In the Midst of It All...Love Has Come

In the midst of it all…
a government tax, a burdened journey,
a burgeoned town,
no room
in the midst of it all.

In the midst of it all…
each single life, here and now,
walks the hard pavement of ordinary life,
wading through
the sinking mud or flash flood
of waking tasks,
worried racks of anxious unknowns.

But, somewhere in this night,
the desert night of long ago,
or this daily desert of a road—
a twinkling here, a shining there,
a flower blooms
in deepest winter.
Love has come
and calms the shiver.

A warming kiss
a soft embrace,
a lighted window
a stable place.

In the midst of it all…
a hard won labor,
grace is born in fleshly groans.
The baby cries his birthday song
as angels weep and sweep
the heaven-to-earthbound glory.

And, love has come,
to each and every one of us
whether our eyes are open
and we perceive,
or closed in lonely fear.

We will receive
this love come to us –
whether open-hearted
in abundant waves,
or in unsuspected
and surprising ways.

Love has come.
Love has come…
Arise and shine – with the sun!
Love has come
in newborn grace
to offer truth
and God a face.

At the Core

I've wondered what we are most afraid of as believers and disciples. At times I think we're most afraid of other people's beliefs. But, during an interesting post-worship discussion last Sunday, I think some of us got a bit closer at deconstructing some of the primary fears that plague us in our highly-partisan society - especially when it comes to diverse belief systems and faith expressions. It's not other people's beliefs that scare us the most - extremist or otherwise. I think what scares most of us the most is to be discovered as inadequate to express what we ourselves deeply believe...or NOT believe.

What emerged for us was three different dominant perspectives regarding belief:

Perspective #1: The people who know what they believe firmly and fundamentally. There is really little or no desire to talk or dialogue with others except for the purpose of prostelytizing for their own beliefs...because of course, they are the truth. If others disagree, they are wrong, and maybe even a dangerous threat.

Perspective #2: The people who know what they believe - some very firmly and fundamentally, others perhaps in a more general way. They are interested in dialogue with others. In some cases, dialogue can be clarifying, often it is enriching, sometimes it might even result in some creative and productive compliment or compromise. But, generally it is clear that the two or more sides will not give up their beliefs to come over the others.

Perspective #3: The people who either do not have a strong set of core beliefs, or simply have a belief in inclusivity for inclusivity's sake. They not only want dialogue with other beliefs, they want to become whatever the other wants and needs, so as not to be found guilty of exclusion. There are very few boundaries or definitions.

It seems that #1s view all others as either completely wrong and misguided...or that they are #3s, wishy-washy and superficial.

It seems that those who hold to #3 perspective fear that everyone who attempts to define or create boundaries and clarity in belief are #1s.

Most of the people that are drawn to mainline Protestant churches probably fall in the #2 perspective. But where we find our conflicts and fears are that some of us fear the #1 perspecives more, and some of us fear the #3 perspectives more. We most fear we will be compromised in our beliefs, and find ourselves in one or the other extremes.

But...the issue is NOT really about other people's beliefs. It is about our own. Our own core. I'm not talking doctrinal language here. I'm not talking what you said during confirmation, or even new members' vows. I'm talking about the beliefs you hold in the deepest hours of the dark night when you lie awake wondering -- the deepest beliefs you hold when you hear the preacher say something in the sermon that makes your stomach flip over or your heart beat faster -- Those deepest beliefs we hold, but so often can't articulate.

Ironically - It's these very beliefs that the author to the Hebrews pointed to in his litany of the people who endured all things for faith (chapter 11). These are the beliefs that allow people to stand firm in the lion's dens, and in the fiery furnaces, or hanging on the crosses they may find themselves on. Yet - it's these beliefs we as clergy and churches have neglected to help people to identify and articulate...particularly because of the passion they incite. We much prefer the tried and true doctrinal statements, that have had their jagged edges of revolution dulled by centuries of acceptability. We prefer the statements that have become so general and universal, that they make great hiding places for doubt and disagreement.

So, I say - let's get down to nitty-gritty and jaggedly honest discussions about what we really believe... as individuals, and as congregations. Our world is yearning for something authentic, something that is true to somebody. They are finding it on the extreme polarities...and they are gravitating to those extremes. To those of us holding the middle ground - let's find our core and stand on it. Let's let our roots, our peace, our integrity, and our character sink deep so that we might be able to bend and sway in the winds of extremism - yet not splinter or break. Let's strengthen our core.

Bridges

Bridges in my city most often cross over dry washes. A even a "wash" is a misnomer. Rarely does a wash wash anything. It's a dry riverbed that sometimes will flood in a heavy rain. Otherwise it stays dry most of the time. But we need bridges for those occasional rain storms. In my church there are a lot of stories about before the bridges over the dry riverbed were built. At times, our part of the city was cut off from the rest, requiring long detours to the neighboring cities (now suburbs) to cross the seasonal swell of rain water.

