"Plus it's Sunday, so everyone's in church already, and they're all in there like "Oh no, Jesus is dead", and then BAM! He bursts in the back door, runnin' up the aisle, everyone's totally psyched, and FYI, that's when he invented the high five." Barney Stinson
It's Sunday.
Easter has come. The miracle of all miracles is being celebrated. People, who do not attend church on a regular basis, crowd chapels, sanctuaries, homes, all for a celebration on a Sunday. For many they come out of obligation. For many, they have been attending church out of obligation for years. Some come because there is a need to publicly celebrate the resurrection with others. Some come because Easter has become a symbol, a moment of hope in their tattered lives; hope in a Christ who not even death could contain. Some come in hope that this Easter story is true. Some come because they have nowhere else to be on this Sunday.
It's Sunday.
I admit that I find myself belonging to each of the groups above. I am guilty of viewing Sunday as an obligation. An obligation to put on a smile and pretend all is well. I am guilty of viewing Sunday as jut another day. It is just another Sunday...isn't it?
It's Sunday.
But Sunday's no longer just a Sunday. Sunday is about the celebration of Easter. Easter changes Sunday. The day means something more than it did before and means something more each time it comes along. I am grateful for Easter. I am grateful for Christ who changes everything. I am grateful that it is Sunday.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Lenten Journal: Three Day Rule: It's Saturday
"Yet the absence of the imagination had itself to be imagined. The great pond, the plain sense of it, without reflections, leaves, Mud, water like dirty glass, expressing silence" Wallace Stevens
It's Saturday.
Just twenty-four hours ago, experienced great agony and died a great death. You humbled yourself. You
allowed yourself to be humiliated. You lowered yourself. You looked death in the face and embraced the horror. The cross is an image of horror, of suffering, of pain, and of death. It's Saturday and soon that image will change.
It's Saturday.
Thirty-nine days ago, I began a journey to the cross with you. I opened myself up. I wanted to learn to put complete trust in you. I wanted to see you in a new unimagined way. I have. I began this season with the hope that by the end I would be able to pray, "I shall gratefully accept everything, Lord, that pleases you. Let your will be done." It's Saturday and while I have encountered you in unimaginable ways, I still feel the struggle to pray the prayer without hesitation.
It's Saturday.
I thank you Lord for it is Saturday.
It's Saturday.
Just twenty-four hours ago, experienced great agony and died a great death. You humbled yourself. You
allowed yourself to be humiliated. You lowered yourself. You looked death in the face and embraced the horror. The cross is an image of horror, of suffering, of pain, and of death. It's Saturday and soon that image will change.
It's Saturday.
Thirty-nine days ago, I began a journey to the cross with you. I opened myself up. I wanted to learn to put complete trust in you. I wanted to see you in a new unimagined way. I have. I began this season with the hope that by the end I would be able to pray, "I shall gratefully accept everything, Lord, that pleases you. Let your will be done." It's Saturday and while I have encountered you in unimaginable ways, I still feel the struggle to pray the prayer without hesitation.
It's Saturday.
I thank you Lord for it is Saturday.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Lenten Journal: Three Day Rule: It's Friday...
"It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.’ Having said this, he breathed his last." Luke 23:44-46
It's Friday.
You're hanging there; arms outstretched; your hands and feet nailed to a tree. Your mother below at your feet, watching you suffering. It's Friday.
It's Friday.
You're dying. You've been beaten and battered. All because you offered life to those who would be denied. Nailed, mocked, taunted, spat on. Were we not just singing Hosanna? It's Friday.
It's Friday.
Nothing good about it. Nothing good will come of this...Oh my God, my God, why have you forsaken us?
It's Friday...it's just Friday
It's Friday.
You're hanging there; arms outstretched; your hands and feet nailed to a tree. Your mother below at your feet, watching you suffering. It's Friday.
It's Friday.
You're dying. You've been beaten and battered. All because you offered life to those who would be denied. Nailed, mocked, taunted, spat on. Were we not just singing Hosanna? It's Friday.
It's Friday.
Nothing good about it. Nothing good will come of this...Oh my God, my God, why have you forsaken us?
It's Friday...it's just Friday
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Lenten Journal: The Voice of the Shepherd
"When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice.They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers." John 10:4-5
Every morning I walk through a smokey haze that builds up under the awning. Under the smoke on and around the bench sit/stand a group of recovering addicts who in their smoke search for hope. Every morning I say hello and spend a brief moment checking in. When I say moment, I mean a moment, no longer than a minute. For the most part it is no more than a simple hello. Each morning, after the greeting, I walk up the ramp way, unlock the door, and go inside. Every morning my routine is the same.
