COMMUNITY

Below are two thoughts about the same idea.

From different times.

From different people.

About ninety years apart.

They both make us ask questions about ourselves.

In a world that is as torn as ours, can we be woven back together?

Is our heart willing?

Will we put action to our words?

I know that we can be better.

You can lean on me, if I can lean on you.

(Eugene Park – The Folly of Looking For Community) “We now treat community like a stop at Chipotle. You can curate your community, just like your burrito, down to your exact preference. In turn, our nation and churches have become more polarized and tribal than ever before. Turning community into a consumer commodity has led to what the The New York Times has dubbed, 'The Golden Age of Bailing'. If community is 'found,' it is just as easily left…Many of us choose to be architects rather than builders of our communities, dreaming up an ideal church rather than committing to a real church. Yet the more we clutch our own blueprints rather than embrace the people God has placed in front of us, the more grief we will bring to ourselves and to them... Consumer approaches to 'finding' community naturally favor the easiest and smoothest route....Yet it's only through effort, sweat and tears that anything worthy is built...Any genuine community will have to work through conflict.”

(Dietrich Bonhoeffer) “Those who love their dream of a Christian community more than they love the Christian community itself become destroyers of that Christian community.”

INVITED

Being INVITED to a table is an important gift.
It carries with it some understandings.
There’s nearly always a fleeting moment when I sit at a conference table as an INVITED person that I’ll glance around the table and think that my input must be valuable in order that I would be INVITED.  
AND I think well of myself.  
I don’t think there’s anything wrong about that. 
I also experience a sense of being grateful.
AND then, those thoughts are quickly chased away, as I look around the room again and think…
Who is NOT here? 
Who is NOT at the table and should be? 
And WHY ARE THEY NOT HERE? 
Finally, I become fairly convinced that there are others whose input would be more valuable than mine, at the table.  

And my last thought is, How can I step away from my chair and have them sit in it?

Heavy Grace

I have been praying this morning for a "heavy grace" to fall upon some that I love.

Some whose names and faces continuously wade through my spirit.

These are people He has entrusted to me to care about, to care for.

I don't know that this is a term theologians will appreciate, 

but here's what I mean by "heavy grace."

It's "heavy" in order that it cannot be disregarded.

It settles on people like a weighty, warm blanket.

It's "grace" in order that it be understood as a gift, 

          as a release, as security,

                            not condemnation.

Here's why I pray this way...

I believe that there's a voice inside of us, that wants to say, 

                                        "See how good I can be, all on my own!"

And there's another voice, outside of us, but speaking into us, that quietly says,

                                        "That's not the point."

So, we come at it from another angle. 

                     "But see how much better I am than most of the others!"

               And the response is, "That's still not the point."

Then we fail, and in our desperation cry out,

                     "I'm in trouble, 

                            I've made a mess of things. 

                  I've hurt others, and I can't fix myself,

                      let alone the messes I've made.  

                                      I NEED HELP!"

And that voice outside, once more speaks gently into us,

                             "THAT...IS THE POINT."

There it is.  Arms that we can fall back into; 

                                 
a trust fall at the point of our realized need.

                                        AND HE ALWAYS CATCHES US. 

Paul said, "...but He has said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you[My lovingkindness and My mercy are more than enough—always available—regardless of the situation]; for [My] power is being perfected [and is completed and shows itself most effectively] in [your] weakness.”Therefore, I will all the more gladly boast in my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ [may completely enfold me and] may dwell in me."

Heavy grace.

    

His Table

It's not woke.

It's not even new thought.

It was there in the beginning. 

And it will also be so in the end.

Decades ago, (1964 to be exact) there were those in our church family, 

who did their best to put it as straight-forward as they could.

(Here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jo6E4LJMvJc&t=77s)

It was recorded alongside a collection of documents, 

in effort to remind us of the way, in times like these.

To represent the heart of the one who made us all,

                  in his image.

                        And invited us ALL

                                           to his table.

(Thank you to those at Hillside who bring us this visual reminder.)

The Redemption of Marah

Find a way this year.

Find a moment to breathe deep.

Mark it as the beginning of your personal Advent.

Not a devotional reading, but a moment in time.

To..."Be still and know." (Psalm 46:10)

From that passage, we're called to a "rapha" experience, 

                                                            a contemplative stillness, 

in order to know (acknowledge or become acquainted with) a truth.

In Exodus, rapha is listed as one of the names for God.  

When God turns the bitter waters of a spring called Marah, 

(The name not only implies bitter, but can also mean rebellion, grief, or hardship) 

into a sweet and drinkable water. 

We are then told, he is Jehovah Rapha or The God Who Heals. 

Rapha can also mean, to make whole or to restore.

Can it be that in our ceasing to strive, and rather approach a place of contemplative stillness,

                           that our spirit finally arrives at where God always is.

That place of wholeness.

Bitterness fades and hope invades,

                                                 physically, mentally and spiritually.