I was thinking about bridges last week when I read some scripture stories about Jesus. We're often obsessed with getting to the other side of things we are concerned with, or - especially these days - getting people on the other side over to our side. There was a lot of that with Jesus. Pharisees watching him, plotting, waiting to find him on the "wrong side," then pull up the draw bridge and condemn him.

As a child, there was a large footbridge that crossed a deep ravine at my grandparent's house. At the bottom of the ravine was a small creek that drained out into Lake Michigan. My brother and I use to love to run back and forth across that bridge, throwing rocks and sticks into the green leafy forest below. We could cross that bridge and go to the large, old and kind-of-mysterious house of some friends of my grandparents that had an old swimming pool in the back yard...sometimes it had some water in it, sometimes it didn't. I think it depended on whether it rained. It was quite an adventurous place for a young child.

It seems that more often than not these days we're not much interested in crossing bridges. We want and expect that everyone should come across to our side. We are on the right side afterall. Who in their right minds would want to stay on the wrong side? But, really, I don't think Jesus was very interested in which side people were on. He seemed more interested in the bridge itself. Being the bridge. And I think that's what he may have wanted us to be as well.

For him, stories about common things like seeds, wheat and weeds, fishing, birds and flowers, were bridges to get over the dry fears of people's close-mindedness. Food and feasting was a bridge to connect people across deep ravines of culture. Healing was a bridge. The Sabbath was bridge - even though the Pharisees thought it was a ravine that could not or should not be crossed.



This painting is by Marsha (Sasha) Porter, called "Bridge of Sighs." I think it was painted after the collapse of the bridge in Minneapolis-St. Paul a few years ago. It caught my attention because it reminds me of what happens when we ignore our bridges. They crumble and cause chaos. People die. The same is true when we ignore our bridges. If we're too concerned about bringing people over to our side - which of course is the right side...the bridge only becomes a means to an end. Our own end. Because, the important thing isn't getting everyone over to our side... but the adventure of exploring the worlds beyond ours, running back and forth, being able to cross back when we need some familiarity, and being able to get to places and meet people we could not know before. I'd like to see us strengthen our bridge-building skills a little more.

Forward Through the Fog

I'm very good at discerning when to stay put and not go out into bad weather. Too good, really. I'm not a brave driver who wants to conquer anything. When I lived in snow country, I was basically a wuss. When it's foggy outside, I stay put. When the "fog" is proverbial...I am good at waiting. I don't like it, but I can wait.

When I'm trying to get through the proverbial fog in life and discern a direction, catch a vision, grab a conviction...I can usually do that too pretty well. As soon as there's a break in the fog of confusion or a lifting of the blanket of the unknown, I can often quickly discern a direction and go for it.

What I've learned I cannot do well is push myself forward through the fog. As I said...I'm a wuss. I'm finding that somewhere around 50, a heavy blanket of fog set in and my life felt like it came to somewhat of a wussy, wavering stall-out. I suppose some would call it a "midlife crisis." Mine felt more like a midlife muddle. In some respects I'm still in it, yet I'm learning something about it.

I'm trying to get better at continuing to move forward through the foggy times in my life. Even if it's just one step at a time. The truth is, of course, none of us knows if we have another step to take. So, fog or not, all we really can do is fill that one next step ahead of us with all the purpose, conviction, vision, and fulfillment possible, just in case there isn't a next step. If you can only see the distance of your arm held out in front of you, well...fill that arm's length with all the purpose and intentionality you can. No, it may not be a huge accomplishment, or a world-changing phenomenon; it may not be the end goal you've always been dreaming of, but it will at least be an arm's length of knowing you lived fully and faithfully.

I've also discovered it's really a matter of trust. In the fog, you use your past experience to know the road is there, even if you can't see it. I'm learning to trust that all I have been and all I will be as God intends and is shaping me for is true. It is still present within me even though I may not be able to see it or feel it in the murky mud of midlife. There is a road I'm on. There is a destination I'm heading for. The road is good. I can keep taking those steps forward, trusting myself to the foggy way.

Rain

It's raining today.

I know it's not big news for the summer in most places. It is big news, however for the desert-dwellers. Television stations in my city carry video footage of puddles on both the six o'clock and ten o'clock news when it rains. But, I'm not in Phoenix, I'm in the Pacific Northwest where rain is a usual thing.

I'm amazed at the affect it is having on me today. The water is gently washing all my rough edges to roundness; it is smoothing the sharpness and soaking the soreness. The rain is bringing me a serenity I've come on vacation to find.

