A Phoenix from the ashes (kind of) story

His name is Greg, and I have never laid eyes on him. But a decade or so ago, we were friends. Sort of.

I had just lost a daughter, and I was spending an inordinate amount of time processing my grief through blogging. This included reading the blogs of others. I can’t remember who found who first, but Greg was processing something painful himself.

A double whammy. The loss of his son Paul some years prior, and the new spiritual journey he found himself on, after confessing to his wife and the congregation he was a pastor of, that he had had a brief affair with another woman.

His wife chose to forgive him, and their marriage became a testimony of grace as they fought for it and for each other. The church wasn’t so gracious. I think the thing that hurt Greg the most, was that his precious wife Linda, who had been the innocent victim, was ousted along with him, losing her entire network of support and friends.

Greg’s blog was a journey of exploration, as he found his way back to wholeness and grace. He actively sought out seasoned men and women to speak into his life, and to help him unravel the erroneous thought patterns that had led to his downfall, and he shared many of his epiphanies with us, his readers. Many of these faulty thought patterns had to do with his image of God as a stern taskmaster; now he was discovering a God who was the lover of his soul instead.

Greg wrote in the style I enjoyed, conversationally, with humble transparency, straight from his heart. We commented on one another’s posts, discovered we were kindred spirits, shared an email or two, and became Facebook friends. I loved Greg’s heart for God, his honesty and his willingness to be vulnerable. His posts showed uncommon logic and integrity. It was obvious that he was well-loved, his marriage was flourishing, he was starting to preach again, and his daughter (whose story of adopting a child from Africa I had also started following) adored her daddy.

When my blogging season started to fade, my contact with Greg diminished too. A year or two ago, I clicked over to his Facebook page on a whim, to see how he was doing. I discovered then, that he had died of a sudden heart attack in 2015.

Today, I was reminded of Greg again, when one of my old Facebook memories featured a comment from him. I clicked over to his Facebook page again, and found the one thing that moved me so deeply when I first learned about his death.

See, Greg’s Facebook page isn’t static. His loved ones still post from time to time and leave him messages, even though he has been with Jesus for four and a half years now. Clicking over and reading the heartfelt messages left for him on his birthday, moved me to tears.

Everyone misses him. They talk about the legacy he left. They call him someone who showed them what being a Christian is like. One person writes: Just the reminder of your name brings me to a better place, and reminds me of who we can be.” Another calls him a “man of conviction.”

Oh, people. Here is a man who had known utter failure, and yet pressed into Jesus with all his might in its aftermath. Ultimately, he was not defined by his failure, but by the way in which he ended his race.

I want to be like Greg.

Here is a tribute that someone had left for Greg on his Facebook page:

“Thinking about you tonight, Greg.  I’ve been reading a book called “Living The Braveheart Life.”  It was written by the same man, Randall Wallace, who wrote the screenplay for the movie.  It reminds me of you in a couple ways.  

First, he writes like you did.  He has that gift of writing just like he speaks.  When I would read your blog entries or other posts on Facebook, I could hear your voice when I read the words.  It’s a great gift that God gave you.  I’m thankful that you paid it forward and shared that gift with the rest of us.  Because we still have your written words, we also still have your voice.  

Second, the subtitle to the book is “Finding the Courage to Follow Your Heart.”  I may be incorrect in saying this, so correct me if I’m misspeaking here, but I sometimes get a sense that you followed your heart more in the last decade or so of your life than at any other time.  Through so many things that you experienced, you (and Linda) found the courage to leave behind all of the “should’ves and supposed to’s” and just follow.  Follow who?  Follow where?  God’s heart became your heart, so you followed wherever God’s heart went.  God’s heart took you all over the United States and then some, ministering and being ministered to.  Not just that, but you just enjoyed following Jesus, wherever that was and for however long.

Thank you for having the courage to live out the words from Hebrews 12:1-2 that said, “… let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith…”.  You ran with courage and finished so well!  Indeed, you lived a “Braveheart Life!”

I want to live a Braveheart life too. Who is with me?

 

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When you are home, but not AT home…

I had an unrushed morning on Monday, and sat on my sofa with the story of the prodigal son open in my Bible, and my pencil in hand. I saw something in it that I had never noticed before, and it has encouraged me all week. (It has been one of THOSE weeks, so that’s been kind of nice.)

This parable tells the story of the son who asks his father for his inheritance and proceeds to squander it, only to reach rock bottom. He decides that it would be better to return home and to request to work in his father’s house as a servant, than to be in his current misery. The very moment that the father sees his son, he rushes out, hugs and kisses him, and orders his servants to prepare a fatted calf for a huge welcome-back party. 

Such a sweet story. But wait. There’s more.

I have been thinking of the rest of the story – the reaction of the prodigal son’s older brother. This guy was slogging away in the field all day and returned home weary, to the sound of a joyous party. He doesn’t enter the party zone, but rather beckons a servant closer to find out what is going on. The answer ticks him off, and he refuses to join the celebration. That sweet, relational father, who had waited so expectantly for the younger son, now comes out to entreat the older one. 

In the ensuing conversation, you can hear the bitterness in the older son’s words. “I’ve been working my tail off here at home and you never gave me as much as a goat so I could party with my friends, but this son of yours goes off and spends all your money on prostitutes and alcohol, and you prepare the fatted calf for HIM??”

