Friday, December 26, 2014

Alone

The dream slips a knife in; the pain so real her eyelids slam open wide.
Her heart races as she recalls what she just saw.



Excitement and joy mixed together into childlike giddiness, at her inclusion in the planning and execution of their plans.  After what seems like years of waiting, she's thrilled to be able to participate in the activities of her people.  Finally feeling like she's equipped to do so, assuming that these are the things that guarantee her acceptance into this group of people she trusts.

Little snippets flash that don't make any sense, but she pays them no mind.

They arrive together, the thunder of their horses filling the air, breaking the predawn silence. She barely notices that half the group peels away, going somewhere else that she can't see.  Around a bend, through the trees; she doesn't know.  She dismisses it as she follows the ones she's always associated with the most.

Parked, dismounted and now seated at the picnic table, the smaller group squares off at the table.
One hums with gaining intensity, one speaks with authority she'd never noticed before; not recognizing their tune or words.  And one looks at her, as if waiting to speak to her.  Her eyes have no time to look elsewhere before he slides across the worn smooth bench, leaning in to her in feigned intimacy, and whispers tenderly that she's not supposed to be there; a bullet from a silenced gun.

The shock of the betrayal knocks her into immediate action.  She jumps back, nearly losing her balance while scrambling to gather her belongings in her retreat.
The rush of blood to her head intensifies the sounds entering her ears.  She can hear them behind her, continuing as if now they can do what they came to do.

Her attention drawn away from the pain of the expulsion, now focused on her exodus.  Trying to take everything in, she doesn't know where to go.  She doesn't know where the rest of the group disappeared to, and rather than risk further embarrassment looking for them, she stoically gets on her ride, and drives away, trying not to notice the lack of response to her exit.



Laying in the dark, replaying the dream to the cadence of the beating pain in her chest, she ponders the solitude, in scenes just like the dream, played out over and over and over in her life.
She accepts, through tears, the Alone.


The tip of the knife came in the form of the one she's closest to, life to life, soul to soul.  The tip of the knife was just a poke, the initial offense, slight pressure that breaks the surface, yet altering the surface forever.
The blade behind the point, however, slicing cleanly through flesh; made up of those she thought knew her, those she thought wanted her with them; opening the wound larger, pushing the pain in deeper.
But the blade, with its sharp point and double edged blade, is held together and driven by the molded and formed traditions of the lifestyles and cultures of her people; all people.
Just like church.

The unnoticed snippets and snapshots from the dream foretell how she wasn't really included from the beginning.  A mistaken addition to a private email; the women peeling away from the men.  It makes sense now.
It doesn't make any sense.

The acid of her tears forces her eyes shut as she retreats into the cave of her bed linens.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Burning

Endings and beginnings;
     hearing and not hearing;
          recognizing and wallowing.
Doubting.  Questioning.  Not knowing for sure, yet hoping; but not our own hope.

Peace reigns despite the unrest; flooding from all sides to counter the unknown.

Sparks ignite in unexpected places.
Do not fear the fire; it burns, yet brings no lasting pain.

Inescapable evolutions;
     ripping, tearing, breaking out;
          severing the facade from its root bound victim.
Exposing pain, exposing the raw, exposing the need for healing.
Exposing the entirety of self to the impending inferno.
Exposing the cleft that cannot heal unless grafted through flames.

Overcome.  Overwhelmed.  Undone.
Unaffected by what's outside the surrounding firestorm, flames dance around;  yet unconsuming.

The blisters erupt as the fire passes over.
In the midst of the unending, the unseeing; underneath the effects of the assault on the flesh, new life is shaping.
New life forms in its protective immersion, growing and waiting for the veil to lift.

One by one, the marks burn open, revealing the new creation...

Smoldering.
Shining.
Whole.


Monday, December 1, 2014

Over Yonder

(Chantal's portion of the sermon:)

Today marks the first Sunday of the Advent season.

For me, Advent's a little weird.
The church celebrates the first coming of Christ, which will culminate in a few weeks as Christmas.
But the spirit of Advent is two-sided, though.  Along with the celebration of the first coming, the season of Advent brings along hope; hope for the second coming, which the church waits for with bated breath.
Celebration and hope.

To me, Advent is no different than the mentality of the church during the rest of the year.

This is the mentality we read our scriptures with, and the mentality with which we live our lives.

We take these historic events, Christmas (the birth/first coming of Christ), and Easter (the resurrection of Christ), as celebrations of remembrance.  We live our lives between celebrations; happy that we celebrate, thankful for the reason to celebrate, and hopeful for the next.

We live in between the first and second coming of Christ, and so we live in between celebrations.

What are we doing in the meantime, in between these celebrations?

Now, just so you know a little bit about me and my perspective, I don't see things the way most people do; I don't buy into the status quo.
That's why this whole "churchianity" thing has never made any sense to me.

I don't understand how gathering together in our elevated little groups; where we leave the thinking to one person; where when we do think, we think of ourselves as better than everyone else; where we worship a god who looks and sounds and acts profoundly like us; where we only associate with other "Christians" and secretly judge everyone who's not...

I've never understood how any of those things prove that we're the salt and light we're supposed to be, how any of those things bring any semblance of hope to people who have none, how any of those things point to a god that's bigger than us, and how the "hope" that we supposedly live in is restricted to our next celebration of remembrance.

And we wonder why people outside the church... stay...outside the church.
They don't get the "celebration", and they don't see the point of the "hope", because we're not showing them.

All that being said, I want to point out some things in today's Advent scripture, to possibly open your eyes to what we're supposed to be doing between our "celebrations".

Mark 13: 28-37

"Learn this parable from the fig tree.  After its branches become tender and it sprouts new leaves, you know that summer is near.  In the same way, when you see these things happening, you know that he's near, at the door.

I assure you this generation won't pass away until these things happen.  Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will certainly not pass away.

But nobody knows when that day or hour will come, not the angels in heaven and not the Son.  Only the Father knows.  Watch out!  Stay alert!  You don't know when the time is coming.  It is as if someone took a trip, left the household behind, and put the servants in charge, giving each one a job to do, and told the doorkeeper to stay alert.  Therefore, stay alert!  You don't know when the head of household will come, whether in the evening or at midnight, or when the rooster crows in the early morning, or at daybreak.  Don't let him show up when you weren't expecting and find you sleeping.  What I say to you, I say to all: Stay alert!"


First off, the fig tree.

We know what a fig tree is, right?  We know what the fruit of a fig tree tastes like; we know what the odd shaped leaves look like; we know the shape of the fig tree; we know what the new growth on a fig tree looks like - all segmented and square-ish, with a distinguishable difference between old and new growth.

A fig tree is something we're familiar with, because we've seen them.  They're right here, in our time, right now.

When Jesus talks about the fig tree, "After its branches become tender and it sprouts new leaves, you know that summer is near..."; we know that this isn't something profound, this is something we can imagine, because we've seen it.  We've experienced it.
We recognize it as one of the signs of the changing seasons.  We know that summer is close when we see the fig tree doing this, as well as other plants, too.  These are things we've seen and learned as we live our lives.

We try to make it profound, because it's something that Jesus said to his disciples; Jewish men who weren't super educated, or even educated at all.  We try to make the season of summer into some metaphor of perfection, or heaven, or whatever.

We try to make it something profound, but Jesus is really just telling his disciples to change the way they think!

The Jewish thought of that time, for the religious leaders and for the common folk, was that the Messiah hadn't come yet, and when he did, they expected him to be a warrior king who would rescue Israel from the Roman occupation they were in the middle of.

This hope for the Messiah was strictly limited to their past and current situation, how horribly messed up the world around them was, having been through numerous exiles in the past, and the current occupation by Rome.

Old Testament Jewish thinking was based on, and limited to, their understanding of the Law given by Moses.  Deuteronomy 28 basically told the Israelites that if they did good, good things would happen to them, and if they did bad, bad things would happen to them.  They had no theology beyond that; no thought process beyond the here and now.

As time progressed through Israel's history, bad things were happening, and they couldn't understand why.  (Never mind the centuries of Israel not doing what God wanted.)  As they recalled their history, and the varying groups of people they'd lived among throughout the duration of different exiles, they began to develop and incorporate a thought process of the afterlife, where everything would be perfect, "over yonder".

This "over yonder" mentality gave the Jewish people hope; something to look forward to, after a life of suffering on Earth.

We do the same thing, don't we?
We wait for Jesus to come back, to relieve us from the horror that's happening in the world.
Where evil cannot stand anymore.
Where we wait, doing nothing.

This is the mentality that the disciples have; this is the mentality that Jesus is trying to change.
He's trying to get them to change their thinking from "over yonder" to "now".
He's trying to get them to see that the hope they longed for, that the truth they longed for, that the justice they longed for, that the Messiah they longed for, was sitting right in front of them!

He was there, now.
Just as He is here, right now.

