconnect” have led us to settle for far less of our world and of ourselves. I think we struggle so much with acceptance of injustice and suffering, and so often say, “it’s not supposed to be like this,” because it isn’t. Maybe the fantastic stories of the Bible – where Elijah asks it not to rain for 3 years and it doesn’t, where the same Elijah asks God to send fire to the altar and He does, where a few fish and loaves feed thousands, where Ezekiel breathes life into dry bones, where Jesus and Peter walk on water, where manna is provided, where seas and rivers part, and on and on and on – what if these fantastic stories aren’t the exceptions? What if we are? What if, when Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you,” he meant it? What if it wasn’t a metaphor or hyperbole, what if he actually meant that nothing will be impossible for you and me?

***That’s a big “what if” and the implications are staggering…***

Of course, the other side of this is that it leads to a perfectionism that is unreasonable. Our expectations – of ourselves, others, and the world around us – can become chains, holding us in a prison of self-loathing and judgment. 

Maybe there’s a happy medium. Or maybe there’s not. Maybe it’s just a case of mistaken identity. If I think it’s my duty to be perfect or better or enough or amazing, I will try and try and push until I am. And fail, like I always do. Because even when I am awesome (we all are, you know) I open the door to the hammers that start pounding in my head, saying I’m not awesome enough or I should be more awesome. It’s never enough. 

This is where I too often go – so when McManus asks those questions, I see impossibility and yellow caution tape. Turn around! Be careful! 

But since I’ve ignored the warnings and have, instead, been feeding and caring for them, I see something new. What if the phrase “in our disconnection with God” is and has always been the key? Maybe my impossibility and less-than thoughts of not enough is simply more disconnect. Maybe as long as I’m trying to find enlightenment in my own achievement, it will just be further disconnect. Maybe I can’t make a mountain move because I’m trying to move it in my own strength, on my own shoulders. The mistaken identity is that I think I need to create me – that I decide what I was “meant to be.” That I manufacture my own miracles. 

(My great friend and new daddy Jay uses that life-changing phrase, and I’m henceforth stealing it from him and calling it my own.)

I was already created, in love, with a purpose, for an overflowing life of joy and blessing and love. I don’t have to create anything, it’s already been created. I just have to step into it. Then my expectations of the world can be a holy revolution, full of love and invitation (instead of bitterness and judgment) and my expectations of myself can be a realization, dripping with kindness and openness and awakening.         

Parties

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The parable of the Prodigal Son is both wildly popular and wildly disturbing, which is a strange phenomenon. Usually ideas or art or people that challenge our accepted worldviews, that make us uncomfortable, are quickly discarded, because we defend nothing as tirelessly or viciously as our own ‘right-ness.’

Even One as beautifully, monumentally disruptive as Jesus (or the Bible), we reduce to bullet points, scouring stories and verses to find only those that confirm our already held beliefs and trashing the rest.

Yet we keep the Prodigal Son. 

(My guess is that it is most often used to describe others – always others, of course – who have walked away from our beliefs, comforting us with the hope that they will return, just like this son. I could be wrong, though. And I am more than fine with this comfort and hope. Mostly, I’m more than fine with all comfort and hope, especially the hope that comes from a God who runs to us, no matter what we’ve done or who we’ve been or if we’ve been eating the pigs food, and brings us into the feast. This story has given me rest as well – I have been the son who walked away and was welcomed back with hugs and acceptance and love. It’s a really great story. But there is so much more to it.)

The parable ends with a brother – a “good” boy, doing all the right things, following the rules, never leaving home – standing outside, in what he would surely describe as righteous anger. He honestly details his frustrations to the Father, and the Father listens and patiently answers – “My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” One of the most gorgeous verses in the Scriptures: “Everything I have is yours.” 

And the story ends with the brother outside, with a decision to make.

How many times have I decided that this party is not, should not be, for them (whoever ‘them’ is)? 