The father replies: “My son, you have been here with me ALL THIS TIME, and ALL I HAVE IS YOURS. This brother of yours was lost, and now he is found. Isn’t that a great reason to celebrate?”

I wonder, since he is speaking to the religious Jews here, whether the point of Jesus’ story isn’t actually more about the older brother, than the younger. What does the older brother get wrong? One can not fault him on his exemplary moral behavior in remaining faithful towards his father. 

It seems to me that the older brother has an orphan mindset. He is WITH the father and has free, unlimited, unqualified access to everything the father has, but he doesn’t know it. Somehow, in his mind, there are hoops to jump through before he can receive the father’s favor. Secretly, the older brother believes that he is entitled to a special pat on the back, since he has been doing a ton of hoop-jumping while the younger brother has been out partying. 

But asking the father for anything, ever, is not something the older brother does. He slogs away, somewhat resentfully, and waits for the accolades and recognition which he feels entitled to. If he had a close relationship with his father, he would have been able to rest in the relationship and all it offered. But his orphan mindset blinds him to the father’s heart that is brimming with generosity…towards both his sons. “ALL I HAVE IS YOURS…”

The younger brother is impetuous and bold enough to ask for what is rightfully his and the father doesn’t hesitate to give it. Squandering that gift is the younger brother’s choice, and is something he comes to repent of. But I noticed, in my translation at least, that he uses the appellation “father” each time there is a dialogue in the story.

The older son does not. 

I would venture to say that the younger brother always knew the father’s heart…he knows that he can ask, and that he would receive. Even as he returns home, he has no doubt that the father would welcome him back, even if only as a servant. 

The oldest brother is present, but he isn’t home. He stands “outside.” He doesn’t understand the father’s invitation to fellowship and relationship, and he doesn’t dare to articulate what is in his heart. Instead, all his effort goes into proving that he is worthy to earn the father’s favor. He doesn’t realize that the father’s favor is a gift. He misses the fact that his provision is connected to his relationship with the father. 

He doesn’t behave like a son, but a servant. 

This passage reminds me of another one, in Psalm 131, where David says:

“O Lord, my heart is not proud, nor my eyes haughty; nor do I involve myself in great matters, or in things too difficult for me. Surely I have composed and quieted my soul; like a weaned child rests against his mother, my soul is like a weaned child within me. O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time forth and forever.”

Every momma of an unweaned child is familiar with the fussiness that overcomes a hungry baby. There is a frantic clamor for attention that does not stop until the need is met. My mental picture, when I read this scripture, is that of an older child who has two great things at his disposal. First, he has learned, through experience, that his mother is there for him and that sustenance will come. Second, he has the faculty of language. He knows that all he needs to do, is ask. 

There is a trust and a rest in a weaned child that flows out of his experience with a caring parent. It has its foundation in relationship.

My word-nerd self discovered that “weaned” in Greek, has the connotation of having been “dealt bountifully with.” Isn’t that how Jesus has dealt with us in the past, time and time again?

Jesus told his disciples: “You have not, because you ask not.” The father tells the older brother: “All I have is YOURS.”

Sometimes, I struggle with the older brother mindset. Sometimes I don’t ask (or trust, or rest) because I don’t realize that I CAN. I don’t ask because I misunderstand the father’s heart. I don’t ask because I think I have to earn my way into the storehouse.

This passage serves as a reminder to me:

Don’t be an older brother. Don’t look from the outside in. Why window-shop, when all the items in the store are yours? Go inside, and let the father show you around. He’s purchased all of these goodies with you in mind, and he loves to share. 

On fire and iceboxes (and entropy)

I have a love/hate relationship with writing. I love how it can gather up vaguely interconnected thoughts, arrange them into some kind of sensible order, and steer them towards an epiphany. I hate how, in the gathering process, there are nuances that escape, lost. One can only articulate SO much. Thoughts transcend words, but words shape thought.

I’m mulling over something, and I already know that all my attempts to pin it down in words will fail to capture the full picture. At this point, I am not even sure what will come out at the other end of the funnel. I DO know I will have fun trying…

I have been circling back, for the past few years, to a particular scripture that keeps popping up when I least expect it, unfolding itself in different facets. It is the passage in James 1 that talks about the person who is a “hearer” of the word, but not a “doer,” who is likened to a man that sees himself in the mirror and walks away, forgetting what he looks like. It is a metaphor that makes sense to me, when I think about it. I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time conjuring up my own face in my mind’s eye. Of course, I recognize myself when I see myself in a mirror or in a photograph, but I see OTHER people more often. It is THEIR faces I could probably sketch from memory, far better than my own, if I had to. (And if I had any ability in that area, which I don’t. 😀 )

If I wanted to make a self-portrait that had any real resemblance to the real me, presuming I had the skill, I would have to park myself in front of a mirror and stay there, looking up frequently as I work, until I am done.

The passage goes on to say that the person who looks into the perfect law of liberty, and continues in it, not being a forgetful hearer but a doer of the work, shall be blessed in all his endeavors. For many years I used to read these two portions of the passage in a disjointed manner, not carrying the idea of looking into the mirror from one verse into the next. But if you look at the two verses together, you’ll see the second verse talks about looking into something too. Not only that, it talks about continuing in it. Continue does not, in this passage imply a moving ahead. It implies a fixed gaze. One bible translation says it like this: “whosoever looks into the perfect law of liberty, and keeps on looking…”

The mirror, in this case, is Jesus, who is the light of the world that illuminates our path and guides us into truth. There is one thing I haven’t mentioned about the word “continues” – it is the Greek word parameno, which means, in essence, to be near something, to abide, to be in a close and settled union with someone. So, in my mind, there is a close parallel between this passage and John 15 where Jesus says: “I am the vine, and you are the branches. If you remain (abide) in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” 

And it is this thought that led me on a science-y tangent this week. Earlier this year, I encountered the concept of entropy in conversation with a friend, and when I mulled over the doer/hearer passage, my mind went back to some of the thoughts expressed in that conversation. Five Khan videos on entropy and the second law of thermodynamics later, I THINK I have found yet another parallel between the laws of science and the words of Jesus, which thrills my nerdy little heart to no end.