The disciples knew exactly what a fig tree was.  They had seen them before; they had eaten the fruit; they had experienced a fig tree.
Jesus was telling them that the "over yonder" they hoped for is just as real as the fig tree.  They were experiencing the hope and the truth and the justice of "over yonder", and couldn't recognize it.

If we look at the parable of the fig tree as a parable for "over yonder", then it doesn't quite make sense.  What does the fig tree represent?  What does 'summer' represent?  What does 'tender', or what does 'new leaves', or what does 'sprout' mean?
In our attempt to make it something profound, we complicate it immensely.

Jesus used the fig tree to tell the disciples that the hope they longed for "over yonder" was something tangible, something real, like a fig tree.
The substance of our hope.  The fig tree has substance.  Our hope... has substance.

If we don't realize and embrace this, we will continue to jump from celebration of remembrance to celebration of remembrance; powerless; ignorant to the fact that for centuries, we've been worshiping the symbol, the celebration, instead of the real and tangible thing:  Christ.

In the passing of the time from the early church to now, we've lost the awareness that Jesus, and His Kingdom, is here now.  The hope that we long for is not "over yonder", it is just as real as the fig tree!

This also changes our understanding of "this generation won't pass away until these things happen", doesn't it...
Jesus is real, right here, right now.  This would make it apply to every generation; from the generation of the disciples, all the way to this generation, right now.

Now hold that thought.

The next thought Jesus introduces tells the disciples to stay alert.
"It is as if someone took a trip, left the household behind, and put the servants in charge, giving each one a job to do, and told the doorkeeper to stay alert.  Therefore, stay alert!  You don't know when the head of household will come, whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows in the early morning, or at daybreak.  Don't let him show up when you weren't expecting and find you sleeping."

The church sometimes see this as a description and a warning of when Christ returns; the event that ushers in our "over yonder" thinking.  This line of thinking, this mentality, also effectually removes the responsibility we have in the Body of Christ.  (Herein lies my problem with Advent.)

But look:  "...put the servants in change, giving each one a job to do..."

Now, I'm somewhat of a word-nerd, but I notice subtleties in our language.  I see where "servants" is plural, but "doorkeeper" is singular.  An there's something else, too.

Aren't we all servants??

Haven't we done exactly what Jesus told the disciples not to do?   We fell asleep!

The Scripture doesn't say that the doorkeeper has to do everyone's job, it says each of the servants has a job to do!  Every single one!

We have bought into the Jewish mentality that our pastors and our church leadership have to do all the work, while we sit here and celebrate Christ's birth, and wait for the end of the world; completely disregarding the fullness of WHY Christ came in the first place.

That being said, we can pretty much agree that God's up to something.  There has been quite a few changes lately.  We see it here.  But it's not just happening here, it's happening everywhere.
And in case you're not paying attention, what God is up to now has more to do with the other six days a week than what we do on Sunday morning.

The days of coming to church to be "fed", the days where we rely on our pastors to give us a "good word" from God are all coming to an end.

God is teaching us and speaking to us through our interactions with one another.
He's speaking to us through our meals together.
He's speaking to us through our conversations with one another.
He's teaching us how to be the Body of Christ we're meant to be, by actually being the Body of Christ.
He's speaking to us and showing us His worldview by giving us opportunities to see one another as He sees us, to love one another as He loves us.
He's drawing us all closer to each other, and closer to Him.

It's called community.
As His servants in this community, we've been given a job to do.  Are we doing it?  Or are we asleep, leaving our responsibilities to someone else?

If you've fallen asleep; if you think you can't experience God in our midst until we're "over yonder", then you'll miss Him now.

Jesus is right here, right now.  Just like the fig tree.

Change your thinking from "over yonder" to "right now".

He's right here, right now...  Believe it!

If you're asleep, you'll miss Him.

If you think that you have nothing to do except wait for Jesus to return, you'll miss Him... now and then.

If you're not involved in the lives of other people, then you'll miss how God is speaking to them in their situations; you'll miss how God is speaking to you as you partner with other people, to share in this crazy thing called life.

We aren't meant to live a dual life, where God is in a little box that we only pull off the shelf on Sunday mornings.
We're not meant to live ONLY on celebration days.

Stay alert!  God's about to destroy the box you (try to) keep Him in.  What makes us think we can contain Him?  He's God!

Just as we claim that the Holy Spirit is everywhere, start living like you believe it.

Stay alert!  So you see Him; in the everyday, in our celebrations, in our interactions, in the mundane, in the pain, in the joys, in the struggles and the victories, in the tears and in the laughter, in those wispy moments of understanding and grace.

Take responsibility for the job He's given you, the time we've been placed in, our here and now, between His first coming and His second coming.

Whatever your job is that you've been given, it will demand that you start thinking outside the box of these four walls.


(Geoff's portion of the Sermon:)

So what do we do with this?
How do we change our way of thinking?
And how do we figure out what we are supposed to do within the community, or what "Body part" we are within the Body of Christ?

Over the last few years I have been around a bunch of people.  I hear different people and different church groups talking around the Cruciform, and I hear some things like, "my cross", or "pick up your cross and follow me"; a big joke between some of us is, "I lost my cross".

Let me tell you, WE don't have a cross.  There is only one cross, the Cross of Christ.  We don't have a cross that is ours, that we can carry around with us, or one that can be lost.  The Cross of Christ is firmly planted in place.  It has already been carried up the hill, and on that cross everything has been paid in full.

So we have to make a few choices.  We have to choose to GO to the Cross.  We have to choose to climb our sorry butts on it, knowing full well the pain and suffering that took place on it, and when we fall off, we have to choose to do it again and again, every day.

This looks different for everyone and to everyone.

Within our community here, we use phrases like "die daily" and the Cruciform.  I never really realized how common they actually are.

I was sitting in a little truck stop somewhere in Indiana, turned on my TV and did a channel search while I was getting my dinner ready.  I was looking forward to a TV show or something give some background noise while I was eating.  The channel search finished and left me with only two channels, both Christian channels, and both had pastors sitting in chairs talking.
I wanted to turn the TV off, but not wanting to sit in the quiet, I left it on the first channel and turned the volume down a bit.  So as I sat there not really listening, I heard a very familiar phrase, "die daily", so I turned up the volume so I could hear.
It was a younger guy that was the guest speaker, and he told a story about dying daily.

There was a man and his child, the man was trying to teach his child about Christ, and his phrase "die daily".  They went to a cemetery, and the father looked down at his child as they stood next to a grave.  The conversation went something like this:

Father:  I want you to kick this gravestone.
Child:  Oh no!  I couldn't!
Father:  Why not?
Child:  That would be disrespectful!
Father:  Okay, then stand back and yell at this person lying here, and tell them they are stupid.
Child:  (running and hugging their father's leg) Oh no, please!  That would be so mean!  I couldn't!

The father bends down and says to the child; "This person laying here, their body is dead.  Their body does not understand meanness, disrespect, anger, revenge, regret, hurt feelings; those feelings are only alive in the flesh, and this person's flesh has died.

Emotions drive us in a direction that we want to go.

You ask, what is your part in the community?
Well, how many times do you feel like you are being pushed into a certain direction by God, and you fight it?  You end up finding your own direction based on your own emotions, whether they're emotions based on fear, or disbelief, or worry about was is or isn't going against the norm, or thoughts of "this can't be God, so... I'll just go play in the sand over here, because this doesn't make any sense to me."

Galatians 2:20 tells us that it is no longer me that lives, but Christ lives in me.
When that starts to happen, when Jesus starts doing something we're not used to, what do we do?
Does our flesh, our emotions, not want to go, so we kick Him out real quick, sweeping up behind Him saying, "wow, that was close"?
Or do we drag our sorry butts back up the hill and climb on that beat up cross, hang there, saying "Yes sir"?

Once we get on that Cross, that's when you'll find out what it is that's your place in the community, what part of the Body you are.
And it's probably not going to be what we want, or what we think it will be.

Chantal read in Mark about how we're supposed to do our job, but unfortunately, we act like teenagers when their parents go out of town.
You know what I'm talking about, the parents go out for the night, so the kids throw a party.  The parents come home, kids get busted.
So the next time the parents go out, the kids think they're smart, and put someone at the window to give a heads up when the parents are home.  Parents get home, kids get busted again.
Parents leave again, the kids think they're going to one-up the parents.  They set a watchman at the end of the street, to warn when the parents are on their way home.
The kids always get caught!  They just keep sending the watchman out, because they're not doing what they should be doing.

We throw down Monday through Saturday, and get the house all cleaned up for Sunday, so it looks like things are cool.  But after a year of Sundays, the amount of work to do is so great that we either blame someone else for the condition we created by not doing our job, or we try to hire someone to do the job for us, or we just change the chore list to what we think it should be.

This is the human condition, and the reason why we need to get on the Cross!