This morning something strange happened. This morning my eyes saw something new. After a brief conversation with young lady named Kim, I headed up the ramp way and out of the smoke filled air I heard a voice saying, "I love you. I love you. I love you." I looked back and my eyes became open to what was taking place. There on the bench sat a long hair, bearded man saying to each one, "I love you. I love you. I love you."
I began to tear up knowing that the voice that is speaking out of the smoke of our desperation, out of our pain, out of our selfishness, out of our ignorance is the voice of the one shepherd who is the good shepherd. The one who says, "I am the gate" "I am the good shepherd" "I am the living water" "I am the way" speaks out of a cloud of nicotine to people who are clinging to whatever hope they have. The voice of the gatekeeper, of the shepherd is bringing life to those who feel they have none.
I turned around, unlocked the door. I turned back once more and the vision that came just seconds before remained: there sat Jesus saying, "I love you. I love you. I love you." I stepped inside, leaving the door unlocked knowing that Jesus would probably not come in today.
Our prayer:
Come people of the Risen King, who delight to bring Him praise;
("Come People of the Risen King" by Keith and Kristyn Getty and Stuart Towmend)
Every morning I walk through a smokey haze that builds up under the awning. Under the smoke on and around the bench sit/stand a group of recovering addicts who in their smoke search for hope. Every morning I say hello and spend a brief moment checking in. When I say moment, I mean a moment, no longer than a minute. For the most part it is no more than a simple hello. Each morning, after the greeting, I walk up the ramp way, unlock the door, and go inside. Every morning my routine is the same.
This morning something strange happened. This morning my eyes saw something new. After a brief conversation with young lady named Kim, I headed up the ramp way and out of the smoke filled air I heard a voice saying, "I love you. I love you. I love you." I looked back and my eyes became open to what was taking place. There on the bench sat a long hair, bearded man saying to each one, "I love you. I love you. I love you."
I began to tear up knowing that the voice that is speaking out of the smoke of our desperation, out of our pain, out of our selfishness, out of our ignorance is the voice of the one shepherd who is the good shepherd. The one who says, "I am the gate" "I am the good shepherd" "I am the living water" "I am the way" speaks out of a cloud of nicotine to people who are clinging to whatever hope they have. The voice of the gatekeeper, of the shepherd is bringing life to those who feel they have none.
I turned around, unlocked the door. I turned back once more and the vision that came just seconds before remained: there sat Jesus saying, "I love you. I love you. I love you." I stepped inside, leaving the door unlocked knowing that Jesus would probably not come in today.
Our prayer:
Come people of the Risen King, who delight to bring Him praise;
Come all, and tune your hearts to sing to the Morning Star of grace.
From the shifting shadows of the earth, we will lift our eyes to Him,
where steady arms of mercy reach, to gather children inCome those whose joy is morning sun, and those weeping through the night;
Come those who tell of battles won, and those struggling in the fight.
For His perfect love will never change, and His mercies never cease,
but follow us through all our days with the certain hope of peace.
Come young and old from every land, men and women of the faith;
Come those with full or empty hands—find the riches of His grace.
Over all the world, His people sing—shore to shore we hear them call
the truth that cries in every age, “Our God is all in all.” ("Come People of the Risen King" by Keith and Kristyn Getty and Stuart Towmend)
Lenten Journal: Something Poetic About Standing in the Rain
There is something poetic about standing in the rain
Caught between the sun and moon
As both do shine
There is something poetic when one looks up to the sky
The rain falls while the sun and moon both do shine
In humorous contrariety light radiates
There is something poetic in a gathering encircled by rain
Standing between the sun and moon
Light from both do shine
There is something poetic in the glistening of the red wheelbarrow
Glazed in the rain as the sun and moon both shine
While the earth quenches her thirst
The end is inspired by "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams. His poem reminds me how something universal may be found in the mundane by simply observing it through the eyes of a Creator.
The poem is my attempt to capture the moment of standing in the rain while the sun shines from the west and the moon shines from the east.