So, let me explain my understanding of entropy, as gleaned from those videos, to those of you who are unfamiliar with it. (Those of you who ARE have permission to correct me if I am wrong, since I am NO scientist and am in jeopardy here of not having a clue what I am talking about.) Entropy is the general tendency of everything in the world to move from order to chaos. It is so widely observed in our world, indeed in the universe, that scientists call it a “law.” It pervades everything. We see it in a fire that burns to ashes, a sun that is slowly losing heat, our skin becoming wrinkly as we age, rocks that are eroded into particles of sand, galaxies that keep expanding, muscles that atrophy when astronauts go to space, ice that melts, pool water that gets green, the way my house can go from tidy on a Saturday morning to having a plethora of dishes by nightfall.

Synonyms for entropy would be disintegration, decay, degeneration, decline, collapse.

What I found interesting, is that there is a correlation between the amount of entropy a thing has, and its usefulness. A system with very high entropy is in such a state of disarray that it is difficult to harness any of its components to do work. This is because entropy is the measurement of the total possible states a system can be in – in a high entropy system there is such an enormous amount of possible states that its sheer randomness prevents it from being serviceable in any way.

And here is the kicker: in science, a “closed system” always evolves towards a state of maximum entropy. A truly closed system is something that is difficult to approximate in real life, but it sounds just like its name: it does not interact with its surroundings. An insulated ice cooler is near to being a closed system…albeit one that we have learned to put to use. In contrast to open systems, it isn’t wildly useful though, it can pretty much only keep your drinks cold for a while.

A closed system has higher entropy because input or energy of some kind (usually in the form of heat) is required to stave entropy off, and to bring order to the chaos. Wood and oxygen is required to keep a fire burning (and incidentally, also useful) chlorine is needed to counter the pool’s degeneration into greenness, some elbow grease is needed to keep my house in order. I am too little to keep the sun from cooling, and I can’t keep myself from getting older. I guess that is God’s problem.

My point is that something, usually some purposeful action, is required to turn the world away from its general course towards destruction, and to create order in it. (You can apply this idea almost universally to any phenomenon.) In my conversation with my science-y friend he suggested that the force that turned the chaotic state of a formless and void earth (Genesis 1:1) into one that sustains life, is none other than the intentional creative energy of God himself.  The beauty, complexity, and magnificence of our world is such a contradiction of the law of entropy, that it must have come from a place that supersedes it. Life as we know it cannot have been anything but miraculously God-breathed. God himself is the antidote to entropy, decay and destruction.

In the scripture passages I mentioned above, it is inferred that you have to keep in close proximity with Jesus who constantly reflects his truth to us, in order to be a doer of the work. Take your eyes off of him, and you degenerate towards being an ineffectual hearer. In a parallel scripture, Jesus says that unless we abide in him, as branches that get their support and sustenance from the vine, we have no hope of bearing fruit. If we don’t stay in connection, we can’t function.

Can you see where I am going with this? If entropy is maximized in a closed system, I must avoid being shut off from my life source at all costs. Entropy (chaos, disorder, confusion, disarray, collapse) sets in the moment I close myself off from God, and from the people he sends into my life. I have to stay plugged in. I NEED the mirror. I need to hold myself up to its scrutiny. I need to be in constant dialog with the truth as it presents itself in the face of Jesus. If I stay in that place, and allow truth to constantly guide and fuel my actions, it will be harnessed and put to effectual use for His purpose. If I walk away, if I shift my focus, what I may have seen in the mirror just moments before will be diffused into a randomness and lack of focus that will render me useless and ineffectual in the kingdom of God. Even worse, I may think that I am still affecting my world positively, since I have already seen and recognized the truth, haven’t I? But just like molecules have a way of bumping into one another and dispersing themselves to the furthest corners that they can reach, truth can become vague and distorted if it isn’t held in front of us at all times.

I could be like a little ice-box, holding its own, closed off, keeping things cool for a while yet impotent in preventing the gradual transfer of warm air from the outside. But I would much rather be spent as a flame – generating some heat, being a beacon of light, doing some real work mirroring the One who brings order out of chaos, beauty out of ashes, and life from death.

 

To Hillary, and others (on civility.)

I’m skating on thin ice here, and I know it. It makes me want to turn around and scurry back to where the ice is thick and safe. I’m risking coming over as an over-dramatic alarmist, and there are few things I hate more than drama and not being able to stay rational and level-headed, especially in a crises.

Seriously. When a hurricane sets its sights on our area and the epic rush to stock up on water grips the city, I have to resign myself to go too – after all, we can’t survive long without water, and I don’t want to be the hapless late shopper who only encounters bare shelves. But as I fill my cart I catch myself feeling GUILTY… or SELF-CONSCIOUS… or SOMETHING that I can’t quite put a name to … because I don’t want to fall for the hype. I don’t want to be THAT person, you know?