It's good to change climates if you can on vacation. We need that shift of environment and sensory input, and be refreshed by the differences. We desert-dwellers need to be reminded of puddles and feel the cleansing of a steady rain. Those who live in the land of heavy clouds and humidity, need to feel the dry, unencumbered sun sinking into their bones once in awhile. Those that live in level lands, need the taste of mountains, and vice versa.

If we are fortunate to love where we live, we will love it even more if we can manage a little variety. The earth feeds us with her diversity...and it's a food that nourishes deep into our souls. I had a friend who commented once on how uncomfortable it was for her, as a Midwesterner use to being surrounded by tall trees, to venture into the desert or the plains with all their immense openness. She felt intimidated and exposed. Others feel claustrophobic in the midst of a forest. These fears are probably good to feel on occasion as well. They remind us that the earth really is not under our dominion, but has a life of its own and qualities far beyond our reach. They have the power to refresh us and to remind us that not all is under our control. We need to pay attention and open ourselves to the gifts.

Vacating

There's something very holy about vacation. For us clergy-types, I'm afraid it at times seems like more of a pain that it is worth. I'm vacating right now, and trying my best to empty out, shift gears, slow down, savor, and hope that in two weeks the pressures built up within the tectonic plates of my life will shutter and quake enough for a resettling to take place. A more comfortable fit.

But, somehow, sometimes we get suckered into believing the great lie. Our absence - even for a week or two - will be so sorely missed as to wound the church irreparably. Somehow we will become abandoners, not caring for those who count on us to be at bedsides or gravesides. Especially when we are lolling away our time dangling our feet in a cool stream or watching a video at home with the curtains drawn mid-afternoon. It's a great lie - not that parishioners tell us, but that we tell ourselves.

Let us love our people enough to entrust them to the caring hands and attention of others that might speak a word of God or have a touch of God so slightly different than our own so as to catch our beloved parishioners by surprise and let them perhaps meet God in a new way.

And, let us love ourselves enough to trust ourselves to the great vacation void, where God may be waiting to meet us in the empty, surprising space of a blank schedule or a new location.

A deep-body thanks to those who are enabling and enriching my holy vacating! Rich - far away but always close; April - "Anam Cara;" Christopher, Jaylin, Cara & Jenole - sharing sacred family space like a down comforter!

Strangely Warmed

The Psalmist said, “Behold how good and pleasant it is when people dwell together in unity.” Easier said than done, I say. When it’s not happening, it has a kind of 1950’s veneer of superficiality in the sound of it. But – when it does happen, it catches your breath in mid-inhale, John Wesley’s “strangely-warmed heart” grabs your chest, and the flush of it overflows through your cloudy eyes.

It happened yesterday -- right in the living room of our “church house.” Twenty people gathered for a noon prayer service for the effects of the current anti-immigration legislation. Now, for many, twenty people may not sound like a lot. But, with only three of us representing our own church (including my husband and I as pastors) 17 or so from the community is an astounding number. But – of course, numbers don’t matter. Which is very true – but, they feel darn good.

The more meaningful effect was that these people were almost all from other small churches in the community. It’s a tiny sign. A seed of hope. Our community is divided by diversities of race, economic levels, theologies, background. It can be a poor and violent place, but one can walk to the next block and find new, lavish homes and golf courses behind coded gates. It’s becoming impossible not to rub elbows with each other, and the churches with the more adventurous pastors and people are beginning to sense that whispering call of the Spirit.

Evidently the word passed from a few emailed invitations, and other church folks came. Not ours, but others. Not our predominant color, but others. Not our theology, but others. Not our predominant economic status, but others. And together we sang, and most of us stumbled through Spanish – the language of the current immigrants – and we prayed together. And, I believe, we all found our hearts strangely warmed.

Starting Again

There’s a writer in me trying her best to cut a path through the saturated rain forest of my everyday life. I’m 53 and this has been going on about 40 years. This writer in me is getting more irritable, and a bit more frantic. So, I take my keyboard in hand like a machete and begin to slice.

Did I say my life was a rain forest? I meant a desert. Somehow it often feels like both or either on any given day: sometimes frenetic, overgrown, and slogging –And at other times, parched, crusty and thirsty. I’m a pastor of a small urban “mainline Protestant” church trying to cut that path to the promised land. I think these days, most of us are lost. If it’s a rainforest day – we’re stuck in the mud of the millions of details and demands of trying to be pastor/CEO/monk/non-profit director/marketer/first-responder/building supervisor/justice advocate/easy-going pal. If it’s a desert day – well, we lay our heads on our stone pillow at night and wonder where God is.

This blog, I hope, will offer some reflections and images helpful for both kinds of days, maybe some “living water,” if you will. I write from a pastor’s perspective, but also as a spiritual pilgrim through a weary land. I’d love to have some company along the way.