Caught between the sun and moon
As both do shine
There is something poetic when one looks up to the sky
The rain falls while the sun and moon both do shine
In humorous contrariety light radiates
There is something poetic in a gathering encircled by rain
Standing between the sun and moon
Light from both do shine
There is something poetic in the glistening of the red wheelbarrow
Glazed in the rain as the sun and moon both shine
While the earth quenches her thirst
The end is inspired by "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams. His poem reminds me how something universal may be found in the mundane by simply observing it through the eyes of a Creator.
The poem is my attempt to capture the moment of standing in the rain while the sun shines from the west and the moon shines from the east.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Lenten Journal: In My Confession
"He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth" Isaiah 53:7
They are sending you to the cross. But you know that…don’t you. You’re going to go willingly, aren’t you? You only crime was to sit at the table of sinners and eat with them...oh and the whole “I’m God’s Son thing.” You became valuable to them. Your actions will drive them to put you before Pilate and demand your crucifixion…but you know that, don’t you. You will take the place of a known criminal, a murderer. You will hang beside criminals. They will hurl their stones, their insults, their hatred at you, shouting, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” You will take it…won’t you? Doubt there's a chance you'll change your mind? Didn't think so...You will take it. Like a lamb, you will die…so that we may live.
I have laid our palm branches at your feet. But soon I will raise our voices against you. I have listened to your parables. Your stories of what the kingdom of God was like…in turn I deny you because I am afraid. Over the years, I’ve distorted your message to suit my needs, my own agenda. I’ve distorted your story to tell one that puts me above others. I’ve sought after power and riches, forgetting that you told me not to worry for those are things of this world. I’ve broken your commandment to love others as you love me. I come to you shamelessly. I come to you seeking your forgiveness. Forgive me of my sins, for I myself forgive everyone indebted to me. I confess to you…Lamb of God...sweet Lamb of God…forgive me.
They are sending you to the cross. But you know that…don’t you. You’re going to go willingly, aren’t you? You only crime was to sit at the table of sinners and eat with them...oh and the whole “I’m God’s Son thing.” You became valuable to them. Your actions will drive them to put you before Pilate and demand your crucifixion…but you know that, don’t you. You will take the place of a known criminal, a murderer. You will hang beside criminals. They will hurl their stones, their insults, their hatred at you, shouting, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” You will take it…won’t you? Doubt there's a chance you'll change your mind? Didn't think so...You will take it. Like a lamb, you will die…so that we may live.
I have laid our palm branches at your feet. But soon I will raise our voices against you. I have listened to your parables. Your stories of what the kingdom of God was like…in turn I deny you because I am afraid. Over the years, I’ve distorted your message to suit my needs, my own agenda. I’ve distorted your story to tell one that puts me above others. I’ve sought after power and riches, forgetting that you told me not to worry for those are things of this world. I’ve broken your commandment to love others as you love me. I come to you shamelessly. I come to you seeking your forgiveness. Forgive me of my sins, for I myself forgive everyone indebted to me. I confess to you…Lamb of God...sweet Lamb of God…forgive me.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Lenten Journal: The Politician, the DA, the Minister
"Deep in a dark forest, a forest field with rain; beyond the stretch of Maryland pines there's a river without a name. In the cold black water, Johnson Linnier stands. He stares across at the city lights and dreams of where he's been." Bruce Springsteen
There are days I feel like I'm more of a politician or a defense attorney, working a system to gain strength in order to do something or constantly on defending someone accused of something. It's a feeling that is strong enough to create an unhealthy anxiety level within. It's a mixture of necessary and unnecessary anxiety. There are times in this world that I am forced to play the role of a politician in order achieve a goal. There are times I am needed to come to the defense of a student, a friend, a congregant, a colleague. There are times I simply wish to minister.
Is it possible to be a minister in the church without feeling like your campaigning for votes or preparing a defense?
In all honesty, I am not sure. I sincerely hope so. It's easy to blurt out a yes. It's just as easy to blurt out a no. I have heard the arguments before. I have heard that the professional minister toes the line because we get paid and we have to earn a paycheck to dinner on the table. Perhaps that is the problem. Is getting paid to do what we do the reason for the question above? Would ministers be better off serving freely and working a secular job?
Perhaps it is true: so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens ("The Red Wheelbarrow" William Carlos Williams)
I am not looking for answers to my questions. They are questions, nothing more and nothing less. The vocation of ministry hinges not on the above questions but my own willingness to humbly go where Christ leads. The questions are just questions. In those questions I listen to the voice that says, "Follow me."
