No Longer Strangers

Watchword for the week of July 19, 2015

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints

 and members of the household of God.  Ephesians 2:19

To wake up in a place you’ve never woken up in before—to be smothered in a feather bed when you’ve always slept on a coil-system mattress and box spring, to have bright sunlight stream through wobbly glass windows on the opposite side of the room from where flat light usually seeps in, to breathe in the vapors left behind by the room’s regular inhabitant when you’re accustomed to the scent of your own Herbal Essence shampoo on the pillow—to awaken in such a scene is purely disorienting. And then to remember that you’ve been traveling, and that you are now 4,325 miles from home, and that you are visiting the European branch of your family tree, and that you don’t really know how to find the bathroom in your aunt & uncle’s  rambling German farmhouse—this all coalesces in an immediate wave of homesickness that does not resolve when cousins whose names you do not know greet you with, “Guten Morgen,” and you are reminded that nobody in the household speaks the same language as you.

This is, maybe, a little bit, what it feels like to be a stranger, an alien. The feeling lessens when the jet lag wears off. And when your host beckons you with hand motions to sit at the kitchen table. And when she sets out Frühstück (breakfast). And when, even though the food is unfamiliar, it looks and smells delicious. And when the rest of household members take their seats and fill up the room with cheery chatter. And when they pass you platters and encourage you, through cajoling gestures and made up sign language, to try die Brötchen (warm rolls that most certainly are served in heaven!). And when, by the end of the meal you have learned the meaning of Frühstück and Brötchen.  And when you become comfortable enough to even laugh with the folks around the table. 

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To belong. Is this not what everyone everywhere longs for? To be included. Is this not a universal desire? The very Good News is that God’s household is barrier-free. With no cultural restrictions to keep us on the outside, we are welcomed directly to the inner circle of kinship. We are free to learn and laugh and love without risk! And if this is disorienting, it is only so because we might be unaccustomed to such a complete and beautiful experience of inclusion. Thanks be to God!

The Circle of God's Presence

Watchword for the week of July 20, 2014

Thus says the Lord, the King of Israel, and his Redeemer, the Lord of hosts:  I am the first and I am the last; besides me there is no god. Isaiah 44:6

Do you know the cooperative playground game “Catch the Dragon’s Tail?” Players arrange themselves Conga line-style, each one placing her or his hands on the forward person’s shoulders. The goal is for the player at the front of the line (the dragon’s head) to maneuver the entire chain of players (the dragon’s body) in order to reach and tag the player at the back of the line (the dragon’s tail). Of course, the player at the back of the line tries to evade being caught. Lots of running and whip-cracking motions ensue, the line bending and responding, the participants laughing like crazy. But when the front does catch up with the back, the group is no longer a line. It is a circle. For a moment, there is no first or last. There is just an unbroken flow of exuberant life.

When the Old Testament prophet Isaiah quotes God as saying, “I am the first, I am the last,” in my mind and in my heart, I link those definitive points together, coming up with an image of God that is infinite and encircling and imbued with energy. A glowing neon tube bent around a youngster’s wrist at a carnival on a summer evening. A life-giving bracelet of presence.

Over the course of the last few weeks, some compassionate friends have given me gifts as visible means of support through trying times. Interestingly, these gifts have come in the form of bracelets. One brassy circle bears a charm—a dove—reminding me that God’s Spirit is always at hand. The other is rather like a wearable collage of metallic tiles bearing meaningful symbols (cross, heart, fish) and essential words (faith, love, hope). Together, the bands have served as talismans, as armor. I am both empowered and protected by the firstness and lastness and everything in betweeness of my everywhere and always God. (Thank you Jill and Bob & Laura Ann!)

God is constant. Always has been, always will be. I will bear that and wear that assuredly.

Condemnation to Renovation

Watchword for the week of July 13, 2014

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Romans 8:1

When my husband and I were first married, our inaugural apartment might have been known euphemistically as “graduate school housing,” but we affectionately referred to the place as “The Tenement.” The rundown 2-story had at one time been a single-family dwelling, but had long since been converted into multiple units. We occupied the main level and were privileged to have access to the cellar, a subterranean cave we could peer at through wide gaps between the splintery pine floorboards. We legitimately feared getting our feet caught in the holes and breaking our ankles.  Down there in the dank recesses was an abandoned shower stall. Former tenants told legendary tales of all the bars of soap that had been gnawed on and dragged away by nocturnal critters. The floor above our living space housed 2 additional apartments, and every time one of those neighbors entered or exited, our windows would rattle as though they might have been perched directly atop the San Andreas Fault. By far, our favorite amenity was the refrigerator which, and I swear this is true, contained NO shelves. Storing food was an ongoing game of Jenga.

Fairly regularly, one of us would turn to the other and say, “I’m pretty sure this place is on the verge of being condemned.”

A condemned structure is a doomed structure. A damned structure.  Irreparable, irredeemable, hopeless. The foundation has crumbled, the joists have rotted. Neither Bob Villa, nor Norm Abram, nor any of the celebrity hosts in the HGTV line-up would be willing to take it on.  Das ist kaputt.

Speaking in all seriousness about condemned, kaput buildings, the photo below was taken at this time last year when my friends’ home was crushed under the weight of an ancient tree uprooted during a summer storm. Though quite miraculously no one was injured in this disaster, building a replacement home on the footprint of such devastation proved to be a healing (if not often daunting) task.