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Sick

My news feed sickens me this morning.  The blaring polarity reminds me just how far we (& I mean all humanity) have to go.

In the midst of writing, I look for temporary distractions, something to clear the webs that are forming in between words; a mental sweeping, if you will.
But now, that distraction to my train of thought has completely derailed me.

Whenever something happens that affects a large portion of society, I pay attention, but from afar.  I merely observe.  You won't hear my take all too often.

I see emotional responses to polarizing issues, responses that instantly build walls instead of tearing them down, emotional responses that only serve to deepen the divide, instead of bridging the gap.

The differences between "us" and "them" seems to be what's fueling the fire.  Or maybe the fire is fueled by the continual attention to, and pointing out of, the differences.

We (& I mean all humanity) have a tendency to promote ourselves above other human beings.

When we (& I mean all humanity) perceive a wrongdoing, it is our human nature to cry "injustice!".
Every group of people does this, on each side of every disagreement, or conflict.
Every. Group.

But regardless of groups, the problem of "us" and "them" remains.  As long as there are categories that we (& I mean all humanity) can use to divide us, "us" and "them" will always be an issue.

Unless, of course, we (& I mean all humanity) start to think, instead of relying on our betraying emotions to do our thinking for us.

It seems unheard of for people involved in a conflict to communicate anymore.  Not just talk to get the other side to understand, but to listen to the other side as well; the goal of communication being understanding.

Over and over and over again, in the midst of social issues, I don't see honest communication happening.  What usually starts with a decision by someone ends up as a shouting match between two sides, where everyone is wearing earplugs.  The people doing the shouting can't hear what the other side is saying (and/or won't), but they see the other side's lips moving, prompting more shouting.  Meanwhile, the world grows weary and bored of the same exchange happening over and over again, so they just walk away.  None of the issues are solved, and no one is giving any attention to either side anymore, which just adds to the unrelieved tensions.

Conflict breeds emotion, some of which can be healthy, and some of which is destructive.  Emotions run particularly high on social media, where no one is held accountable for the effects of their opinions and words.
Those who publicly announce their hand-washing of the situation, as well as those who make jokes about the situation, still feed into the conflict.

One post I saw by a public figure was incredibly mindful of both sides of the current conflict.  It was beautiful, really.
Being the glutton for punishment I am, I read the comments.
Like an idiot.

And as all comments usually do, they turned my stomach as hundreds of comments rolled by, pointing out the differences between "us" and "them", and in the most derogatory, condescending, and disrespectful ways.  Very few even addressed the mindfulness of the original post, they just hammered away, adding bricks to the wall between sides.

It breaks my heart to see how we fail to realize that if we keep pointing out the differences between "us" and "them", instead of addressing the issues that "we" (& I mean all humanity) face, then we are part of the problem, offering nothing worthwhile to a conversation that is so desperately long overdue.

Just like the arguments in the different conflicting social bubbles that continuously plague society, no one is interested in WHY people feel the way they do, or WHY people believe what they believe, or WHY people have the mentality they have, or WHY those difference even exist in the first place.

In order for that to happen, we'd have to get over ourselves.  We'd have to admit that we don't have all the right answers, because we haven't even tried on someone elses's shoes, let alone walked a mile in their shoes.  We'd have to give a crap about something other than ourselves, and our desire to be right.

Unless that happens, there will be no change; tensions will continue to boil underneath the placid surface of the American utopia, until the scabs that won't heal are ripped off once again.

History repeats itself, over and over, because we (& I mean all humanity) are too stubborn, too proud, and too ignorant to learn from it, to change the course of history for the better.


Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Descent

Alone.
He leaves Monday morning, and I descend once again.  Into the dark and quiet.

In between seasons, I feel like a leaf that's fallen from the tree, but hasn't reached the ground yet.  Suspended; like I'm supposed to see something from here, but I keep closing my eyes.
A leaf isn't supposed to be on the ground, it's meant for the tree!
     But it has a purpose on the ground, too.  It feeds the soil.
It doesn't do it alone, it can't.

*************************

I'm clinging to my crutches for dear life.  Maybe because I know something new is around the corner.  The anticipation is killing me.  I light another cigarette.  Frustration sets in, because I can't see it.  Light another cigarette.  It tastes like shit, and turns my stomach.  Whatever it is that's around the corner is going to be unlike anything we've ever seen.  My head spins, either from what this "new" means, or the rush of tobacco.

Never seen before.
Never existed before.
Never imagined before.

What the hell does that even mean?

*************************

Stupid cigarettes.

I glance at the lit cigarette between my fingers.  I've been smoking for half of my life now, the original intent so far in my past it doesn't even seem possible to recall, yet I do.

I was a kid, just emerging from under the protective proximity of my childhood.  Bound and determined to do something new, something productive.  In the perfect mix of arrogance and ignorance that we call fearlessness, I was gonna make something of myself.

Sitting in a park at my training base in Texas, with my new best friend, and the guys we're trying to impress.
I still feel the dry heat of that Texas sun beating down on us at that concrete table, sitting on that concrete bench.
I don't remember anyone's face but hers.  I remember the path of the sidewalk through the park, I remember the sprawling trees strategically placed in that park.
She smoked, why didn't I smoke?  It seemed like everyone around us smoked, so why not then?  I choked.
At least, that's what I remember.

I've never been a non-smoking adult.  I don't even know what that looks like.  That would be something new, wouldn't it.
Never in my adult life have I been free from the grip of these damn things.
I've gone through what seemed like transitions to different lives, but never free from these.
I stare at the wooden cross on my wall, and the smoke tendrils that curl in front of it.
Transitions from base to base, job to job, relationship to relationship.  All requiring discipline on my part, if I could muster up the can-do, fearless attitude.  My trusty cardboard pack and lighter never leaving my sight.

*************************

I focus on the church, I focus on community, I focus on learning, but all seem like sustained distractions; just a grander version of me sticking my head in the sand.

God's talking to me; afraid of what He might say, I keep covering my ears.  With Pinterest.  With games.  With books.  With social media.  With my own striving.

I keep running, I keep hiding; timidly crying out for purpose and clarity, but afraid of what that might look like.  Frustrated because others see what I don't.  Getting more and more pissed at myself for using my crutches to put up a smokescreen, so I can slink back into my descent.
My discipline absolutely sucks.  I'm rebelling against it for some reason.  Is it for the sake of rebellion, or am I rebelling out of fear?
I don't even know anymore.

*************************

My hometown is getting hammered by lake effect snow right now.  The pictures flooding social media and the national news are making me nostalgic.

I remember building forts and tunnels in the snowdrifts at the end of our driveway as a kid, I remember sledding at the golf course, snowball fights and snowmen.

The innocence of winter, not yet realizing that the white blanket covered real life.

Snow days and hot chocolate, rosy noses and wind chapped cheeks thawing, gloves and boots and hats and snowsuits all dripping their melting accumulations onto the basement floor.  Strategically shoveling the driveway into one gigantic pile in the yard to play on, dreaming of a pile so large we could reach the roof of the garage, then we could slide down the entire thing.

The days before responsibility, (other than not getting frostbite,) would rob us of these hours of imaginative and fearless play.  Before high school, before extracurricular sports and clubs, before driving, before jobs.
Before we grew up.

We can't ever go back, can we.
It wouldn't be the same.  The experiences, the lessons, the maturity gained along the way cannot be forgotten.  The perspective of "before" is forever altered.  We can long for it again, but we know, deep down, that the process of coming out of that was painful.  Lessons and mistakes I'd rather not repeat.

I can appreciate the innocence of those days, the blissful ignorance of life yet to come.
I can also recognize that every stage of my life has been marked by "I just didn't know any better."
I'd be a fool if I didn't acknowledge the same could be said of me right now, as well.

What is the "any better" that I'm afraid of?
And why am I so aware of it?

*************************

'Tis the season for me to be writing.
I can't get out of my head long enough to transfer thoughts to paper, let alone put together sentences that mean anything.

There are general ideas floating around in there, like spots you can't focus on when you look too long at the sun, like helium balloons in the sky.

Beautiful, remarkable in that they're lighter than air, and yet they escape me forever when I inevitably let go of the string.

Glimpses of ancient and eternal realities, brilliantly shimmering before being encapsulated by the thin membrane that distinguishes the difference.

The more I learn, the more balloons float away; drifting higher and higher on an unseen current.

I watch them disappear all the time, unable to hold firm to the strings connecting them to me.

I want to hold on, I really do.  But I keep running from the one thing I know I need the most.

The awareness of my rebellion physically pains me, shaming me back into the descent.


But the light never stops shining through the window, surprising me, blinding me, reminding me.
Always there.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Gossamer

[This should probably be three or four separate posts.  But it's one continuous train of thought; conversation; and it's a long one, where the cars are in no particular order.  Better grab a snack.]