There are days I feel like I'm more of a politician or a defense attorney, working a system to gain strength in order to do something or constantly on defending someone accused of something. It's a feeling that is strong enough to create an unhealthy anxiety level within. It's a mixture of necessary and unnecessary anxiety. There are times in this world that I am forced to play the role of a politician in order achieve a goal. There are times I am needed to come to the defense of a student, a friend, a congregant, a colleague. There are times I simply wish to minister.
Is it possible to be a minister in the church without feeling like your campaigning for votes or preparing a defense?
In all honesty, I am not sure. I sincerely hope so. It's easy to blurt out a yes. It's just as easy to blurt out a no. I have heard the arguments before. I have heard that the professional minister toes the line because we get paid and we have to earn a paycheck to dinner on the table. Perhaps that is the problem. Is getting paid to do what we do the reason for the question above? Would ministers be better off serving freely and working a secular job?
Perhaps it is true: so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens ("The Red Wheelbarrow" William Carlos Williams)
I am not looking for answers to my questions. They are questions, nothing more and nothing less. The vocation of ministry hinges not on the above questions but my own willingness to humbly go where Christ leads. The questions are just questions. In those questions I listen to the voice that says, "Follow me."
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Lenten Journal: Make Something Beautiful
"If it cannot be happy. Make it beautiful." Samuel Wells
The world can be a beautiful place...sometimes. There are moment of darkness that sweep through and the voice of evil speaks, "Nothing is beautiful. You're not beautiful. This world is not beautiful. It is an unhappy, dire place that needs to go the way of the dinosaurs." When those moments come, and they come regularly in a broken world and in a broken life, I am reminded that your beauty does not come solely from happiness.
Today's Gospel reading in John tells the story of Lazarus' resurrection. In the pain of morning, in the agony of loss, you became overwhelmed with compassion and in your compassion you cried with a loud voice, "Lazarus come out!" You made something beautiful out of death. As we journey to Easter, I pray that I see your beauty in this world when that voice speaks, "Nothing is beautiful." I pray that I see you in everything and everyone. I pray for strength to hold steadfast to your faithfulness and know that you making all things new.
Lord, I humbly come to you. I fall at your feet and I pray that you will unbind me and let me go. Set me free from all that binds me. Unbind me and set me free. Amen.
The world can be a beautiful place...sometimes. There are moment of darkness that sweep through and the voice of evil speaks, "Nothing is beautiful. You're not beautiful. This world is not beautiful. It is an unhappy, dire place that needs to go the way of the dinosaurs." When those moments come, and they come regularly in a broken world and in a broken life, I am reminded that your beauty does not come solely from happiness.
Today's Gospel reading in John tells the story of Lazarus' resurrection. In the pain of morning, in the agony of loss, you became overwhelmed with compassion and in your compassion you cried with a loud voice, "Lazarus come out!" You made something beautiful out of death. As we journey to Easter, I pray that I see your beauty in this world when that voice speaks, "Nothing is beautiful." I pray that I see you in everything and everyone. I pray for strength to hold steadfast to your faithfulness and know that you making all things new.
Lord, I humbly come to you. I fall at your feet and I pray that you will unbind me and let me go. Set me free from all that binds me. Unbind me and set me free. Amen.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Lenten Journal: Far Left; Far Right; Far Apart
"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in someone else's eye? How can you say, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own?" Matthew 7:3-4
I am a sinner.
I am. It's a part of my nature, a part of my being, a part of what happens when you live in a broken world. Being a sinner cannot be helped. There are days that it is possible to be like Jesus. There are days that it is impossible. My humanity causes to me to fall short. Yet, in my sinfulness, in my brokenness, God meets with me. God allows me to return and embraces me as God's own. Christ loves me in spite of me. I rest in that understanding. I rest in who Christ is and who he claims to be. Despite my sin, I am on the road to beautiful.
It is truly a humbling thought. Knowing that you are loved by a creator, by a messiah who lowered himself to serve. That thought alone is enough to bring you to your knees. It is hard to accept sometimes. Starring at myself in the mirror, I see the lines that age has brought me. I see the grey hairs. I see the scars of my life. I see in my eyes, the true nature of myself. I see who I am. It is hard to accept the love of God when I fear that I cannot accept myself. The beauty of it is that I do not have to accept myself.