Condemnation. Can you imagine a soul so wrecked, so damaged, so without merit as to be irreparable, irredeemable, hopeless?  Apparently, Jesus cannot.

Sometimes our situations are so grim that we need to rebuild our lives from the ground up. Sometimes, it’s more a matter of remodeling. And sometimes it’s really just redecorating. The size and scope of the problem determines the size and scope of the solution, I suppose. No matter, when we seek to redo something—anything—about our brokenness, it is the Spirit of life in Christ (Romans 8:2) that revokes the order to vacate the premises and gives us hope to imagine and achieve a fresh renovation.

*I offer prayers of gratitude to God for the Spies family on the 1-year anniversary of the event that will have forever marked time in their lives, and I give credit and thanks to Jennifer Spies for allowing me to use her photo.

A Nickel's Worth of Graciousness

Watchword for the week of July 6, 2014

The Lord is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. 
Psalm 145:8

I had an opportunity to be gracious today. The transaction went down in the Soft Drink and Snack Food aisle of the grocery store. As I loaded up the cart with three 12-packs for $9.99, a friendly young woman approached me. “Hey, how’re you doin’?” she asked in a croaky voice.

“I’m doing well, thanks. How are you?” I answered back politely.

“I’m great!” the stranger explained exuberantly. “I just got back from my sister’s house. I was there a whole week.” She stood stalwartly on pudgy legs, and although she efficiently blocked me from making forward progress, she was without malice. She smiled broadly. Happiness registered not only in the curve of her mouth, but in the twinkle of her up-slanted eyes.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” I said. “It’s nice to get away on vacation.”

“Can I have a nickel?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Can I have a nickel?” She lifted up a small package wrapped in white deli paper and pointed to the price sticker. $1.05. “I have a dollar in my pocket. Can I have a nickel?”

Her unashamed persistence melted my heart. I began fishing in my purse for change. While I hunted, she waited, patiently expectant. I located a quarter and handed it over, but she shook her very round head. “No. A nickel.”

I stifled a laugh and searched further. Eventually, I came up with the correct coin. I placed it in her open palm. She curled her stubby fingers—characteristic of Down syndrome—close around it.  She thanked me loudly and moved on. As I continued to stock my cart, I heard her making conversation in the next lane over. “I just got back from my sister’s house. I was there a whole week….”

+++

This real time, live action parable provided an episode of delight along with a measure of insight. I found joy in being able to meet the woman’s immediate need (all for the bargain price of 5 cents). In this life, it’s not often that a problem can be solved so simply and perfectly. To be able to respond to a request with kindness and completeness flooded me with the pleasing sensation of goodwill.

Is this the sort of payoff God gets for being gracious with us, I wonder?

And what if, as with the woman who refused the quarter because she was set on getting a nickel, God has even greater blessings in store for us than we are primed to receive?  Are we foolish for expecting God to dole out mercy, patience and love in Dixie Cups when, indeed, God is poised to pour from an unrestricted garden hose? Maybe God stifles a laugh (or holds back a tear) when we are stingy about what we are willing to receive. 

Seeing God in Creation

Watchword for the Week of June 15, 2014:

O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth! Psalm 8:9

 I’m at church camp this week, somewhere where it is very easy to notice God’s majesty. In the height of the skyscraper pine tree, in the breadth of the beryl lake, in the flash of a Baltimore Oriole flying past the cabin window, Creation cant’ help but stand out. To stare out at a meadow white with clover or a sky powdered with clouds is to spend a moment in God’s presence—a moment I far too often skip during a “regular” week. I breathe in uncharacteristically cool June air, and I feel blessed.

But the magnificence of Creation is not at all limited to the natural landscape. The peoplescape is also a wonder: middle school kids shining with the light of life (if you can catch them in an unselfconscious instant), confident older teens mentoring the younger ones, and caring grown-ups leading, cooking, nursing, teaching, playing, praying and nurturing, all while giving up vacation days for the chance to do so. Who knew that some of God’s finest handiwork would be dressed in t-shirts and flip-flops?

All week, some of us have been keeping an eye on a particular camper. M is precious and fragile, like a figurine of colored glass or an orchid. M has autism, and though she interacts quite well with her peers, it is apparent that she slips into herself at times, oblivious to her surroundings. This happens when music plays. M’s body becomes one with the music, and she’ll solitarily respond by raising her hands skyward, or spinning in a circle. With willowy arms, her movements are graceful, an impromptu ballet. She sings, boldly allowing the melody to overtake her. She projects her song heavenward, communing with God, unaware that she is inspiring everyone around her. Observing M is like watching a prayer. Being moved by her is like offering one.

Soundtrack of the Soul

Watchword for the Week of June 8, 2014:

Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of service,

but the same Lord. 1 Corinthians 12: 4,5

I’m listening to Pandora Radio right now. I have it tuned to an ambient/classical background music sort of channel. In case you’re unfamiliar with Pandora (or other similar services), it is a way to listen to highly customizable music choices through the internet. If you have a taste for East Coast Hip Hop interspersed with dashes of 70’s Rock and Orchestral Metal, or if you’re in the mood for a mix of Motown plus Michael W. Smith’s Greatest Hits along with a splash of Broadway Show Tunes, this is a cheap way for you to develop your perfect playlist.  In fact, Pandora goes by the slogan: “It’s a new kind of radio—stations that only play music you like.” With Pandora, Spotify, iTunes, Serius XM and all the others, there is really no reason in this world to ever again have to listen to a song you don’t adore. Just press “skip.”