So I am qualifying this post with a big fat IF. I am not trying to make a dire prediction or set anything in stone. I’m just probing ideas and going…there. To the semi-alarmist place that I don’t want to pegged into and crucified over.

Let’s just stick to the IF, ok?

Hypothetically speaking…what IF… there are destabilizing forces behind our politics who purposely promoted the TWO people during the 2016 election who would be the hero of staunch party followers while simultaneously being the opposing party’s worst nightmare?

I know that could be said of both Trump and Hillary. It was such an ugly election because there was real fear involved. Hillary was a corrupt criminal with a shady past who was going to overthrow the constitution and usher in a socialist dictatorship, Donald was a misogynist bigot who would entrench white male supremacy, trample the underprivileged, and dump us into nuclear war.

Then, no matter WHO won, you could demonize the new incumbent in the perception of his/her (already fearful) opposition, causing knee jerk defensive reactions, verbal attacks and desperate political maneuvering, all fueled by a media that sensationalizes in its quest for readership. The supporters of the president would respond to this in kind, creating a feedback loop that keeps winding tighter. Each side appears to be even more radical and repulsive to their opponents, which in turn confirms all their fears, making them dig in their heels.

The polarization and rifts that result could become unbreachable, destabilizing the country to such an extent that a desperate cry for a “stabilizing” force emerges, and there is a hankering for a person or group that could step in to save the day.

This was the Nazi modus operandi. It deliberately pitted opposing groups against one another, so that it could emerge as a stabilizing force.

At the risk of being a stuck record: we will not find a one-time, homogenous, one-size-fits-all solution to our political conundrum, folks. (Apart from a sweeping revival that transforms the hearts of people to seek the kingdom of God. Which would have a far-reaching impact on our willingness to forgive and love others, and grant them their place in the sun.)

Our world is such that there will always be a tension between mercy (the sincere leftist/liberal’s desire to speak up for the underdog) and truth (the sincere conservative’s desire to keep intact the hard-fought for structures and traditions that keep our society functioning.) Mercy and truth needs to meet together, so that righteousness and peace can kiss each other. (Psalm 85:10) A scale needs two equal weights to stay in balance – one on the left, and one on the right.

We need input from both sides of the political spectrum. What we DON’T need, is for these two sides to start heaping up outrage against the other on their respective side of the scale, no longer leveling out one another with humility, curiosity, and give-and-take conversation. One side will invariably tip the scale, and all balance will be lost. The results could be (*insert disliked dramatic word) apocalyptic.

Let’s level up, folks. Pray for America, and love your neighbor.

Edited to add: is this too simplistic? Probably. Probably most definitely. But when it comes to us all having a piece of the puzzle, peeps, this is mine. 🙂

Grace, revisited.

When I was thinking about writing this, I saw myself in my mind’s eye, standing at the desolate scene of a post-apocalyptic destruction. It might be hyperbole, and sounds far more dramatic than I like to be, but the imagery works. Ruinous buildings, no longer connected brick upon brick, their once solid walls now scattered into pieces that have crumbled to the ground in defiance of the order they once upheld. Me, Sumi, suspended in a grey world where wispy shadows move around aimlessly, wondering, what’s next? Where do I go from here? How do I pick my way through these ruins?

I’m reminded of the chaos of Genesis 1:1. “The earth had become formless and void.”

And a flicker of hope makes my heart first warm a little, and then leap. Even here, God is present. He is here in all of his splendor, all of his glory, all of his goodness. Poised, ready to make beauty come from the ashes.

When the world was at its worst, the Spirit of God was hovering (some translations say “brooding”) over the water, which in Hebrew denotes a vast, turbulent, agitated abyss. And then the word of God was ushered forth, and it is ringing still: “Let there be light…”

Here’s the thing. Somehow, little by little, over a number of years, I had walked away from simplicity. I had, with my own hands, built a city with turrets and walls and fortifications. I had sheltered in a world that made sense, but when it collapsed I was left in a chaotic void.

I was reading some scripture last night when this verse came alive for me:

“But as for you, keep in your hearts the things which were made clear to you from the first. If you keep these things in your hearts you will be kept in the Father and the Son.” (1 John 2:24)

I had forgotten that first, clear, thing. It had slowly and imperceptibly seeped out of my heart, to be replaced with structures that paid superficial homage to it, but lacked its power.

And I remember.

I remember the days of my first love. The sweetness of intimacy with Jesus. The preciousness of a grace that isn’t earned but freely and lavishly given. The simplicity of just loving God, and being loved in return.

Nothing else matters. This is the bedrock, the fountain, the sunshine, the return of color and joy: relationship with my best friend, Jesus.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2:8)

A short nail in the crowd coffin

Trying to nail something down here… and trying to keep it short. That is the most difficult thing for me, those of you who know me also know that I can ramble and rabbit-trail like nobody’s business. This is NOT my first attempt, either. I have scrapped my previous, too-detailed drafts. Let’s see if I can accomplish it THIS time.

I have been exploring, for my Holocaust class, how it was possible for a highly cultured, extremely well-educated, trend-setting country like Germany to collapse into the kind of mindless fanaticism that gripped the followers of the Nazi party. These were intelligent people. What made them park their brains at the door and become ideological puppets?

This topic has intrigued me, not only because I feel that it is pertinent to my class, but also because my musings on our current political climate, as well as some personal experiences have all converged around a similar theme.