A student asked, "I want to get close to God, but I first have to be okay with me. Right?" It's a common thought. We often say, "I will commit to loving another as soon as I learn to love myself." We emphasize knowing ourselves and being okay with who we are. The problem is, without the faith of God's love, it is difficult, almost impossible, to love ourselves. The road to beautiful is a road that is led by one who walks with us daily showing us our beauty, holding it until we are able to hold it ourselves.
The plank that resides in our eyes often blinds us to our own faults. It's easier, safer, less painful to point out the faults of others. To look at them and say, "You have sinned. Beg for forgiveness." Christians come across as being in competition with one another when it comes to sin. Each one denying their own faults and exuberantly pointing out others. In response to this criticism others begin to "one up" with their own faults, "Oh, I was a horrible sinner when God found me." "Oh yea, I bet I was worse." Each one proudly proclaiming they were worse than the other when they found God. Then when the competition against one another becomes too uppity, we begin to compete with God. "Lord, there is absolutely no way you could love a sinner like me." "You see Lord, I'm too bad to be loved." "Lord, I know you loved sinners, saints, beggars, tax collectors, adulterers; but there's no way you could love me."
Henri Nouwen writes, "When we give up our competition with God and offer God every part of our heart, holding nothing back at all, we come to know God's love for us and discover how safe we are in God's embrace." In our competition with one another and with God, our road to beautiful becomes littered with religious ideology that is not of Christ but of ourselves. We are unable to know ourselves fully because we are afraid that if we let go into God's arms, we will not have anything left to hold up. Not our piety, our sinfulness, or ourselves.
All we are being asked to do is have faith in the love of Christ. Faith that trusts unreservedly that we are loved, so that we can abandon every false way of obtaining love. We are on the road to beautiful. Thanks be to God.
I am a sinner.
I am. It's a part of my nature, a part of my being, a part of what happens when you live in a broken world. Being a sinner cannot be helped. There are days that it is possible to be like Jesus. There are days that it is impossible. My humanity causes to me to fall short. Yet, in my sinfulness, in my brokenness, God meets with me. God allows me to return and embraces me as God's own. Christ loves me in spite of me. I rest in that understanding. I rest in who Christ is and who he claims to be. Despite my sin, I am on the road to beautiful.
It is truly a humbling thought. Knowing that you are loved by a creator, by a messiah who lowered himself to serve. That thought alone is enough to bring you to your knees. It is hard to accept sometimes. Starring at myself in the mirror, I see the lines that age has brought me. I see the grey hairs. I see the scars of my life. I see in my eyes, the true nature of myself. I see who I am. It is hard to accept the love of God when I fear that I cannot accept myself. The beauty of it is that I do not have to accept myself.
A student asked, "I want to get close to God, but I first have to be okay with me. Right?" It's a common thought. We often say, "I will commit to loving another as soon as I learn to love myself." We emphasize knowing ourselves and being okay with who we are. The problem is, without the faith of God's love, it is difficult, almost impossible, to love ourselves. The road to beautiful is a road that is led by one who walks with us daily showing us our beauty, holding it until we are able to hold it ourselves.
The plank that resides in our eyes often blinds us to our own faults. It's easier, safer, less painful to point out the faults of others. To look at them and say, "You have sinned. Beg for forgiveness." Christians come across as being in competition with one another when it comes to sin. Each one denying their own faults and exuberantly pointing out others. In response to this criticism others begin to "one up" with their own faults, "Oh, I was a horrible sinner when God found me." "Oh yea, I bet I was worse." Each one proudly proclaiming they were worse than the other when they found God. Then when the competition against one another becomes too uppity, we begin to compete with God. "Lord, there is absolutely no way you could love a sinner like me." "You see Lord, I'm too bad to be loved." "Lord, I know you loved sinners, saints, beggars, tax collectors, adulterers; but there's no way you could love me."
Henri Nouwen writes, "When we give up our competition with God and offer God every part of our heart, holding nothing back at all, we come to know God's love for us and discover how safe we are in God's embrace." In our competition with one another and with God, our road to beautiful becomes littered with religious ideology that is not of Christ but of ourselves. We are unable to know ourselves fully because we are afraid that if we let go into God's arms, we will not have anything left to hold up. Not our piety, our sinfulness, or ourselves.
All we are being asked to do is have faith in the love of Christ. Faith that trusts unreservedly that we are loved, so that we can abandon every false way of obtaining love. We are on the road to beautiful. Thanks be to God.
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