I applaud that there are so many varieties of music easily accessible these days. If I want to find a fiery Brazilian samba or a haunting Andean folk melody, a wild Zydeco tune or the national anthem of Fiji, it’s all available to be discovered. But it’s also all available to be avoided.

I sometimes lament that we seem to be lacking a common soundtrack for our times. For those of us hovering around the half century mark, who among us didn’t listen to American Top 40 with Casey Kasem every week? Sure, it meant we might have had to endure a Fleetwood Mac song while waiting for an Abba song to play (or visa versa), or we may have been exposed to one of those country crossover hits while knowing we wanted to hear Styx (or visa versa).  But didn’t that, in some ways, bind us together generationally? Didn’t that, unbeknown to us at the time, encourage us to appreciate something outside of our own tastes and interests? Didn’t that, in a subtle way, shape a smidgeon of patience within us?

Our world offers us a smorgasbord of choices in most arenas, and through technology, we also have quite a lot of control. However, I rather fear that the trade-off for all of those plentiful choices and all of that control is isolation. Instead of being united under the broad category of “music,” we’re left alone and lonely with only our ear buds to share in the refrain.

Unity has been on my mind a lot lately, especially unity as it pertains to The Moravian Church. In my understanding of what it means to be a Christ follower in the Moravian tradition, unity is a pretty big deal. Relationships—with Jesus and with one another—are what we live for. It’s what we call fellowship, and fellowship is one of the wondrous ways we express the Gospel message. Fellowship is our expression of LOVE.  To keep up our fellowship, though, requires that we be generous with one another in our differences, and that we seek to remember what we hold in common, or rather, who we hold in common. To keep up our fellowship, we need to whip off the headphones that trap us in discordance and prevent us from hearing the graceful chorus of God’s Spirit.   

Pinching Back the Petunias

Watchword for the week of June 1, 2014:

 Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. 1 Peter 5: 7

With coffee in hand and laptop tucked under my arm, I head to the front porch to take up residency this morning. The Boston ferns and thriving white impatiens offer an inspiring backdrop, the patio furniture a comfortable workspace. But before I can get down to writing, I must attend to an unsightly distraction. I have to pinch back the petunias.

They’re of a variety I’ve not seen before—petite, lemony flowers just a fraction of the size of the standard purple trumpets I often pot up in hanging baskets. These otherwise cheerful sprays are blemished with the shriveled brown vestiges of blossoms that have already peaked and withered. I deadhead the spent blooms, working my fingers through the foliage and judiciously plucking away the decay. I preen the plants not just because it helps them to look better in this moment, but because removing the debris encourages them to produce new growth, to set forth future cascading clusters of yellow beauty.

As I groom the containers, I ponder the Watchword, and before long, I am imagining that each depleted posy is one of my worries—one of the sad, sundried anxieties that cling to me, and that must be removed if I am going to be my best today and flourish tomorrow. Garden variety concerns: how to pay for the unanticipated car repair; how to lower my triglyceride numbers; where is my kid and how come he hasn’t answered my text; how will I ever accomplish what’s on my to-do list, much less my Bucket List; why did I let those angry words slip and how will I fix the situation…. These sorts of things that keep me awake at night are what need to be tossed on the compost pile. And so, I fire off a prayer, and before I know it, I am imagining that God is wearing gardening gloves and is caring for me by gingerly culling what is waste from what is life.

Ah, that’s much better. 

TripTik Jesus

Watchword for the Week of May 18, 2014

Jesus says, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. 

No one comes to the Father except through me.” John 14:6

The last time I took a road trip to an unfamiliar place, I typed the address into my smartphone and let it design a route. It looked okay to me, but just to be sure, I checked my destination’s website for directional advice. It did not match the plan my phone had laid out, so I pulled up www.mapquest.com on my laptop and printed out the turn-by-turn instructions so that I could make comparisons. I have a GPS in my vehicle and could have programmed it, but I don’t really like having a disembodied voice snidely announcing it is “recalculating” my driving decisions as though it were oh-so-superior, so I didn’t plug it in. But I did grab a couple of paper maps and toss them on the passenger seat, just for good measure. After cross-referencing all of the information and still feeling like I needed to flip a coin at every choice, I found myself longing for one definitive answer. I wanted a TripTik.

The TripTik was the gold standard for travel planning when I was a kid. Pioneered and perfected by the American Automobile Association, the AAA TripTik provided customized road trip itineraries long before ordinary people had access to the Information Super Highway. With just a week or so of notice, AAA could plot out a personalized, dependable path which would then be assembled into a tailor-made, vertically-oriented, spiral-bound notebook. Each page represented a leg of the journey—an isolated stripe of highway, about a hundred miles in length, detailed with exits and rest stops, and yet streamlined, the course unmistakable. It made navigating a breeze, and for the bored children in the back seat, it provided an anticipatory thrill whenever the car came to the appointed mile marker and it was time to turn to a fresh page. In my family, the TripTik was decisive. There was nothing to do but follow where it led. Simple!