I am curious about how group identity and collectivist thinking can spiral out of control until you find it expressing itself in extreme, totalitarian ways. History has given us two solid examples of what can happen when group thinking goes to its extreme and becomes an unyielding ideology: unchecked right wing conservatism eventually finds its expression in the horrors of the Nazi concentration camps, unchecked liberal leftist thinking has its zenith in the Gulag in Soviet Russia.

I see aspects of this collectivist thinking on social media when people align themselves with a particular political group and entrench themselves within its tenets, refusing to question the validity of opposing viewpoints. And it scares me. Some of the posts I see online are filled with such vitriol and contempt for those who are on the opposite end of the political spectrum, that it cannot bode well for our society if this polarization keeps expanding.

What is the “check and balance” for collectivist thinking? I feel like it has to be free speech, which is only possible in an environment where the individual and his thoughts are valued. I cannot help but feel that truth is always found somewhere in the middle, where open discourse and free speech brings people together. This can only happen in an environment where there is humility and an intellectual curiosity. We have to set aside our pride, peeps, and acknowledge that there are so many things that we do not know.

(A little aside: I read a lovely quote by Joyce Meyers yesterday: “We never have enough information to judge anybody.”)

This brings me to something which I think makes groups turn pathological. I have to add here that groups are not bad, in and of themselves. We are made for community. Anyone witnessing the intensely FUN competition between the high school classes at our yearly retreat can see the positive effects of being part of a group. Yet… I believe that groups can easily turn ugly when they become exclusionary and adopt an “us versus them” attitude, especially when paired with a sense of superiority.

The problem with a dominant “us versus them” mindset is that the first thing to fly out the window, is freedom of expression, because lines are drawn around what makes “us” who we are, and “them” (the supposedly detestable others) who they are. Because we are social creatures who take comfort in a sense of belonging, the risk is that we will become cookie-cutter clones of our peeps if the group defines itself too rigidly. Nobody wants to be accused of being “an other,” and any kind of dissent can be interpreted as being precariously “other-ish”. (Do y’all like my butchery of the English language here?)

I suspect that an exclusionary “us versus them” mentality always has its root in pride.  Sadly, this feeling of uniqueness and superiority is also seductive – it gives members a sense of value and belonging and makes them hesitant to do anything that would jeopardize their position within the group. This is a double whammy. There is a loss of individuality and free expression, while at the same time members are stuck within the group because becoming one of the “detestable outsiders” is unthinkable.

It is easy to relate the above description to Nazi conspirators, collaborators, and even to those who turned a blind eye. Germany in the 1920’s and 30’s had been humiliated by the Versailles Treaty, yet underneath all of that her sense of national pride was strong. Comparatively, there might have been merit in that.  But her sense of national pride led to a “Deutchland uber alles” (Germany above everything) mindset… and we all know where THAT ended up.

Soooo… why am I sharing all this, other than wanting to clarify my thoughts to myself?

In my musings about group-think and community and individualism, I have come to the conclusion that the new testament church should be the perfect example of individuality finding its proper expression within a group. When it is done right, in perfect balance, we ought to “flow together to the goodness of the Lord.” (Jer. 31:12) Jesus talks about us being a body made up of many different parts – each with its unique function. It takes humility for the body to work together, because each part is dependent upon the others. It also takes communication, since the parts are connected to one another via tendons and nerves and muscles which must operate in sync.

We are meant for community. But we are meant to operate within the confines of community as unique individuals who treat one another with humility and with open communication. In fact, it is only as individuals that we can keep the group from stagnating, since we each have something unique to bring to the table that refreshes the whole group and keeps it from degenerating into a cookie-cutter mindset. This kind of interaction, where people are free to be themselves and express their singular gifts within the group can only be accomplished successfully in an atmosphere of love and forgiveness.

I may be repeating myself awfully here, but this reminds me of a bible study I did out of Psalm 102 a while ago:

“Thou shalt arise, and have mercy upon Zion, for the time to favor her, yea the set time, is come. For thy servants take pleasure in her stones, and favor the dust thereof.”

I love this passage because it tells me that there is a “set time” when God will show his favor: when his servants both take pleasure in the stones of Zion and favor its dust.

What are the stones of Zion? I think we are! The stones are the bricks of the church, the New Jerusalem that God is building for himself to inhabit. Stones are strong and durable and reflect the better parts of ourselves, our unique gifts. As fellow Christians, we should celebrate it when we see others functioning optimally in the body of Christ. We should rejoice with them when they are different to us and when their unique gifts are expressed, since this refreshes us all.

And dust? The bible says that God has mercy on us, because he remembers that we are dust. Dust is symbolic of our frailties, our humanness, our flesh, our tendency to fail one another. This passage says we should “favor” the dust we see in one another. Do you know what this word favor means in the Hebrew? It means: to stoop in kindness to an inferior one.

Wow.

This is key, peeps. I believe it is when we are able to have both joy for the positive  things God is doing in and through others, as well as extend mercy, forgiveness, and kindness to their shortcomings, that the favor of God will be poured out on the body of Christ collectively.

We can only do this if we are HUMBLE. If we remember that we are dust too.

Let’s be an optimally functional part of his body. Let’s allow Him to place us where we ought to be. Let’s rejoice in where he has placed our brothers and sisters. Let’s resist any kind of pride or feelings of superiority, and extend grace and forgiveness wherever it is called for. Let’s be ourselves and allow others to be uniquely themselves. Above all, let’s resist an “us versus them” (or a “me” versus “you”) mindset, in everything we do.