Weekends are bad times for me, because my family is home, together.  Not just 'off of work' or 'no school'; I really mean they're home.  We don't see each other, at all, until the weekends.
So when the phone rings, or the Facebook messenger dings (which annoyed me to no end, and has been permanently deleted), or text messages flood in, I cringe.

I'm not a super social person to begin with.  I can hang out with anyone, so long as I'm mentally prepared to do so.  "Dropping in" because you're in the neighborhood, or have a few minutes to kill, or "swinging by" because you see my car in the driveway, well, it just doesn't work for me.  At all.

As an introvert, as a writer, as a student, my time is one of my crucial commodities.  I'm an incessant list-maker, I'm a planner.  I schedule out my days with the multitasking prowess of a professional.  I could very easily let my schedule rule my life, if I was to let it.

I currently don't work outside the home.  But that doesn't make me available at all hours of the day and night.  That doesn't mean that I'm home, sitting on the couch, eating a pounder bag of Cheetos, waiting for any- and everyone to come yank me out of my miserable solitude.

What really happens behind the front door I keep shut, behind the blinds I keep closed, behind the walls I erect by not answering every technological intrusion is a lot of wrestling.

As a thinker, as a solitary processor kind of person, my time alone is crucial.  It's when I decompress, it's when I vent, when I assess, it's when I pray, it's when I am revitalized.  I write about what I'm thinking, what I'm struggling with; pen and paper are the vehicle through which I process it all.

When I'm writing, my thoughts, my words, and God's clarity come together in a breathtaking symphony.  Interruptions are like a needle scratching all the way across that record, completely derailing me.
Shocked at the unrequested intrusion, and stunned by the silence afterwards; I'm usually quite pissed.

I process the community God's drawn me to, I process what it could look like.  I pray to see possibilities for it, and I pray for strengthening relationships within it.  I study it.  I dream about it.  I ponder my part in it.

I question everything I do in it; am I enabling or equipping, am I contributing anything worthwhile, am I jumping the gun.  These aren't questions that can be easily answered; there's usually something I have to learn first, in order to get to the answer.
The timing of all this isn't for me to decide, either.

During the week, during the time that's been afforded to me to be alone, in order to make the best use of the silence, I'll write.  When no words come, I spend time in the lives of the people I'm in community with.

We're learning each other, we're sharing stories, sharing hurts and fears, sharing hope.  We're seeing Christ in each other, celebrating the minuscule movements and the unplanned adversities that bind us closer together, and closer to Christ.  We draw strength from one another, and we begin to see roles develop in a bigger picture we can't quite grasp yet.

These gatherings- whether planned or unplanned, meals, or classes, or baptisms, or work in the physical community- become the fodder for my writing inspirations.

I come home, I think.  I pray.  I think some more.  I wait.  I think even more.  I'll write.
If I don't get this time alone to process everything through the filter I've been given, it all becomes a jumbled, seemingly silent mess.  Then the effort that's been poured into it feels worthless.  Which drives me NUTS.

One of my big bouts lately has been the (perceived) dichotomy of my life right now.
I have my weekends with my family, then we all part ways again which leaves me time for writing and community.  Because I spend more time by myself and with the community, it's easy for me to feel like that dynamic should continue into the weekend as well.  And anyone who knows my family knows that's not gonna happen.  Who knows, maybe my retreat into silent solitude on Mondays is my gut reaction to the lack of quiet time over the weekends...  (Great.  More to ponder.)  For months, I've been fighting the busy-ness and noise of the weekends, longing for the quiet again.  In the meantime, I've been missing my family.  I have no problem pouring into the inner workings of everyone else's lives, but my own has become a nuisance?  That's some bullsh*t right there.

Just as I've had to work through that, I also have to work through how 'who I am in Christ' fits into 'community'.

Book after book today tells the church what she needs to do to get back to her roots; different methods and procedures laid out in the hopes of steering this giant ship in the direction that God's moving in.  In the circles I run with, the principle of 'dying to self' is the crux of our faith.  It's catching on across Christendom, too.  At first it delights me, but as I delve deeper and deeper into the outer edges of the mainstream churches claiming this in their pastors' best-selling books, I find the basis misses the point, still fundamentally following a "striving towards" mentality.
I digress.

By focusing on my personality type, or my desires to seclude myself, if I allow the seclusion to take hold, I begin the fight of "either/or".
I'm an "all in" person.  I'm of the mindset that if you're going to do something, you give it all you've got.  So, the either/or for me has been, I'm either all in with community, or I'm all in with what I see as my calling.

Community doesn't come easy for me, (or anyone else for that matter,) nor is it something that happens overnight.  It is a slow, beautiful process for someone like me, who captures these moments in written snapshots.
But, because it is slow, I have a tendency, in my "all-in" mindset (which very quickly escalates to an "all-me" mindset) to try to make things happen where God isn't moving yet, or in places He hasn't revealed the puzzle pieces yet.  Sure, it keeps me busy, but it also drains me, further fueling my propensity to retreat altogether.

I'm beginning to understand the delicate balance of each of our roles in community.  That community is not, and cannot, be developed or discovered by only a few people, it takes all.  Gifts and strengths are dispersed throughout, so that the whole fully expresses Christ.
So by me jumping "all in" (which is my natural inclination); when I'm not the one who should be jumping into each and every situation; I'm stepping into someone else's role.  As a result, I'm tired and frustrated, and I've taken away the opportunity for someone else to rise to the occasion, to possibly understand who they are, in community.

I thought I had to get on my cross to participate in community.  I had equated "participating in community" with helping those in the community who need help; whether it's transportation, or medical care, or food, etc.  A rescuer, in essence.

I've come to realize that I have to get on my cross in order to let Christ do the rescuing, and not me.

By trying to constantly fill the "rescuer" role, (which isn't my role, my job, or my calling) all that did was frustrate me to no end.  The frustration came from no matter what my efforts were, however minute or grand, the only places I saw God moving were the places I didn't have my hands in the pot.  I was, and still am, overjoyed to see this, but there was still that little inkling in the back of my mind, "why am I not seeing results here??"  Silently, my humility was starting to crack.

I focused on my efforts, completely missing the new and deepening friendships that I was part of, and the moments of discipleship happening along the way.  I completely missed how God was showing me my part; all of which happened so effortlessly.

At the same time, I was ridden with guilt by any time I did spend alone, which made me question everything I was doing.  I began to swirl.  I felt like I was stuck in the pages of the book of Ecclesiastes, and I couldn't get out.  I could see the big picture, but had no idea where I fit into it, like there had to be a concrete answer to "my calling or (my mistaken idea of) community".

I'm learning that the details trip me up.  I constantly ask "why", of people around me, and of God.  But when I start asking for the "how", I end up in places I shouldn't be, where nothing makes any sense to me at all.

Me trying to figure out "how" my calling fit into community seriously screwed me up.  Life became a series of questions, that which each new question, more and more doubt crept in.

Finally, when my head was about to explode, Christ reminded me that when I'm on the cross, He'll take care of the "how".

Oh, the humanity...

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Waves




Waves rolling
     Across the sky...
Nudged & prodded & shaped by the wind;
     Ushering in the morning light.

Waves crashing
     In the form of time...
Rushing & slowing & passing me by;
     Relentless, unchanging.

Waves lapping
     At the shores of life...
Rhythms eternal in lessons we fight;
     Persistently shaping.

Waves rising
     From under the deep...
Surprising, upsetting, and tilting the vessel;
     Yet calm waters will no skills teach.

Waves swelling
     With destructive intent...
Swallowing those who attempt to conquer;
     Arrogance drives us to death.

We cannot beat them,
     We cannot stop them.
We can harness and utilize the waves;
     Only together.

Friday, October 17, 2014

Therapy

Cool mornings are therapeutic.

When the temperature drops below 60, and the sun still rises, it's the perfect prescription for coffee, flannels, paper and pen on the porch.

The morning noises flush out doubts; the clear sky going on for miles acts as the visual sign that the torment of thoughtful days is clearing away.  Not that the storms won't rise again, but as for now, it is well.

The shiver that sets in, I know is good.  Hot coffee can't or won't subside it; for that I am grateful, because the shivers shake loose the deep-set talons of the solitude and voicelessness that follows the Words.

The talons sink through the surface so effortlessly, unnoticed, and grip right into the marrow of my being.  they inject doubt, questions, near-apathy, and reminders of the idol of self like venom; bringing back the darkness of shame once again.

Routine and schedules are tossed into the wind, as the soul-focus is clinging to Life, and the hope that Life brings.

The cool morning brings strength.  It slows the black blood of the demons within, sedated by the songs of the birds in their excited chatter.

The Sun rises higher in the sky, warming away the shivers, piercing all the darkness away; reminding me of the Truth that cannot and will not escape me.