Don’t get me wrong. I like having choices. I like knowing that for any challenge, there are countless combinations of solutions limited only by lack of imagination. But sometimes it gets to be too much, this overwhelming access to infinite possibilities. Especially in the critical moment (“Must I cross three lanes of speeding traffic to make that exit coming up in a quarter mile, or is it okay to stay on this road awhile longer?”), it’s a relief to have an unambiguous answer.

Jesus gives an unambiguous answer about which route is guaranteed to bring a spiritual traveler into unending relationship with God. He says that HE is the route. HE is the road. HE is the TripTik. Whatever tracks Jesus lays down, whoever follows in them is bound to end up where Jesus is—inhabiting downtown accommodations in the place where God is.

But is the unambiguous answer also an exclusive answer? Some say that in order to arrive at the hoped-for eternal destination, it is necessary to invoke Jesus’ name as though it were the exclusive currency taken at the toll gate. But here’s something I’ve noticed: If I want to arrive in Chicago, I don’t just speak the name “Chicago” and, poof, find myself teleported to the western shore of Lake Michigan. I still must traverse the network of highways. And while it may be important for me to know which direction to head, the road itself doesn’t particularly care if I call it I-90, I-94 or the Dan Ryan Expressway. The fact that I’m following the road and trusting where it leads is what matters.

To trust and follow Jesus is to tailgate him, to keep just inches off his bumper. His way is the way of selfless love and deep compassion. To go there is to leave behind whatever appears in the rear view mirror and move forward, ever closer to the spot that’s circled on the TripTik—ever closer to that place in the heart where God resides.

Gates and Doorways

Watchword for the week of May 11, 2014:

Jesus says, “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.” John 10: 9

When I was a very young girl, my mother worked in a most amazing building. I had no idea what she did there, but I loved paying her a visit in the impressive white-columned, dome-topped structure set squarely in the middle of Downtown.* With gold ceilings and polished stone balconies, green marble walls and peacock-hued mosaics, the building’s interior was even more stunning than its exterior. But above all the grandeur, what captivated my pre-school imagination more than anything else was the revolving door: enormous frames of dark wood surrounding mesh embedded glass panes bisected by bronze push bars I was not weighty enough to budge. If we were to make progress, Daddy would have to stand behind me in the pie-wedge compartment and push off. He would also have to tell me when to hop out, something I was afraid to do. More often than not, we would have to make several revolutions before I saved up the courage to shoot through the opening and enter the lobby. This gateway both fascinated and intimidated me, but it always beckoned.

Jesus never identifies himself as a revolving door (which is not surprising since the first one wasn’t designed until 1881), but he does use the gate metaphor to describe himself and his mission. You probably know this already, but in case not, when Jesus speaks of being a gate, he is talking about the threshold of a sheepfold. A sheepfold is a rustic, roofless, community corral where shepherds can secure their flocks while they catch a few hours of sleep. It’s really nothing more than a low-walled box with a gap in the perimeter. The gap is the entrance/exit. It has no door, per se. In order to block the gap in the wall, a shepherd stretches out across it. A shepherd becomes the door. A shepherd prevents the sheep from wandering out, and predators from wandering in. A shepherd is the entire security system. A shepherd personally takes on the risk and the responsibility of the flocks’ welfare.

If Jesus is watching the gate—being the gate—what a relief that should be to his followers! If Jesus is checking ID’s, that’s one less thing the rest of us have to worry about. If Jesus is assuming all risk and responsibility for who is in and who is out, then we can relax. Secure and unburdened from needing to judge one another, both the ones on the outside and the ones on the inside, we are remarkably free. With that freedom, we move from the protected enclosure, encouraged to wander out beyond the walls to discover nourishment and fulfillment. We are saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.

Coming and going. In and out. One reason buildings are outfitted with revolving doors is because they allow people to enter and exit efficiently at the same time. They encourage smooth traffic flow. Had Jesus ever said, “I am the revolving door,” he might have been inviting the Church to keep moving—for disciples to step inside as needed for shelter, but then to turn it around and head back out to do whatever it is that needs to be done. Had Jesus ever invoked the metaphor, he may have been teaching us that there’s nothing static about the life of a follower, that the business of transformation is one of movement and change. Had Jesus ever elaborated on this, he may have been reminding us that, although he is the door, we might need to work collectively and give one another assistance to give an extra heave in order to advance. And he might have been highlighting the truth that pursuing the life in Christ, while alluring, sometimes requires a moment of courage when it comes time to hop out.

(*Later in life I puzzled together that Mom had served on the staff of the State’s Attorney General, and that the office I admired was located inside the Wisconsin State Capitol.) 

Refrigerator Reflection

Watchword for the week beginning May 4, 2014:

You have been born anew, not of perishable but of imperishable seed, through the living and enduring word of God.  

1 Peter 1:23

What ultimately turns out to be perishable doesn’t seem so at first. A bouquet of broccoli, a glossy polished apple, a perfect pint of blueberries—the Farmers’ Market yields a vivid assortment, plump and juicy. An eggplant, purply smooth and taut as a pregnant belly, evokes the vivacious promise that all of life is wonderment, beauty and jubilant possibility.