If we can do this, a hurting and dying world will see Jesus in us. “They will know we are Christians by our love.”

Soooo…that wasn’t short. Sorry. I WOULD try to pare it down some, but this has already taken a huge chunk of my Sunday afternoon. :-p

 

Mind first, heart later

So a while back, while I was in yearbook fog-land, I read a piece of my own writing to my Holocaust class. It was something I churned out one Sunday morning on my cell phone’s notes app and finished, typing furiously, on the car ride to church. It didn’t need much editing. It came out almost inspired, and I was happy with it. As sometimes happens when I am driven to write, it moved me, bubbling up from a deep place within me that needed expression.

If you read my facebook blogs…ahem… posts, you might remember it. It was about roaches and darkness and flipping the lights on. About never allowing yourself to sit in the darkened room of ignorance. I referenced my mom’s  experience in Apartheid South Africa (and mine too), but it went way beyond that. I was talking about many things, in that post.  It came down to always being open-minded and willing to hear the other side.

We had a few minutes left after I read that to my class, so I asked the kids for comments or questions. And out of one youngster in particular, flowed the rawest, deepest, most probing and honest questions I have ever heard in my many years of teaching at a fairly conservative Christian school. Questions that would rock your world. Questions, that obviously, rock his world. Questions for which there are no easy, pat answers.

(Our conversation was intense enough, that when the bell rang and the freshmen trickled into the room to gather books from their lockers, something made them stop in their tracks. One asked: “What just happened here?”)

We talked about some controversial subjects (for a Christian school), such as evolution and the young earth theory and whether there could be extra-terrestrials out there. We talked about the nature and character of a God who has created us to be so frail and subject to all kinds of suffering, yet who requires us to worship him. To my student, many of the things he has been told in the classroom about God, or the universe, just do not make sense.

My student acknowledged his tendency for wanting to place everything in neat and explainable logical constructs, (he is a brainiac and I can barely keep up with him in that regard) and his awareness that there is a “leap of faith” moment for everyone who follows Jesus, but also expressed that though he considered himself a christian, that he hadn’t arrived at that moment yet. He had too many unresolved questions. It was obvious from our discussion that he was widely read, and I conceded that he has studied many of the topics we talked about in far greater depth than I have, at least any time recently.

His comments also contained a very honest observation of how many of the adults in his life are quick to give pat, rehearsed, predictable cookie-cutter answers to these questions. Questions that perhaps, they haven’t delved into deeply themselves. He expressed some frustration at the tendency of people to simply revert to “Christianese” rhetoric that requires blind faith and adherence to the Bible as the only measuring rod. It really made me think.

I was reminded of a CS Lewis quote I had come across earlier: “Faith…is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.”

This remarkable man’s journey from atheism to believer in Jesus Christ as the son of God inspires me, because it was a journey of the mind before it ever became a journey of the heart. Too often, we as Christian educators or believers, are quick to spout forth the easy and simple “just believe” type answers. But CS Lewis flipped that on its head. While he did eventually make his leap of faith, it was after he had irrevocably settled some deep questions in his mind. He had found God through honest reasoning and soul-searching and questioning, and that became the bedrock to which he returned when his moods or emotions got in the way.

So, I welcome my students’ questions. They can be as honest and raw as they need to be. I attempt to give my input on these questions, but often my comments end with something like: “Ask away. God is not so small or insecure that he is unsettled by our deepest, darkest, rawest questions. Dig deep enough, and honestly enough, and I suspect you will find God waiting for you at the bottom of the cup.”

Because I truly believe that the seeker shall find.

I write this as much to myself as to any Christian educator out there. We may have already settled our faith search in our own hearts. But let us not discount the real wrestling period that our deeper thinking students must go through to arrive at their eureka moment. Let us provide a safe place and a sounding-board where these questions can be explored, instead of forcing young minds to atrophy while we expect them to believe first and question later (or worse, never).

With a view to the new year

It is a different kind of New Year’s Eve for the hubby and I. Our kids are all gone, each one with a different friend, all of them probably spending the night wherever they are. We are home, and though we have toyed with going to a New Year’s party with fireworks on the St. John’s river or going to a movie, the comfort of our warm snuggly house has won out and we are chilling right here like old fuddy duddies. We will get our fill of cold weather when we head up to Virginia later this week.

So, I am lying here with my fuzzy blankie and a cuddly cat, scrolling through Facebook, when some words in a friend’s New Year’s post resonate with me.

And I am inspired to start scribbling down words:

Love big.

Be present.

Put first things first.

Sow liberally, then provide a nourishing environment in which the seeds can grow.

Give selflessly.

See people.

A common thread seems to run through all these words. Be circumspect. Be aware. Really LOOK. See, so that you can act. Be intentional.

And as I ponder these things, my thoughts turn to a favorite scripture, and I am reminded that THIS is how I want to live in 2018:

James 1:25 But he who looks into the perfect law of liberty and continues in it, and is not a forgetful hearer but a doer of the work, this one will be blessed in what he does.

If you have read any of my blogs you will know that I am a word geek. I can get stuck on the nuances of single words in scripture and digest them for weeks. I will spare you all that tonight. I don’t want to get too long-winded. Feel free to pull out a Strong’s Concordance and search these words out for yourself, one by one. You won’t be disappointed.