It’s called judgment, and it’s not awesome. We decide where the walls are, who is on the guest list (of course, OF COURSE, we are always on the inside), what the admission requirements are, who has been good enough and who has not.

I used this parable Sunday in a message about forgiveness, because we are all the brother. We have a choice to make. Do we want a world of Fairness – because to tell the truth, it’s not fair that the brother gets in. He severely disrespected the Father and everything He stood for – or do we want Forgiveness? Do we want entrance requirements? Do we want walls?

He is with us, and everything He has is ours, now do we actually want His kind of party?

Can we really live a life free of comparison, free of being “better than” someone else? 

SO many questions… 

Can we enter a party where the guest of honor is our “enemy,” who has not followed any of the rules, who looks and acts differently that we think guests at this party should look and act?     

And if I start to look at that brother honestly (which in itself takes a humongous amount of courage) and see that I share more in common with him than I’d ever care to acknowledge, then I’ll start asking all new questions and opening the door to a whole new life and I’m pretty sure that kind of whole new life is what Jesus had in mind all along.

Far From Perfect

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There are days, weeks, seasons of our lives where the walls are caving in, every phone call is at best: an emergency, at worst: the worst. There is no end to our prayers, no more tears to cry, our heart hurts even though it’s already in pieces, broken so thoroughly it feels as if it’ll never be put back together. You know these spaces, this darkness, this pain. And yet we pray, we still cry, still hurt. We keep moving, because tomorrow can’t be like this, right? And then, of course, it is. This is a season like that.

But we get up again. We don’t want to, but we do. We stand.

This is why it’s so important to examine and understand weight, priority, value – for times like this. Because it’s hard to see at night. Sometimes, it’s hard to breathe and we’re overcome with despair, and it’s precisely these times when we need to know what we are about, when there’s no time to think and the foundation is shaking. When the water is rising.

Everyone responds well when the sun is shining, everyone is gracious when they win.

Anyway. 

I love to watch court shows, like the People’s Court. The People’s Court is on where I live at 1 and 5, I record the 5 o’clock and watch it the next day while I eat my lunch around noon-ish. Today, I’m not watching it because I’m writing. This isn’t too unusual, but I’ll tell you something. I’m sad today. There’s a sweet boy I know undergoing surgery to remove a brain tumor right now, I’ve had a run of bad news, relationships are falling apart – others and a few of my own, my legs hurt from a spin class 2 days ago, a good friend is trying to get home but is in the hospital while his insides bleed slowly, several people have passed away and I’m praying for peace for the beautiful friends who have lost. SO. All I want to do is lay on the couch and cry a little and watch Marilyn Milian. 

I’m not, though. Instead, I’m writing. Because that’s who I am. At least it’s who I’ve decided I want to be, who I have been created to be, long before the surgeries and phone calls and funerals and spin bikes. I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time exhuming myself, getting rid of all of the walls and dirt and damaging words and thoughts and lies I’ve buried myself under, trying to discover me.       

I value honesty, mercy, and forgiveness. (I’m really working on the last 2 towards myself, but I’m working on them because they are so important to me.) 

I believe people are created in the image of God (even me, which may be the most difficult to accept, right?) I believe that waaaaay down, in the deepest parts of my soul. Then when people let me down (and we always do, eventually) and I’m tempted to think humanity is a hopeless lost cause, I remember what I know – what I learned in the daylight, when it was quiet and I could think clearly. 

But if I didn’t give the time and effort then, I would surely forget the million examples of beauty and love and be prisoner of the moment, of the offense, of the wound, and make decisions based solely on circumstance. Only on the now.

I’m finished for now. I’m going to lay down and cry a little and listen to some music. But there is this Rise Against song, that seems totally appropriate today. It’s called ‘Far From Perfect’ and this is the chorus:   

“We are far from perfect, but we’re perfect as we are.

We are bruised, we are broken

But we are [expletive deleted] works of art.”