But to grasp what it means to be perishable, all I need to do is tour my own refrigerator, a museum holding a full array of good-but-failed intentions toward the goal of fresh and healthy eating. Beginning with the upper shelves, I view the untouched packages of tofu, both silken and firm, hiding behind the partially-consumed carton of organic Greek yogurt. Proceeding downward past the skim milk and orange juice jugs, I take in the amassed collection of plastic leftover containers archived by date, the most recent scoops of soups and casseroles toward the front and the oldest, molding samples at the back. (This is where the penicillin develops.) And for the finest examples of putrefaction, I visit the fruit and vegetable crisper bins where the carrots and onions are holding up pretty well, but where a couple of cucumbers inside a grocery store produce bag have turned to mush, a lime has dehydrated, and the cabbage I was too lazy to shred has decomposed and is emitting an unpleasant, sulfur-scented cloud.  

What is perishable, no matter how promising, is impermanent. It’s a good thing that tomorrow is Garbage Day.

“Imperishable” isn’t a word that often comes up in my everyday conversations. The closest thing to it would be “non-perishable,” as in: “The Youth Group is collecting non-perishable items for the local Food Pantry. Please bring your donations with you next Sunday.”   Non-perishability conjures the kind of dependable permanence attached to SPAM and canned beef stew, tins that reside in the darkest, lowest shelf of a kitchen’s corner cupboard. What is non-perishable is stable, but not especially vibrant.

And that is far different from what is imperishable. What is imperishable is permanent, yes, but also exquisite. It is the perfection of sweet, sun-kissed strawberries, but sweet, sun-kissed strawberries that never go out of season or give way to decay.  What is imperishable is perpetually luscious and steadfastly delightful.   What is imperishable is eternal. What is eternal cannot yet be known by us who are oh-so-very perishable. And yet we get a taste—a delectable, lingering taste—every time we take in the essence of love. The flavor of love—pure and saturated--tantalizes us in the present and causes us to crave after more of the same. Love will be, one day, what satisfies us completely and perpetually. Love, splendidly cultivated, sumptuously ripe, and forever fresh—this is what we expect the imperishable seed is always growing into.  

God's Mind

Moravian Daily Texts

Watchword for the coming week:

How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!  

Psalm 139: 17

I read a summary of a Stanford Research Institute study that says the human brain is capable of thinking between 90,000 and 115,000 thoughts on any given day, but that since none of us could possibly deal with so much information without blowing a gasket, the human brain is also capable of repressing 30 or 40 or 50, 000 of those thoughts so that we might carry on. On average, then, most people hold 65,000 or so active ideas in their minds in any one 24 hour period. (At least I think that’s what the summary meant. I’m not sure that my brain is capable of comprehending neuroscientific research.)

Of course, the quality of each of those thoughts varies greatly. I’ll bet at least 64,000 of my everyday thoughts are mundane: Where did I put my coffee cup? Should I defrost chicken or hamburger? Where did I see gas was selling for the lowest price? Do empty cereal boxes go in the trashcan or the recycling bin?

A few are worthy. Remember to mail Mom’s birthday card. Remember to pray for Godknowswho about Godknowswhat.

Some are petty: I can’t believe she’s wearing leggings. And those shoes.

Some are sentimental: Awww, I remember when the boys gave me this necklace.

Some are creative: What would happen if I turn that thing upside down and put marbles in it?

Some are worrisome: It’s getting late and the roads are slippery. . .

Some are fun: Go Packers! Beat the Giants!

Once in a while I might have an important thought, and maybe once in a great while I might have a profound thought. It would be fantastic if I could have more change-the-world ideas than perfunctory notions about how to run the microwave or apply hairstyling products. I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to tip that balance.

But enough about my thoughts. The passage at hand is about God’s thoughts—how numerous they are, and how weighty. But if I am already challenged when it comes to grasping that a standard issue human being like myself might possibly compute 115,000 thoughts per day, then I am as far away from comprehending the sum and substance of God’s thoughts as my tiny little brain is removed from the most recently discovered distant galaxy. (It’s calculated to be 13.2 billion years in the past. Wrap your mind around that!)

What does God think about? How could I be so presumptuous as to even speculate, except for perhaps this one slim concept: Whatever incomprehensible number of thoughts are playing out in the mind of God right now, one of those thoughts is of me. One of those thoughts is of you.

Now that's profound.

Atmospheric Conditions

Moravian Daily Texts

Watchword for the upcoming week:

 Ascribe to the Lord the glory of his name; worship the Lord in holy splendor.

 Psalm 29:2  NRSV

It’s considered mundane to mention the weather. Chit chat.  Small talk.  And yet, the weather affects us regularly, sometimes shaping our days and often sculpting our attitudes. Case in point: This first week of January in East Central Ohio began grey as tweed and damp as a sponge mop. As the thermometer plummeted, the constant precipitation degraded from brittle mist to soaking downpour to injurious ice bullets. Snow eventually coated the roads enough to be dangerous, but not enough to be lovely, and the whole time, the sun disappeared as though it were in the Witness Protection Program. Under the influence of the meteorological milieu, the post-holiday celebratory goodwill of family, friends and coworkers quickly shriveled.

And then yesterday dawned like a gift. Dense layers of clouds drifted off to annoy someone else, and sunlight let down from heaven. Sour faces gave way to smiles, slumped shoulders transformed into upright posture. Goodwill returned. Praising God wholeheartedly became much easier to do on Friday than it had been on Thursday.