I am free for a new day.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

The Fullness of Vision

When we catch the Vision of what God is doing; whether it's in the world as a whole, in our states, or in our neighborhoods; we have to realize that we don't hold every piece of that Vision.

Just as it takes all of us to express the fullness of God, it takes all of us together to bring the Vision to clarity and understanding.
     We all have a role to play in the Vision.  Some cast it, some protect & defend it, some offer details and possibilities of how it's to flow, and others carry it out; we are all participants.

It is a humbling movement, to realize that I don't hold all the pieces to accomplish something, and it requires the fluidity of faith to keep moving anyways.

To give something, to offer something, to pour yourself into something: an idea, an effort, a community; to empty yourself and yet see that what you give isn't enough.
     But then faith shows you it's not supposed to be enough.  That it takes a whole community emptying itself, sharing ideas, building upon them and contributing, in order to clarify the Vision given.

The Vision we're given isn't a task to be accomplished, it's a process of transformation.
It's a change in mindset.  It's getting over ourselves, so we can participate in the restoration of dignity, and the reconciliation of humanity.
It isn't the end goal, or the target we shoot for; rather, it's what happens along the way. 
That's why "mission accomplished" should never be in the church's vocabulary.

Coming to the understanding of this gives us the freedom to not jump straight into it with intentions of "doing".
That means slowing down long enough to gather the troops, to train and equip the saints; a process which, incidentally, never ends.

The slowing down gives time to share stories; time to crush the shame that cripples people into inactivity, or running away, or judgment; time to share and understand the perspectives that define how we each see the Vision;  and the time it takes to pray and piece together how we each have an important piece of the puzzle - how each perspective is necessary to what the Vision entails.

The Vision requires participation from people who don't even know they're part of it, let alone, going to be playing key roles.

If, as an established group of people, we jump right into the accomplishment of the Vision as a goal, we'll strive to accomplish everything on our own.  We'll completely miss the lessons, the connections, and the relationships intended along the way.
We'll bypass the baby steps necessary along the way, baby steps that will  allow us to actually see the Vision played out before our very eyes: lives changed, perceptions shifted, focuses changed, leading to communities restored and transformed - from the visual appearance of an area/ neighborhood/ community to the mentality of the people who make that community home.

It has been said that taking on a giant project requires an extraordinary leap of faith.  And that can be true, when speaking individually.  (But that leap of "faith" could also be taken as a leap of foolishness of epic proportions, especially if pursued without a sense of accountability from the community.)
   
But the Vision demands exponential faith.  Not from just one person, but from the entire community.  Just as it takes all of us together to express the fullness of God, it takes the faith of the community, driven by the heart of God, to see the Vision come to life.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Who We Are

Who are we?  Who am I?  Who am I, in "we"; this thing called "us"; this "in Christ"; this "Body of Christ"?

As a community that God has put together, we are united in Christ.  Shouldn't we know each other?  I mean, really know each other?

Paul openly tells us in his letters who he was before his collision with Christ, and he tells us how he can't boast in those things anymore.  He tells us he can't boast in those things anymore, because every single one of his accomplishments were from human hands, in order to glorify himself, to draw attention to himself, or to elevate himself in somehow, some way.

I feel the need to open up a bit of my life to you, to let you know who I was, before.
I don't tell you who I was before so I can boast on "how far I've come", I tell you who I was before to let you know that when Christ decided to pull me into His fold, He really had his work cut out for Him!
I tell you who I was before, so you know what it looks like for me to be on the Cross; so that if you notice me slipping, as my brothers and sisters, in the love of Christ that unites us, you can clear your throat, you can give me a nudge, and each of you can help keep me accountable.
Honestly though?  Your presence is the biggest help.

How can you do that, though, if you don't know what I look like when I put my flesh to death; if you don't know what me emptying my self looks like?  Accountability would seem pointless and powerless, and at worst, can be taken as judgement and attempted control.

So here's the gist of my story:
I was born into a big, loving family; parents devoted to each other and their children.  I had a very happy childhood, full of joy, and fun, and laughter, and love.  Nothing spectacular in that, except that it was spectacular, to me.

As a teenager, looking back on it, I can see how the more I learned about the world around me, the more my flesh started building.  I became more and more interested in what I wanted, with my flesh reacting to that focus on myself.  As I tiptoed through my teen years, I was totally unconcerned with anyone affected by my selfish decisions.  Alcohol became my courage and I proceeded to drink myself right out of college.  God bless my parents; looking out for me, my mom took me out for lunch one day and suggested I join the military.  In one of the few moments of clarity in my late teen years, that's exactly what I did.

I rolled into my twenties with new habits, new friends, a new career, and a new false confidence.  Out to prove that I knew what I was doing, I chose a career I knew absolutely nothing about, and then made it my life's work to prove that I, a woman, could not just be an aircraft mechanic, but I wanted to be better at it than anyone around me, in every aspect and facet of the job.

I sought acceptance in this new world, no matter what I had to give up to get it... my humility, my self-respect, my softness, my compassion, even my dignity.  I took on a hardness, a callousness, that as it developed, it roughed up everyone I came into contact with.
I became a judgemental, manipulative, control-freak.
The persona that I was trying so hard to build left me vulnerable, because it had no firm foundation.
I took on the personality traits of those around me who I saw as "successful", or of people I desired to be like.  And believe me... they weren't the positive personality traits.  I did it all so I could achieve notoriety and accolades in my career, mistaking my career accomplishments and job performance for my identity.

Sure, there were Christians that I worked with.  But anything they said to me fell on deaf ears, because I was so embroiled in my own selfish ambitions that their "Jesus" was offensive and ridiculous to me.
Little did I know, though, they were planting seeds in the parched and cracked soil of my life.

It all came to a head one day, when I realized just what I had accomplished, what I had become:
I was a liar.
I was a thief.
I was a drunk.
I was an adulterer.
I was a murderer.
I would use people for my own personal gain.
I was quick to fly into a slashing rage, I was quick to cut someone down, and I relied on my murderous emotions to get what I wanted.  And I had the gall to be proud of that...
I was quick to kill "for God & country", because I hadn't yet realized that I had turned the country I served into an idol; elevated to that status by the monopolizing and deceptive emotions experienced so frequently during wartime.

I needed someone, or something, to save me from myself.  Because no matter how fast I ran, no matter how far I went, I couldn't outrun the monster I knew I was.

And Christ found me, hallelujah.

In a slow whirlwind of new friendships, new careers, and new priorities, Christ began His work in my life.
There not has been any instant transformation in my life, like we hear about so often.  Learning who God is has slowly revealed more about who I am to Him; and because I'm stubborn, I may or may not have had to learn a few of those lessons numerous times.

Taking time to learn who God is, I was able to shelf the monster in me for a time being.  I was able to come to terms with who I am inside, and learn who I have the potential to be; whether in Christ, or not.

I slowly came to understand that no matter what I did to appear 'holy', it was all driven by my selfish desires to appear righteous in front of others, or to try to appease God.  And by trying to appear holy, all I was doing was fooling myself, and placing unfair and incorrect judgment on others around me, as if I was the epitome of holiness others should be striving for.
I realized I need Christ, and I need the Cross, in order to deal with the monsters inside.  Any and all of my efforts outside the Cross of Christ were useless.

So now, me and God are good!  It took me a while to learn that, to fully understand that the person I am is exactly who He created me to be.  For me to try to change that, I would basically be taking everything God used to grab hold of me - to show me my own desperate need for Him - and say that it was worthless.
But I cannot stand in who I am alone, relieved that I am saved (Touchdown!); if I am at all interested in what God is doing in this world, in the lives of other people who are just as broken and confused as I was, then I need Him to show me.

He uses His Cross to show me.  Using the peace I experienced in knowing that "we are good", the words of Matthew 16:24 came to life, wooing me into a new depth of existence.  "All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me."

Christ showed me just how much He accomplishes through the agony of self-sacrifice; His and mine.

"Take up their cross", huh...
What does it look like when I take up my cross?

When I am on the cross, I am deeply interested in other cultures.  I no longer see my own culture as the answer to the problems of the world, or as the smartest or most superior culture.  I can see how Christ is everywhere, and how he can use other cultures to express Himself.  I can see a bigger picture, one that far exceeds the limits of my own imagination.

When I am on the cross, I am interested in, and focused on the ministry of reconciliation, where God no longer counts people's sins against them... so why should I?  And, more importantly, who do I think I am that I think I should be the so-called arm of God's judgment?
Being on the cross, in the midst of this ministry of reconciliation, I am now sharing in the compassion of Christ, that I am physically incapable of doing when I'm not on the cross.

When I'm on the cross, my perception changes.  I see people, and the world, through the eyes of Christ.
     (Side note - I cannot administer justice until I see people this way, either.)

When I'm on the cross, I express patience, I am slow to anger, and I cannot be offended; because it is Christ living through me, and I'm no longer worried about my self-preservation.