I just want to talk about one word, my favorite word in this passage. Continues. We are supposed to give God’s perfect law of liberty careful scrutiny, (the word here implies careful inspection in order to become fully acquainted with something) and then continue in it.

This is a compound of two Greek words, “para” and “meno.”

Para – to be next to, near, or in close proximity with

Meno – to remain, abide, to be present, to endure, to be one. This is the word Jesus uses when he says we are to “abide” in Him, in John 15.

Combined, these two words refer to being in a close and settled union with something. To stay near, to be permanent and resolute, to persevere in it.

I am not quite sure why I am so in love with this word. It always moves me, and I think it does so because to me (at least) it is the answer to everything that life may throw my way.

For me it means that if I can just be still and know that He is God (Psalm 46:10), if I can bind his law to my heart, if I can fix my eyes on Him and not pull my focus away to other things, then the natural outflow will be that I am a doer of the word who is blessed in what she does. I love the phrasing in other translations that I have studied: “Whoever looks into the perfect law of liberty, and keeps on looking…” or: “…and lives in its company…” 

This is the goal: to remain in close and settled union with my Jesus, and to know His ways. Everything else emanates from that.

I want to set my face like flint this year. I want to continue with my God, without wavering. I want to abide, and live in His company. I want to remain steadfast, solid, intentional.

Loving big. Being present. Putting first things first. Sowing liberally. Giving selflessly. Really seeing people. 

All it takes, is to keep on looking.

 

 

 

 

My fix

I was going to have an early start. I need a productive day around the house. I am even chewing on the idea of sending hubby to work with the car so I will be forced to stay home and get busy with my too-long list of things that I need to accomplish.

So I got up and got busy organizing my walk-in closet, which periodically disintegrates into semi-chaos and needs an overhaul every now and then. As I passed the little coffee table downstairs on my way to get a trash bag for old clothes, a little thought edged into my purposeful focus. It has been a while since I sat down with my bible. I pushed the thought aside and continued on my way. I passed the coffee table a second time, this time with a freshly brewed cup of coffee. The thought tugged at my heart again, and I couldn’t ignore it. I slid my beautiful red leather bible from its perch on a shelf underneath the coffee table.

Truth is, I have been holding God at a bit of an arm’s length lately. Oh, I still pray. I am still overcome with moments where He permeates the barriers around my heart and like osmosis, diffuses His sweetness into my being. Every now and then He visits me in the words of a song, in our car-time conversations, even through memes on Facebook. (To the hungry soul, every bitter mundane thing tastes sweet  😉 )

It is just that I am not currently in the place where I am faithfully seeking him out, as I have in times past. When He shows Himself, it is through grace-filled moments that are precious but fleeting. These little visits sustain me, yet the three-hour-long bible studies that characterized my summer breaks and weekends of a year ago are less common. I think I have become weary of well-doing (Galatians 6:9). I have circled the same mountain in my life for the umpteenth time, and have resigned myself to the status quo. I’m tired of me, and the messy parts of me. (Just so you don’t think I am throwing a pity-party, there are big chunks of me that are good and strong and wholesome, for which I am immensely grateful.)

Still, my prayers at the moment can be contained in two words that, in my weariness,  I do not always believe will come to pass: “Fix me.”

So I carried my bible upstairs and cracked it open on the little love seat in my bedroom. Psalm 136. A Psalm that has 26 verses. And 26 repetitions of the refrain: “…for his mercy endures forever.” 

In the margin, I had written the Strong’s definition of the word mercy. Kindness, favor, goodness, faithfulness. But it was the root word that got me. To incline the neck in courtesy to an individual. 

I pictured it in my mind. (I may or may not have acted the whole “inclining my head in courtesy to an individual” thing out.) And it hit me. He sees me. The God of the universe looks on puny, broken, messed-up little me and gives me the nod. I felt like He whispered to my spirit: “I will always see you.”

One of my favorite movie moments is when one of the Chinese mamas in The Joy Luck Club confronts her humiliated and broken daughter in the kitchen and says those very same words. It is a moment where she assures her daughter that she does not (as others might) look on the outward appearance, but looks at her heart. It is a vignette that is so evocative of the redemptive power of true words spoken in love.

Jesus spoke those words to me today. “I will always see you.” He looks past the masks, past the scrappiness of a Sumi who tries to fight for things she wants but can’t seem to trust God to give to her. He sees all of me, and I realized again that he knows everything. He knows my heart. He knows my deepest longings. He sees even my brokenness but he doesn’t look away. He is steady. He is faithful. And He loves me – the whole Sumi-package, just as I am.

I don’t need to go it alone. He is my fix.

When my student learned about Jenna

I was flipping through my cell phone in one of my high school classes this week when one of my students caught a glimpse of my screensaver – a picture of Jenna pulling her long curly hair out of her sweet little chubby-cheeked face.

“Who is that little cutie?” asked my student. And thus ensued the explanation, the shock on her face, my student’s consternation and pain at the thought that such a terrible tragedy has affected my life and that of my sons with whom she has been friends with since she came to our school. Her expressive eyes clouded over, and even later that day when the topic came up again they filled with tears. Our conversation felt oddly awkward since I was aware of myself flashing a smile while answering her questions. It was a smile that was meant to say, “It’s OK, don’t feel bad for noticing the picture and asking, don’t feel bad for uncovering this topic and making me share it with you, don’t feel bad for me or for my boys, we are really OK.” I was so conflicted about that smile. Did it make me look callous? Did it dishonor Jenna?