For the shepherd/soldier/poet who spent most days and nights outside in the weather, it’s not surprising that the mood of the Psalms shifts from elation to depression and back again with great frequency. Psalm 29 seems to be a weather-inspired piece that speaks to the fearsome majesty of a thunderstorm—the kind of storm that rattles a person to the core with atmospheric cymbal crashes and pyrotechnics. Such a magnificent display stirs up awe and inspiration, and the Psalmist seems genuinely compelled toward a moment of true worship.

Holy splendor.

“The weather” can turn out to be an ordinary topic of conversation when there’s nothing else of much note to discuss. Or it can be an uplifting spiritual experience—an encounter with Creation. There’s nothing mundane about that.

On the Precipice of a New Year

Moravian Daily Text

Watchword for the coming week: 

But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children. Galatians 4: 4, 5

In the fullness of time. . .

when the fruit is ripe and heavy on the branch;

when the sprinter is in the blocks;

when the crust is golden and the dough pulls away from the edges of the pan;

when the contractions are close enough to be measured by stopwatch…

In the fullness of time, there is no freeze frame setting.

In the fullness of time, God does what God does.

In the fullness of time. . .

when the crystal ball is perched atop a flagpole perched atop a skyscraper;

when the clock hands sweep toward the conclusion of one cycle and onto the next;

when the crowd counts backward, in unison chant, from 10. . .

In the fullness of time, what is inevitable will proceed.

In the fullness of time, old moments dissolve into new moments, old years resolve into new ones.

On the precipice of 2012, I wonder what God might be ready to do. I wonder what God might be ready to have me do. I wonder if the time might, indeed, be full. I wonder if I will be attentive enough to recognize what God is up to, or perceptive enough to align my own resolutions in the direction God might be going.

In the fullness of time. . . here we go.

Through the Shark Tank

Moses stretched out his hand over the sea.

The Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind. Exodus 14:21

By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as if it were dry land. Hebrews 11:29

“Shark Realm” is a stunning exhibit at Adventure Aquarium in Camden, New Jersey. Essentially, it consists of a clear, acrylic tunnel running through the middle of an enormous shark tank. Visitors walking through the tunnel have a completely unobstructed view of the water and the 850 creatures swimming around and above them. The illusion of being deep beneath the sea yet without getting wet (or getting eaten) is mesmerizing. Fantastical.

But the spell was broken for me when, during my turn, a pair of visitors in line behind me began to question the structural integrity of the beautifully engineered display.

“What kind of PSI do you think they’ve got going on here,” one fellow asked another.

“I don’t know, but there’s a heck of a lot of water in here. The sign says 550,000 gallons. One ding in the ol’ plexiglass and whoosh. . . . we’re gonners.”

The collective mood among the people in the tunnel shifted swiftly from wonderment to apprehension as individuals first contemplated the invisible force holding back the waters, and then further imagined its letting loose. Distress and fear registered on their faces. Wanting to leave the tunnel as quickly as possible, some visitors turned back toward the entrance they had funneled through just moments earlier, only to be reminded that this was a one-way walkway. The newest crush of entrants now clogged the opening, and the only way out of the exhibit was to press forward 40 feet to the exit. There could be no turning back.

Of course, there was no disaster that day at Adventure Aquarium. Only the whiff of a supposition of a rumor. Upon exiting the Shark Tunnel we were all deftly routed through the Shark Gift Shop. But even though the threat of danger was imagined, the experience has helped me to engage with the biblical story of the Israelites passing through the Red Sea as Moses, with God’s power backing him up, restrains the ocean. In my aquarium encounter, just like in the Exodus account, circumstances required that all participants move forward. No matter how terrifying it was to advance, reversing or reverting or retreating were impossibilities.

To move ahead when the future is uncertain—well, isn’t that just one of the scariest challenges human beings face? The message I take from today’s Daily Texts is that, frightened or not, we must step forward on our life journeys, not backward. The sense of being protected in the midst of the peril, and the feeling of relief that comes after we have lunged and plunged into the future—these are the rewards for putting our trust in God.

What's Next?

The Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” Genesis 21:1

God granted the inheritance to Abraham through the promise.

Galatians 3:18

It was this time a year ago that I renewed my relationship with Dave, the moving van operator. The morning he arrived in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania to load our boxed possessions onto the big orange Allied truck, his face seemed familiar to me. As we compared notes and reconstructed history, Dave and I came to the realization that he had been our driver 5 years previously when we transferred our household from Madison, Wisconsin to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Now he would be in charge of relocating our stuff to Gnadenhutten, Ohio. And when he pulled up to the 3-story brick American Foursquare-style home in Gnadenhutten, Ohio, Dave recalled having been in the house years earlier and negotiating furniture around the tight bends in the staircase for yet another Moravian pastoral family.

He would never say this aloud because he’s a very polite man, but as he packs and unpacks lamps and mirrors and bicycles and pianos, I’m pretty sure Dave questions the efficiency of the Moravian Church and the sanity of its clergy. (But hey, we do keep him steadily employed.)