When I am on the cross, I am driven into community, because that is what God is doing.  No matter what that might look like.

When I am on the cross, I am not afraid.  I am not afraid of who God may put in my path, I am not afraid of what's to come, or what's happening now.

When I'm on the cross, it's not just the opposite of what I would do in my flesh, and it's not just reacting differently to what the world throws at me; it's more than that.
I'll give a hypothetical example.

I walk into a room, and inside that room is a man who is wigging out.  Totally losing his gourd.  My flesh reaction (based on self-preservation) is to leave the room, or take him out.  (I might even claim that the safety of anyone else in the room is my primary concern.)

But if I get on my cross, my first reaction is to see this man like Christ sees this man; here is a broken and hurting man, upset about something.  Because it is Christ living through me, and I'm no longer worried about my self-preservation anymore, I now have no reason to be afraid of him.
I'm not worried about judging this man for being upset, or angry, or destructive; Christ is the healer, restorer.  The expression of Christ in me, the Jesus-Chantal He made me to be, may approach this man with compassionate words that instantly disarm him; words that never would have come from me had I not been on the cross.
Instead of returning fear and hostility with more fear and hostility, Christ applies the balm of compassion and understanding.  Disarmed, this man now feels no reason to continue his raging fit.  It is then that Christ can apply the therapy this man needs.


There is no blanket answer for what "being on the cross" looks like.  It's different for everyone.  It's a growth process, a gradual transformation, custom-made for each one of us; and each one of us expresses Christ differently.  As Christ consumes each of us, we become a fuller expression of who we're created to be.

All of these, together, express who God is to the world around us:  The I AM, the Alpha & the Omega, the Beginning & the End... it is us, in Christ, who fills in that space between.

Every one of us has come to this community from a different place in life, from different cultures, from different countries, from different lifestyles, with different perspectives and experiences.  So we'll all look different on our crosses.

By understanding where we've all come from, and who we are with and without Christ, we can further build one another up; we can encourage and strengthen one another in our community, as a community, so that each of us can go to the places we're called to be.

God isn't fully represented by just one culture or by just one people; it takes all of us together to express the fullness of God.  And God has called us together, so that we may link arms, hearts and lives; encouraging one another, and standing beside one another, so that we may express the fullness of God to the world we all come in contact with.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Kingdoms

Kingdoms come, kingdoms go,
Ebbing and flowing in human control;
Tiny or mighty, warring or pure,
Can we ever be sure of intentions?

"Spreading" or "building", dominating by might,
Painting portraits of hostile takeovers;
Using only the black of our hearts,
We fill in the color-by-number.

Focused only on outward actions and appearances,
Using words to bludgeon into conformity;
Omitting "freedom" and "choice" from the grace that is preached;
Leaving no room for faith at God's pace.

We build kingdoms by our self-exaltation,
Leaving strewn bodies and our humility in our wake.
We offend, we castrate, we amputate;
Leaving no room for questions, no safety.

We compare instead of communicate;
We serve only to elevate ourselves,
(Even if it's in our own minds.)
Our personal ascent leaves no room for Love.

The Cross that we carry,
The Cross that we claim,
Isn't to be used on each other.

In one breath, through the grace we don't understand,
Our perspective is changed forever.
A new kingdom is ushered in...
By death.

Shaken and broken at our error,
Suddenly aware of our nakedness;
So far from holy, a chasm
That can only be bridged by a savior.

The cross that we wielded as a weapon
Turns and impales us into a new dimension,
Where our eyes being opened
Has silenced the noise from our selfish lips.

Love sticks His foot in the door of our preconceived notions,
Compassion pours from our wounds;
And even if it's just a few convicting moments,
We can experience the Truth of the Kingdom Unseen.

Monday, September 8, 2014

Body

What is a body, that You'd give it to us?
     We can't repair it; we can't even operate it on our own.

A body.  That lives, and moves, and breathes, and thinks...
     ...organs, and blood, and electricity, and hormones, and flesh all work together, on Your command?

That You'd give us these bodies, and life we can't understand, but connect them together, to You?

To know You've woven life and body together; that one can leave and one can stay...
     Why the cruel irony?

To show that the life You breathe into us all cannot be duplicated by man or machine?
To show how dependent we all are on the proper flow of blood?
To show the purpose of each part, and reliance upon the others?

For us to be given this body, and to live to destroy it in the name of freedom and choice, or live to preserve it by the same names...
     But watch it decay anyways.

All we have is this moment.
The mercy of the moment:  to have the last moment and recognize it as such, to see the next moment, or to be removed from the worry of moments.

The heart keeps beating despite it breaking; a beat we can't control, a beat we'd screw up if we tried.

Then we see the connection, how we think this life is tied to this body we've been given.  Though, at the end of it all, which one leaves first?

How many prayers for mercy; how much can the body without life endure?

Once thought to be signs of life, autonomic responses become evidence of the separation; we begin to see clearer and clearer the body and life as two, but so closely knit together...
   ... that the two makes You, makes me, makes we.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Thief on a cross

Here we are.

Tried and convicted to death.
Fully knowing the depth of or shortfalls,  our failures,  or brokenness... our humanity.

Crucified.   Together.
Taking the physical punishment demanded of our flesh.

But we are not alone.
A King hangs between us, sharing in the physical agony we endure.

He knows our pain, as we all share in this suffering, together.

He mediates for our sake; to God, to one another.

Who would've thought that community would, or could, be modeled like this.

Shallow

The shallowness of our religion is openly displayed in the depth, or lack thereof, of our interaction with our communities.

If we can't articulate our own relationship with the Almighty, how are we supposed to think that we'll be effective in any way sharing that with a world who doesn't know Him?
     Unless we don't really have that relationship, and we're just riding on the coattails of those who do...

The world can smell our in-authenticity.

If you show up with a hummer limo, a fellow blogger, and your beautiful and perfect family in the middle of a city, claiming that you're going to "bless some homeless guys today", then all you do is clean them up, give a haircut and a shave, buy some clothes and food, and tell them in the back of the limo that "homelessness isn't God's plan for you", congratulations.
     You get a gold star on your get-to-heaven-checklist; you did a major good work to bless someone.

Here's what you did:
You addressed the immediate need in someones life, you provided a service they were unable to provide for themselves.  Hell, they may have even enjoyed themselves for a little while.
You also may have insulted them, talking about 'how good God is' to you, but what about the man you just pulled off the street?  Might as well tell him that God doesn't love him, because he lives on the streets.  You've successfully associated God's love with materialism, and nothing could be further from the Truth.

Here's what you didn't do:
You didn't ask him to tell his story.  You didn't ask how, or even if, God was doing something in his life; you didn't even ask if he knows God.
You failed to address God's sovereignty in this man's life.  Maybe living as a homeless person is part of God's plan for their life.  (But you'd have to ask God to know this, and listen to Him tell you that.)  Maybe, just maybe, God is developing a faith in them to do something unimaginable to you... after all, Christ had no roof over His head, and he sure didn't drive around all the places he went in a hummer limo.
You failed to look for the reason(s) behind this man's lack of shelter.  But that would require engagement on a more personal level; that would require a relationship, and that would require admitting that people actually live in an existence far different than yours.
You failed to 'teach a man to fish'.  You've given him something to eat, but not equipped him with a way to get more food on his own.  Again, that would require doing something that takes time, mental effort, and compassion.

What happens to this man when you're done with your good deed for the day?
You drop him off, right where you found him.  He adds the 2 bags of new clothes to his meager possessions, which he rummages through to find another hat, since now his hair is gone.

How is any of this good??  How is this sharing a kingdom which counters the existence they live in?
You might feel good about yourself; you might even admit it.

The deeper we are in relationship with God, the more He gives us His heart for humanity.  This is God's kingdom.
"Loving" goes farther than just feeding and clothing; it implies interest in the well-being of your neighbor, the person closest to you.
"Loving" implies concern for the total well-being - physical, mental and spiritual.

If we're only addressing one of those needs, then it is we who are falling short.

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Imminent Crossroad

The sick, the infirm, the lost, the broken, the ill-informed, the ignorant, the grieving, the stricken, the hungry, the blind...
     All among us now; have always been among us.

But now it's closer to home; they are the people we know, the people we care about.  We can't ignore them any longer.


Do we truly believe?  Do we know from experience the reality of the kingdom promised?

Do we live that reality, or have we not yet acknowledged the pain of the world around us that demands "thy kingdom come"; that begs for it?

Do we validate the reality that we all exist in; or do we continue to ignore what we're not directly affected by?

Do we hold firm with our slipping grasp onto only what we know, what we've seen before; or do we look forward with eyes opened to an old promise made new again?

Do we sacrifice our normality, and walk a new path - one that has no traditional instruction, but demands constant guidance from the One who calls us to the death of our own motives; or do we keep thinking that God won't use me?

Are we carrying a cross, or is the Cross carrying us?