Through the spirit of Rapha.

Through the coming of His Son.

Maybe we can find healing.

This year...

            And for all time.

Against the Door

The first verse in the Bible that I ever memorized was Rev. 3:20.

         

         "Listen! I am standing and knocking at your door. 

                   If you hear my voice and open the door, 

              I will come in and we will eat together. (CEV)"

I was a freshman in college.

My thoughts attached to this verse were life changing.

Taken very literally the verse suggests Jesus is standing on the other side of a door, knocking...and waiting like he's got nothing better to do.

Waiting for me, or waiting for all of us to open the door.  

Like the housekeeping representative in a hotel.

How can he possibly do that?  

Be that committed to even me.

The verse captures my thoughts to this day.  

I have such a difficult time waiting for anything.  I will be looking impatiently at my watch or my phone if I know that five minutes could be expended on anyone or anything else. 

As though I'm just so very busy and it is such an inconvenience for me to wait. 

In the original writing, the greek word translated as "standing"

                                       is pronounced hee-stay-mee. 

It is defined as a prolonged form of stand or abide, bring, continue, covenant, establish, hold up.  

So, as odd as it seems to me, Jesus was saying in essence, 

                             "I am here, and I'm not going anywhere."

AND he's anticipating a response to the commitment he has made to us.

As if  he knows there's something we need, or something we should let go of, 

                                                                    and he wishes to discuss it with us...urgently.

Sometimes, I can feel him there, at the door.

Truthfully, it is not always what I want to feel. 

I'll sigh out loud and think,

                                    Why is he so persistent?

                                          I'm doing fine.  

Still, he waits.

That knocking noise is kind of annoying.

So, not only do I NOT open the door to him,

I'm pushing a figurative chest of drawers up against it.

Which is just silly, because he said he wouldn't enter in without me opening the door anyway.

And he never lies.

In these 45 years of our relationship, he's never pushed the door open.

The stuff I push up against it?

Fear.

Hurt.

Anger.

Control.

Grief.

Apathy.

Pride.

Regret.

Comfort. 

What I want, when I want it. 

...Basically, selfishness.

Finally, I stop and look at all that I have stacked against the door.  

I groan as I recognize that wall of division I've built there,

                                                represents me fighting against myself.

And, that if I want to see that wall come down, 

                             I will need to place my desire to be united with him 

                  above my desire to keep in place those things I built the wall with.

He will wait.

He will stand.

With grace and hope in his heart, 

                                           because, 

                                                               
He is for me.

CHEATING DEATH

A while ago I received a note in the mail.

It was not signed.  

Had no return address.

I ran across it yesterday looking through some old files.

Here are a few lines from the letter:

"I began going to church for the first time in my life just a few months ago.  I wasn't raised to believe in any higher power. (She then explained that to support her husband, she began to attend) 

So, I gave in and finally went to church.  It wasn't at all what I expected...To my surprise, I'm learning a lot about me. I wanted to tell you that last Sunday's sermon really meant a lot.  Even though I couldn't (wouldn't) come forward to the altar, to ask for prayer and to give myself to God, I do believe it will happen someday, I'm just not sure how to do that.  It's very hard to let go of control of one's life, but I'm sure I will be able to soon." 

A couple Sundays later, during the service, I read a couple lines from the note aloud, still not knowing who wrote it.

I shared that Jesus was aware of all the challenges that the writer was sorting through,

and that he was available to move forward whenever she was.

When the service was over, there were several who wished to talk, which is kind of typical.

But I can still remember a couple standing about fifteen feet away; she was wiping her eyes 

with some Kleenex, her husband standing attentively nearby, and something inside me let me know that a divine moment was coming my way.

After finishing my conversation with the others she walked over, and very sheepishly

said, "I wrote that letter you read."

I said to her that somehow I knew it was her a few moments earlier, while they were standing a few feet away.

Her and her husband shared their story with me.  

It was only a bit after that she opened her heart for the Christ...to be her Christ.

AND it was only a little while later, she was diagnosed with a cancer.  

It was aggressive.  

And she left this place quickly....but without fear...and very little regret...because she had been made new in heart and in her mind there was great peace.

Coming back to her note for a moment.

There were two lines that were my favorites. First, was in reference to church:

"It wasn't at all what I expected."  

Oh, how I want that for those who come to our places of worship, or simply meet us as his ambassador that we would surprise them.

Surprise them with joy.

Surprise them with grace.

Surprise them with hope.

Surprise them with belonging...into our hearts, into our homes...into our family.

The second was:

"It's very hard to let go of control of one's life."

Wow. 

That's a mouthful.  At so many levels this is

the big truth.

Thinking back, I can verify that it became her truth.

In those remaining months, 

she had left here, 

she wrestled through it and found life in it, 

                                                      in the letting go.

We miss you, our sister.

But in your letter and in your life, you remain a reminder to me, just how real

this faith can be.