Listening for and responding to God’s call is hardly ever an efficient prospect. In fact, it’s usually pretty complicated and messy. Look at Abraham and Sarah. I don’t suppose they found nomadic desert travel to an unfamiliar territory to be especially easy. I don’t imagine that they considered bearing and raising a child, an heir, in their advanced years to be a model of efficiency either. And regarding sanity—well, that characteristic is often scrutinized when someone claims to listen for and hear God’s voice.

I’ve been listening and hearing that voice since I was a teenager, and I think I’ve been faithful in responding. That doesn’t mean I always understand why God wants me to be in the places God puts me, or how I’m supposed to accomplish what it is God wants me to do. With all humility, I confess that I have no clear sense of what my purpose is in this land God has been showing me for 12 months now. Some days I find this discouraging. Other days, I find it to be energizing as I try to discern what’s coming next. In all of it, I find encouragement in the way God blessed Abraham and Sarah for their faithfulness, for their willingness to follow God even as they stepped out into the vast unknown.

There’s no big orange truck in my immediate future. I don’t expect to be seeing Dave again anytime soon. But I do expect that God has more to show me in this place. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow.

Murderous Thoughts on Mother's Day?

You shall not murder. Exodus 20:13

This is the message you have heard from the beginning, that we should love one another.

All who hate a brother or sister are murderers.

I John 3: 11 and 15

Being that it’s Mother’s Day, I guess I was expecting a softer start to the morning than to be confronted by the words, “You shall not murder.” So much for flowery, lacey, pinkish sentiments.

You shall not murder. Yes, as a parent, I have sometimes been frustrated enough by one kid’s antics or the other’s that I have muttered to myself, “I swear I’ll kill him.”

I try to reserve that phrase for the truly serious offenses—not for minor infractions like tracking mud across a freshly washed kitchen floor or swigging orange juice directly from the carton or even losing a brand new L.L. Bean winter coat out on the sledding hill. For these sorts of judgment lapses I tend to resort to extremely heavy sighing and head shaking.

No, I only invoke death threats in scenarios that cause me extreme worry and heartbreak. Like the time my pre-schooler wandered away from me in a 2-story department store that opened onto an enormous shopping mall. He had decided to play Hide-And-Go-Seek, but had forgotten to inform me that the game was on. He ducked inside a circular clothing rack laden with skirts, and the only thing that eventually gave away his location was a muted giggle as I searched frantically, calling out his name. In his glee, little did he know the thoughts that ran through my mind—thoughts of him being alone and frightened, thoughts of him climbing on the railing of the second floor concourse high above the first floor fountain, thoughts of him being lured away by a fellow with Tootsie Pops and evil intentions. Of course, when I did discover the child’s hiding place, I was so crazy with relief that I cried and embraced him. I didn’t even come close to killing him.

Neither did I kill either of my children on any of the subsequent occasions when I may have gotten calls from the school principal, or heard from other parents in the neighborhood about some questionable behavior, or on those very late nights when one didn’t arrive home by the agreed upon time and didn’t have the decency to text me. I may have breathed fire at the time, but I still loved them through the fury.

While working out the rules that would be good for humanity, maybe God Our Heavenly Parent was watching what people were up to and, out of frustration and heartbreak, muttered, “I swear I’ll kill them.” Maybe God Our Heavenly Parent deals daily with this attitude. Who knows?! Maybe this particular commandment first came into being as God was working out God’s own parenting skills.

Love your kids today. Love your parents today. Love your God today. And for goodness’ sake, try not to kill anyone.

Restoration

When you return to the Lord your God, then the Lord your God will restore you from captivity, and have compassion on you. Deuteronomy 30:2-3

Jesus said to the healed woman, “Daughter, your faith has made you well;

go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” Mark 5:34

I have an antique trestle-style library table. No, let me rephrase that. I have the pieces of an antique trestle-style table. Some are splintered, all are dusty, and they are stacked in the corner of my garage.

Once belonging to my Uncle Fritz and Aunt Margie, the skinny table used to decorate the back wall of their vintage Midwest farmhouse living room. Throughout my entire childhood and youth, the table was most often topped with a doily, a lamp, and a filled candy dish. At holiday time, it boosted their 4 foot tall artificial Christmas tree to a grand height and held their tissue-paper wrapped gifts.

Especially in its current state, the table is of no particular worth. Made of inexpensive pine varnished into a sticky blackness, its only value is sentimental. And yet, I’ve carried that small woodpile with me on several cross country moves always with the hope and expectation that someday—when I have time—I will restore the heap into a serviceable item of furniture.

Restoration, of course, means to return something to its earlier condition. But it also means to take it a step further—to refurbish something to a better condition.

Both Old and New Testament verses in today’s Daily Text speak of restoration. In one example we hear about someone being restored to the community following a time of exile and isolation. In the other, we learn of someone’s health and wholeness being restored. In both cases, these acts of restoration are life-affirming and positive. The people effected end up being better than ever because they have come to know God’s compassion.

Struggles in this life are the gritty sandpaper, the grinder that scrapes against the surface and scratches off the old finish. Without the grit, the stain wouldn’t adhere, and without the stain, the beauty of the grain would not be revealed—even better than the first time.

Someday I’ll get to work on that table. In the meantime, I invite God to keep working on me.

The Warmth of God's Blessing

The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you.