At this new crossroad, do we move forward into the unknown, into the promise; or do we return to the powerless crutches of our past...

Monday, September 1, 2014

Old & New

We fight change.
It's our nature.

In the midst of this massive shift the church is going through, we find ourselves running in circles in response to things we've never seen before.  Things that used to work aren't anymore, ministries that we call "effective" but aren't getting any of the expected responses, and dwindling numbers leave most scratching their heads.

Unable to look beyond its own experiences, the church is unable to do anything other than what it has always done.  As an observer of the response of the church, my favorite song says it best ("When They Come For Me" by Linkin Park) "...even a blueprint is a gift and a curse, 'cause once you got a theory of how the thing works, everyone wants the next thing to be just like the first".

The church, which was born out of the mind of God and fleshed out by Jesus, began as a flood driven by the tide of compassion and a new way of living.  Jesus challenged everything humanity had become, apart from God.  He challenged the mindset that humanity had taken on and embraced; of separation, of opulence, of superiority.  He challenged the status quo.
     The culture of the day had no problem separating people who wouldn't, or couldn't, buy into their mentality.  After all, it's easier to separate those who are different than to acknowledge any disparity or pain they may be living in.

Jesus acknowledged pain and suffering in the lives of humanity; in fact, took it upon Himself.  Not so we wouldn't have to, but as a slap in the face of a culture that won't recognize or deal with pain.  This passion for the reality of life, and how to deal with it, is what would bring about His Church.

As the church grew, the more it began to take on the same characteristics of the societies around it.  The church, instead of being counter-cultural to the world around it, became a duplication of the very culture it was supposed to be countering.

But, over time, the church has morphed into a place where very rarely is pain addressed, let alone acknowledged or validated.  (Obligation-driven) charity comes out of the church, but as a thin red line so distant from original intent that its purpose has become perverted.

When the church is no longer addressing the pains of humanity; when the church is following its own agenda and ideas of self-definition rather than its leader, it ceases to be effective.  When human leadership of the church is not equipped to handle the suffering of this life, we've become our own empire; an empire that hires people to sweep the garbage either under the rug, or out the door completely.


And yet, God is doing something new.  A restoration of His Body, a spring cleaning, a purification.  All the crud is floating to the surface to be dealt with or removed.

For some in the church this is catastrophic.  For others, it's refreshing and life changing.  And for even others, outside the church, or victims of the church in the past, this is the first time they've been told that they're even included in what God's doing; that they, (no matter who, what, or where they are) have a part to play in God's love.

This isn't to say that this restoration process is easy, it's quite the opposite.  The rose colored glasses issued at the door of the church are now broken... we can now see the brokenness of humanity as a whole, inside and outside the church, and we're humbled to learn there's no difference.  Now we can see the pain, now we can see the anguish.  And we are no longer able to sweep any of it under the rug.

We struggle with the mindset change, we struggle with the expectations that are falling to the floor.  We're learning to be human again.  Compassionate, thinking, and crucified humans.  Just as we're designed.

If we don't know heartbreak, or suffering, or pain, or anguish, or destitution, or loss, or hunger, then we truly don't know what love is, or what freedom is, or what joy is, or what being blessed really is.

God is reminding us what it's like to experience these things, so that we can come alongside our brother or our sister, with a fresh and real understanding of compassion.  We're learning that the things we endure or suffer through may not always be for our benefit.

He's reminding us of our weaknesses, and showing us each other's strengths, so that through Him, we stand together, whole.

He's showing us that the once familiar church roles and responsibilities aren't so anymore, where community is replacing the institution; where we may not be learning or gaining strength or encouragement from pastoral figures, but from other members of the Body.  And He's showing us that that's okay.

He's shedding new light on ancient understandings, breathing new life to once dead words, and reviving His living, breathing, loving, weeping, broken Body.


Sunday, August 17, 2014

Infestation

We never know there's a problem, because it's always the last thing on your mind.  We just continue on with our lives, as if nothing is wrong.

But ignoring it doesn't make the problem go away;  it just grows and spreads, without your awareness, feeding on our lifeblood.
It hides, only showing itself in the dark places, attracted to our waste; and that's what ends up bringing the problem out into the open.
By the time we realize there's a problem, we're covered in the evidence of it, and we can't ignore it anymore.  Neither can anyone else we come in contact with.

When we finally take stock of the problem, we'll see it everywhere, with eyes now drawn to all its evidences.
We realize that it has infiltrated so much, that it weaves and crawls, in and out, sneaking into the seams of the very fabric we rest on.

There's no way to tackle the problem discreetly; once the problem is known, it must be addressed head on, full force.

The only thing that gets rid of the problem is prolonged, extreme heat; sending the infestation out of hiding, seeking refuge in our darkness, only to be burned alive upon exposure to the searing heat.

Everything has to be cleaned, individually assessed, to ensure the infestation can't spread.

The process is time consuming, tedious, and painfully humbling in the attention it brings.  All our dirty laundry is left out for all to see as we break it all down and clean it all, piece by piece.

The cleansing takes time; time that could be spent on better things in our lives, or so we think.  But we'll only continue to ignore the problem if we don't address it thoroughly, in it's entirety.

Once we admit the issues brought on by this infestation; the causes, the continuation, and the alleviation; our entire life is different.

Because of the effort it took to clear it, we've become vigilant and aware of it's presence.

Determined never to have to deal with this again, every preventative measure is taken to make sure we're not re-infested.  One of the by-products of this vigilance is the awareness of the infestations in the lives of others.

It seems like never ending work, because the infestation is everywhere.  We are soon able to tell if others are willing to recognize and admit their own infestation.
If not, well, they'll just have to learn the hard way.

Like we did.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

God help us.

Some mornings I hate the freedom the internet gives us.
That's a little harsh, because, well, here I am, on the internet.  I'm sure there's plenty of people who read what I write, and disagree just as much, so I need to chill for a minute.

(Breathe.  Think.  Breathe.)

I think what really bothers me is that the ones with the biggest followings, or the most influence (in the terms of reaching the most people) aren't addressing the horrible things we experience with the fullness of grace that we're called to.  (Myself included.  Believe me, I've spent a good thirty minutes bouncing off the walls in my house, venting my frustrations and anger at people's generic statements, usually in colorful terms.)

(Breathe, think, breathe.)

Mental illness and depression (and suicide) are hot topics again today, because now it's public knowledge of a celebrity's struggle with these things.
And, all of a sudden, everyone's an expert.  Dealing with it your whole life does not make one an expert, it makes someone who has a perspective worthy of adding to the discussion.

As I see it, and don't crucify me (I can do that well enough on my own, thankyouverymuch), the things we each go through are just as individual to us as our fingerprints.  Not one person lives the same exact life as someone else.  No one has the same experiences, the same family, the same emotions, the same brain, the same hormones, the same work ethic, or even the same faith.
Because of all those differences, how each one of us responds to our life experiences differs, as well.

The same can be said for illness.  Mental illness has been likened to cancer, in that it's a disease; a malfunction in the proper operation of the body.
There are different kind of cancers.  Some are slow progressing, easily detected, and treatable; while others are quick, aggressive, ruthless, and leave us shaking in the wake of a life gone too soon.
Because of all the different kind of cancers, there are different kinds of treatments. One treatment may work for some kind of cancers, where the same treatment may be completely ineffective for others.
In order to treat cancer, the doctor has to know the patient, know the disease, and know the treatments.

In the case of depression, just as with cancer, there are varying degrees of depression; each as individual as the lives of the people who struggle with it.

Internet experts may state that 'finding your joy' is the trick to beating depression.  And maybe that worked for them, and it may actually help someone else who fights their depression.  God willing, I pray it does.
But for those who struggle with the agony of opening their eyes each day, this advice is more than likely going to be received with a retaliatory punch in the throat; especially when the advice is delivered with what could be perceived as condescension and false expertise.

As those who follow Christ, we have a responsibility to one another.  That responsibility is a call to love, with grace and compassion.
Grace and compassion allow us to see one another as fellow human beings; as people, all of us broken in some way, shape, or form.  Whether we can see each other's brokenness isn't the point, neither is it to point out the brokenness, or offer our quick fix solutions.  We're just called to be there.  To share our lives.

The more deeply we become involved in one another's lives, the more we discover that our "kitsch Jesus" doesn't answer the tough questions in life.  Simple, one-liner, crutches (most of which lack any theological truth) won't help those who may be drowning in darkness.  If we look carefully, we'll see that our kitsch Jesus mentality steers us clear of any of the darkness in this life, as well as the darkness in the lives of others.  Our kitsch Jesus mentality keeps us on a pedestal of our own creation, zinging one-liners out to whoever we see below us.  After all, we have all the answers (in one line)... what would we ever need God for??

If we treated each person we met with the 'one-liner-fixes-all' mentality, then we're missing out on the beauty of the love and healing of Christ, that, Newsflash: He uses us for, in the lives of those around us.