It is a conflict I feel every time this topic comes up. Here is the honest truth though. My smile rides on an undercurrent of peace that I cannot explain, and though it may sound callous or strange to an outsider, who cannot fathom ever experiencing the loss of a child, I can actually utter the words: “I am remarkably whole. I don’t walk around with a heavy heart.”

There is a “missing” that is always in the background when I kiss a toddler, or hear a little toddler voice sing “Old MacDonald had a farm,” or whenever I see little Abby Jensen being her cutie-petootie self. But I don’t consider myself or my family “damaged goods.” We don’t live in the past, instead we look forward to seeing Jenna again. Sometimes when I am worshipping God Jenna seems so close, like she is joining in.

That afternoon, I mentioned my student’s reaction to a group of friends. See, she seemed to be devastated by the news about Jenna. It hit her like a punch in the gut. And I think I can guess at a possible reason why. I suspect that this girl, along with so many teenagers I know, is going though some pretty heavy stuff herself right now. Stuff that has made her seriously question God. Hearing about Jenna just helped her to chalk up another indictment against God. See, how can he be a good God, if he let such an agonizingly painful thing happen to “good people”?

I am hoping for an opportunity to talk to my student at some point, but the reason I am writing this post right now has to do with the conversation that ensued with my friends after I mentioned all of this to them. We had a friendly theological debate, if you can call it that.

One friend started saying how wrong it is for Christians to blame God for bad stuff that happens, that we need to stop saying that God allowed it to happen for a reason. She felt that too many people lose sight of the fact that we live in a fallen world where bad things happen just because they do. That we have an enemy who can cause havoc when he wants to. Her argument is that if God was behind the tragedies and suffering in the world, how can anyone trust in his goodness and his kind heart towards them?

I suppose my answer will be one that you, my reader, are going to love or hate depending on your worldview. I can’t help that, but I do hope you will hear me out and consider my thoughts.

I told her that if I had to have that point of view I would have fallen apart, because it somehow suggests that the hand of satan trumps the hand of God. Her philosophy implies to me that there are things that happen to us in this life that come about because God chooses to turn aside and turn a blind eye. I needed (let me say it again, NEEDED) to know that above all, in everything that happened, God was there, that he knew about it, and that he was sovereign. Anything else would have set my world on a very shaky foundation.

If God had simply turned a blind eye and allowed satan to take over the reins of the world for a spell, it would have caused me to wonder: “Should I have prayed more? Did I do something to open a door for satan? Was it my failure that caused this tragedy?” Self-blame and loathing would have followed – it would have caused me to self-destruct. It would have also left me in the position to wonder when the next devastating blow might come. I would have become a victim to fear and uncertainty.

My trust in a sovereign God made me feel secure in the knowledge that while I didn’t know why this happened, he allowed it, and not out of a place of vindictiveness or in a desire to punish. I knew without a shadow of doubt that he loved me, and that he is a good God who only has our best interests at heart.

But how can a good God allow bad stuff, you ask? Some of you even ask if there CAN possibly be a God, seeing that there is so much suffering and tragedy in the world. I cannot claim to answer that question. I can tell you what I think.

Note, first of all, that I think God ALLOWED it, not that he actually did it. There is a difference. I don’t believe that God makes bad stuff happen – I actually think our sorrows make him weep too.

I think God is not like us. Instead of living in a world of time and space, of birth and death, beginnings and endings, he lives in an eternity where all things are reconciled and made beautiful. He has the advantage of a perspective that you and I don’t have. He sees how it all plays out. I have actually experience glimpses of that eternity in times of prayer and worship, and it is a beautiful place where I truly believe all pain is wiped away. When Jenna looks down on us she doesn’t blame us for her short life, she doesn’t regret reaching for that ball and falling into a pool, she doesn’t wonder why I never took her for swimming lessons. She rejoices when we rejoice, she cheers our successes on, she shrugs at our failures because she knows that in the end it will all be made beautiful in his time. She looks forward to the day we will meet again as much as we do.

I think our perceptions of pain and suffering are miniscule in the light of such an eternity. I think when it all plays out, when we are there on the other side looking back at this mess called life, it will not matter, because God will have redeemed it all and made it all beautiful in his time.

I have an unshakeable conviction of the goodness of God. I know his heart towards me, that his plans for me are for good and not evil. See, evil is not the presence of pain and suffering. Evil is a bitter heart. Evil is being filled with hate and unforgiveness and self-loathing. Evil is where there is no peace and no hope of reconciliation. Pain and suffering always comes to an end, but what we carry in our hearts lingers on.

There is a place in God where you can feel pain and yet have indescribable joy. Where a song can fill your darkest night. Where you can feel his sweet presence washing over you and carrying you though. I am not guessing at this, folks. I have lived it.

I know God is good, but I also know he is sovereign. I can trust in his sovereignty because I know he is good. Things do not always make sense, but it does not matter because I know who undergirds my life.

I prefer to think that God knew, that he didn’t turn a blind eye (except for perhaps glancing away briefly at the time of my deepest pain because it overcame his heart with pain too) but that he was there ALL ALONG.

I am not trying to come up with pat answers. I am not trying to predict an outcome or form a neat little construct of how God made “good” come out of my suffering. I don’t know that anything good did.

I do know that he was with me. And I do know that his nearness in my time of sorrow was something so precious, that I would walk that road again, if I had to.