Numbers 6:25

Jesus said, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” John 20:21

I went to a high school track meet yesterday to cheer on my son and his teammates, but only the fact that Dan was scheduled to run in the finale event kept me anchored to my chilled aluminum bleacher seat through the whole contest. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy watching the competitive sprints, the aerial pole vaulting, or the punishing 3200 meter run. All of the kids’ achievements were worthy of ovation.

No, the tough thing about being out there last evening was the raucous wind pummeling the already cool air and taking it down my degrees. By perching high enough up in the stands to get a good look at the finish line, I also set myself up to be pierced by the icy blasts that persisted even though the sun never gave up shining. With gloves on, coat zipped, and hood up, still my teeth chattered.

But then, for about four and a half minutes—only the amount of time it took for one speedy runner to complete one lap of the oval—the wind ceased. The wind ceased and the persistent sunshine immediately heated me to the point where I had to shed the outerwear and tilt my head back to receive the glorious warmth.

Is this what it feels like in the soul when God’s face is shining, when God is being gracious? Is this what it feels like in the spirit when God is offering a blessing? Could be. Could be.

The Lord bless you and keep you.

The Lord make his face shine upon you.

The Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.

Take a Knee

Before me every knee will bow; by me every tongue will swear. They will say of me, “In the Lord alone are righteousness and strength.” Isaiah 45:23-24

Therefore God also highly exalted him, so that at the name of Jesus every knee would bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Philippians 2:9-11

I find no difficulty, no hesitation in saying out loud, “Jesus is Lord.” The hard part comes with the knee-bending. Whether done physically or metaphorically, kneeling in Christ’s presence is an act of submission, a demonstration of my willingness to yield control to an authority outside of myself. But I’m a control freak, so capitulating never comes easily. I have to work at it.

This evening, I had the opportunity to learn a new skill. I was with my church hand bell choir for our regular Monday night rehearsal when the director asked me to move from my usual position and learn a different part. Now, I have a modicum of hand bell experience, and I’ve mastered the basics along the way. I can read music, I can manage a different bell in each hand, I know how to create the special effects that come with thumb damping and plucking and shaking the bells. I’m proficient.

Or I thought I was proficient until I was asked to ring 4 bells simultaneously. Yes, there is a way to overlap the bells’ strappy handles so that each hand can accommodate 2 bells, and yes, there is a way to strike them independently of each other. Several practiced musicians tried to show me the proper technique that would allow me to accomplish this feat. I would go so far as to say these musicians were experts. They were authorities. Had I simply submitted to their expertise, had I acquiesced to their experience and surrendered to their teaching, it would have been an evening of lovely, full-bodied music pealing through the church.

But of course, I barreled ahead on my own, disregarding their knowledge and wisdom in exchange for my own clumsy clanking and banging. A train wreck would have been a happier sound than the ones I was creating by ignoring good advice and doing things my way. (The director sent us home early tonight. I think it’s because I gave her a headache.)

I have a tendency to charge into life in the same stubborn way, believing I can figure things out for myself. Sometimes I can, but it’s never without a lot of false starts and dissonance. I’m sure I must give God a headache. I know I give myself one. If I could just manage to take a knee sometimes and simply acknowledge that Jesus is in control—and I’m not—there would be a lot fewer headaches to contend with.

Holy Spirit Promises

The Lord will not cast away his people,for his great name’s sake.

I Samuel 12:22

The promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him. Acts 2:39

My china cabinet is filled with stories my male teenage children do not want to hear—like how the antique flat champagne glasses we use for dessert on special occasions were originally wedding presents belonging to their great grandparents, two German immigrants who met and fell in love in Chicago; or how, when she was a little girl, my mom would actually use the Shirley Temple milk pitcher and matching cobalt blue cereal bowl when she would join her father in the kitchen for “a little lunch before bedtime.” I’ve tried to pass along family lore in the snippets and vignettes the dishes bring to mind, but any such telling brings on glazed eyes and slumped shoulders.

When I was a child, I adored staring at the gold rimmed porcelain plates and the silver inlaid Venetian glass decanter with matching cordial glasses. Their origins fascinated me not only because of their beauty, but because they put me closer to understanding my lineage, my ancestry. My peeps!

Though referenced often enough in our household, these cultural indicators do not resonate with my kids. In fact, when my youngest son was in third grade, he came home from school one day and said, “My teacher asked me what my family’s heritage was, and I told her we didn’t have one.” It’s moments like these that I slap my hand to my own forehead in mortified disbelief. I wonder how it is that I have failed so completely at connecting my own child to his own history, his own legacy?

It’s bad enough that I have not stirred my children’s imagination when it comes to tales of their forebears. But what might even be worse is if I’ve failed to stir their longing for something magnificent not in the past, but in the present and future. Have I shared my faith in meaningful, memorable, powerful ways, and have I helped them to understand that the promise of the Holy Spirit’s power and presence is right there for them if only they take an interest, if only they claim it?

It was awfully generous of Peter to tell his Pentecost audience that the full blown energy of God’s Spirit would be available not only to them, but also to their children and even to people at a distance (in other words, you need not be present to win). What is implied in Peter’s speech, however, is that it would become a parental responsibility to convey to the next generation just how a wildly outrageous encounter with God’s Spirit is transformational.

Yes, the promise is for our children. Yes, God’s Spirit works in crazy, unexpected ways. But it is also our joyful obligation to help our kids make the connections that will light up their souls.