To love, as we're called to love, is to de-elevate ourselves; deflate the importance of our self-imposed beliefs for the sake of sharing love and truth with someone.  To love is to be connected.  The value of our relationships become evident in our presence with one another, not in our correctness.  (Think about it... is there anyone in your life who always has to be right?  We don't end up spending much time with them, do we.)  To love is to value you, just as you are.  Just as I am.  And to realize that what worked for me in certain situations may not work for you, and that's okay.  You are not me, and I am not you.  Acceptance of that truth alone may just change the way we look at each other, and respond to one another.

If we were to spend time together, getting to know one another, instead of advising and judging one another, we might just see how our presence in each other's lives makes our story go on just a little bit longer.  In the life of someone battling mental illness, depression, or suicidal thoughts, that may make all the difference in the world.

Together, we might just be able to hold off the darkness.
Even if it's just for one more day.


Friday, August 8, 2014

Snapshots of Eden

The sun had just dipped behind the treetops on the horizon, giving way to twilight.

As the night creatures emerged, something else did too.  Innocence crept in, and I almost missed it.

Weary from our day of being cooped up in the car, the gut-twisting meals on the go, and ridiculous eye-rolling and laughter generated by silly music blasting through the car's speakers; when the car finally stopped, all four doors burst open, and our energy could finally be released.

Greeted by the cool evening air of this northern valley, the first relaxed breath exhaled "home".  Not the "home" we lived in now, but the "home" of memories and dreams.

Hugs and kisses; excited expressions of familial love dispersed.  We sat to catch up, take in assessments of well-being that just can't be done over the phone.

Attention spans being what they are, it didn't take long for the kids to find something to do.
Because of the boy's familiarity with the settings (and his lack of fear which allows him to enjoy every moment), he grabbed the girl, and they ran off into the deepening shade of the yard.

Socks and shoes off, I could tell she was taking it all in.  She'd never been here before, so she wasn't quite ready to leave his side to explore on her own.

Once he showed her around, pointing out everything they saw, I felt her relax from across the yard.
Without her even knowing, it happened... she let go; triggered by the soft flash of the firefly in front of her face.
Their careful exploration transformed into a carefree chase, the quintessential childhood memory played out before my eyes.

The noises that punctuated the young night are forever etched into my memory; the wonder of it all thickened the air around us.
Squeals of discovery and surprise, faint whispers of up-close and detailed instruction, and muffled giggles turned into unashamed belly laughter.

If only this moment could last forever; this moment where two kids, almost midway through their teen years, could forget about their everyday lives.
For those few moments, I caught a glimpse of innocence in these two kids, who hadn't experienced much innocence in their own lives for any prolonged amount of time.
For those few moments, the rest of the world didn't matter to them.
   Time stopped... watching and judging eyes stopped...  and so did their cares and worries about them.

It caught my breath to see this side of them; my role in their lives being very much of a confidant and counselor; very aware of the emerging adult-like issues they face every day that try to steal or conceal their childhood.

Whether they realized it or not, this moment was a treasured gift to me.

These moments don't happen very often, but when they do, they're a reminder of the potential for innocence to return at any moment.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Quick - Abandon Ship!

Abandoning ship seems to be the quickest and easiest way for us to deal with problems.

As human beings in our relationships, as well as human institutions, when things don't go our way, our ingrained fight-or-flight instinct causes us to walk away, close doors, or even run.

See, it would take actual C O U R A G E to stay and fight for something, to stick it out, to work through a conflict, to communicate through misunderstanding, to own up to our own shortfalls and mistakes.

But we're so focused on ourselves, our wants, our needs, and our time lines, that we fail to see the big picture.  We fail to see the possibility of God's timing in each situation.  We fail to see how our own actions of self-absorption may affect those on the other side of our perspective.  And more often than not, we fail to offer grace, mercy, and forgiveness with anything other than our lip service.

Connection and community, if they're anything worth pursuing, are fluent in those three concepts.
We get hung up on ourselves, though.
It takes love to offer grace, mercy and forgiveness.

As long as I'm in the center of my universe, I don't care how you are affected by what I do.

As long as 'what I want' is my priority, then I cannot forgive how you may act or speak against that.

As long as my focus is on me, then I will continue to be offended by anything different than me.

As long as I am offended, I will refuse to see how I could have done anything wrong.

As long as I refuse to take any responsibility for my relationships, my relationships will continue to fail.

As long as perspective stays centered on my life and experience, then connection is impossible.

As long as we keep ourselves in the center of our concerns, love has no hold on us, and we are unable to offer grace, or mercy, or forgiveness.  We will have no long term connections or relationships.

As long as I am the most important thing in my life, abandoning ship will always be the way I deal with anything that counters my worldview.

It takes courage to admit that you're not the center of the universe.
It takes courage to admit you did something wrong.
It takes courage to not be offended.
It takes courage to Love.

It takes courage not to abandon ship.


Friday, July 11, 2014

Sunset

The sun set before it reached the horizon tonight.  In it, I watched the decline of the church.

We know it's going to happen, but we can't see the layer of clouds off in the far distance that blur the line between the horizon we can see & the horizon that never ends.  

In the blink of an eye, it's gone.  

She hadn't even reached the point where she would've begin sinking beneath the dividing line between earth and sky,  and yet, she's gone.

Our own limited eyesight, paired with laws of the universe set in motion in the beginning, prevented us from seeing the sun set prematurely, and from doing anything about it.

All we can do is watch as the star we worship disappears.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

What If...

What if we bonded together with the desire to learn more about one another, to know one another, instead of only banding together on thoughtless, polarized issues?

What if conversation to understand one another was our goal, not just powerless claims of our beliefs; loud statements on where we stand, silently screaming "I'm right, & I don't care why you think the way you do"?

What if we took to heart the wisdom that tells us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves, instead of placing ourselves on our altars of worship and life?

What if we shared more of our experiences and relationships, instead of our opinions?

What if we rallied around victims of injustice and gave them power back over their lives, instead of stepping into the recently-vacated position of perpetrator?

What if we could answer, intelligibly, the question of why we stand where we stand?

What if we shared the freedom of relationship in our spiritual lives, instead of trying to dictate rules for everyone's life, and calling that faith?

What if we saw people, and treated them like a brother or sister, instead of using anything and everything to divide us, and further separate us?

What if we let love drive our relationships, instead of fear, judgement, self-preservation, and self-exaltation?

What if we didn't run from people, relationships, and lives that challenge us?

What if we didn't look down our self-righteous noses at anyone who thinks or believes differently than we do?

What if we embraced those who think differently, or act differently, or look different than we do?

What if we saw the world that's "going to hell in a hand basket" as our opportunity to be the church as she's supposed to be?

What if we didn't shy away from conflict, or from connection because of our own discomfort?

What if we sought God in each situation, and in each relationship before we spout off at the mouth?

What if we left the judgement up to God, and actually offered people the opportunity of relationship with God, outside of our judgement?

What if we took personal responsibility for every one of our relationships, desiring "connection" more than "correctness"?

What if we allowed ourselves to be accountable to those we're learning from, and those learning from us?

What if compassion outweighed our hypocrisy?

What if our presence alone was more powerful than our judgements, suggestions, or rules?

What if people really encountered the love of Christ by knowing us, instead of running from the image of god we've created?

What if who we are, individually and corporately, is ten times more powerful than anything we do in the name of religion?

Derailed; we've become more of a misrepresentation of the Kingdom we claim than an expression.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Agony of the Cross

I try to hide in my seclusion, frustrated by every little interruption outside of my precious schedule.

The quiet never stays long enough, but always when I don't want it to.

Tasks of the day pushed off, excuses made, justifications laid out, by and to myself.

I force myself into my own prison, where I am my own captor; the walls being this body, this personality, this discipline I'm fighting.  There's only one window letting in light, and I'm shying away from it as much as I can.
The light reaches me anyway, no matter where I hide.

Contact from the outside sparks instant battle; I fight what I know to be True for the sake of who I think I am.  Shots are fired, and hits are taken instantaneously.  It is pride who yields my sword, trying so valiantly to protect my prison cell, and isn't going down without a fight.

Decisions are made to either participate in what it is I'm called to share, or retreat from it... and my own  hypocrisy physically pains me...

Words come rushing in, words I thought I knew, but this new clarity literally humiliates me...
Accountability... and all that means; opening up all of me, strengths and weaknesses...
Community...  being available... building up someone... beneficial... importance of understanding individual relationships... the responsibility that comes with that freedom, for myself and others...

I'm haunted by my recent failings; a prisoner sentenced to, and already living in, death.

The agony doesn't come from the crucifixion itself, the agony comes in the acceptance of the sentence; a sentence, if I would just shut up and listen for once, I'd see doesn't lead to the death I think it does.