Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
I am the Change
To walk down the patient hallways of Des Peres Hospital in St. Louis, Missouri, is to journey in the midst of an art gallery. On nearly every wall there hang paintings and pictures on various canvases and backgrounds, inviting those who pass to have hope, ponder more deeply, have a sense of peace and, maybe most importantly, to find healing beyond the dedicated and skillful work of the doctors, nurses and therapists plying their vocation in the Des Peres Hospital setting. Well chosen and placed, these pieces of art are a constant quiet reminder of the artistry which is life, regardless of circumstance or setting. God is at work in this place and the labors of the artists whose creativity grace the walls convey to patient, family and visitor alike that sometimes the 'more' we seek in ourselves, those around us and even our world, often, is just waiting to be experienced right where we are, in us, through us, if only we open our eyes to see with the Artist's Eye of God.
Yesterday, as I completed a visit with one of the folk with which I am blessed to journey, I departed their room, pressed the button on the sanitizer dispenser to cleanse my hands before moving on and, as I rubbed my hands together, stood there and pondered the pictures on the wall before me. Pondering on each one, this last in the line of art I viewed stood out as though first in meaning. By Janice Scherer, St. Louis, MO., I am the Change, 2015 Acrylic, can be found at MySLART.org.
"I am the Change" . . . Standing there, looking deeply into this woman's eyes, sensing the sadness of what is going on in the world around her, yet believing in the hopefulness of what might be, I am the Change makes no apologies, offers no blame, directs no guilt. Rather, in this beautiful gift of a woman there is an emerging sense of 'regardless where I am, I am moving towards something better'. This is a woman who will not be tied down by history, by sexuality, by ethnicity, by race, by where she grew up, by what others think she can be, by glass ceilings, by what her parents taught her to think, by how her siblings shaped her days, by what her teachers did or did not teach her, by the culture in which she grew up . . . or by Ferguson, Chicago, Charleston, Paris, Colorado Springs, or San Bernardino. This is a woman whose clear steadfast gaze, with just the beginning of an offset grin, anticipates triumph in that which she undertakes.
She will not achieve perfection, nor will others dictate to her how far she can go. This woman is the change itself, in whatever measure, manner or expansiveness she can create . . . and from that place and time she looks at you and me, not in defiance, but in the calculated hope and truth which only her soul understands. I am the Change changes the one who dares to see with eyes open to new direction and, especially in the Des Peres Hospital setting where now this painting graces a space on a wall, requires the one who dares a glance to become the change as well.
In sickness or in health, in plenty or in want, for better or worse . . . I am the Change becomes the siren call to weary travelers on the road. There is no fear, there is no despair, there is no crying, there is no death anymore, for the former things have passed away. I am the Change transforms the landscape of our experience, whether in a hospital, on the roughened street or the pitted country road . . . for this woman is, both, promise and challenge and she will not be content until we have entered into her labors.
I am the Change is the Coming Christ among us. Can you see her in Him? Can you receive her in you?
Something to ponder on the Advent journey.
*With special thanks to the creativity of Janice Scherer in creating I am the Change, and to Des Peres Hospital for thoughtfully and imaginatively creating an environment for health and healing which includes such powerful works.
"I am the Change" . . . Standing there, looking deeply into this woman's eyes, sensing the sadness of what is going on in the world around her, yet believing in the hopefulness of what might be, I am the Change makes no apologies, offers no blame, directs no guilt. Rather, in this beautiful gift of a woman there is an emerging sense of 'regardless where I am, I am moving towards something better'. This is a woman who will not be tied down by history, by sexuality, by ethnicity, by race, by where she grew up, by what others think she can be, by glass ceilings, by what her parents taught her to think, by how her siblings shaped her days, by what her teachers did or did not teach her, by the culture in which she grew up . . . or by Ferguson, Chicago, Charleston, Paris, Colorado Springs, or San Bernardino. This is a woman whose clear steadfast gaze, with just the beginning of an offset grin, anticipates triumph in that which she undertakes.
She will not achieve perfection, nor will others dictate to her how far she can go. This woman is the change itself, in whatever measure, manner or expansiveness she can create . . . and from that place and time she looks at you and me, not in defiance, but in the calculated hope and truth which only her soul understands. I am the Change changes the one who dares to see with eyes open to new direction and, especially in the Des Peres Hospital setting where now this painting graces a space on a wall, requires the one who dares a glance to become the change as well.
In sickness or in health, in plenty or in want, for better or worse . . . I am the Change becomes the siren call to weary travelers on the road. There is no fear, there is no despair, there is no crying, there is no death anymore, for the former things have passed away. I am the Change transforms the landscape of our experience, whether in a hospital, on the roughened street or the pitted country road . . . for this woman is, both, promise and challenge and she will not be content until we have entered into her labors.
I am the Change is the Coming Christ among us. Can you see her in Him? Can you receive her in you?
Something to ponder on the Advent journey.
*With special thanks to the creativity of Janice Scherer in creating I am the Change, and to Des Peres Hospital for thoughtfully and imaginatively creating an environment for health and healing which includes such powerful works.
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Live the Hope - Embody the Joy
"Run, Hide, Fight"
is what society is reduced to
when, as a culture, we don't
live justly, equitable and responsibly
one-with-the-other.
When you believe you can crucify the Christ
and you shut Christ in a tomb
with your privilege, arrogance, and entitlement,
the Gospel becomes muted and distant
and others become angry, even ready to lash out.
Blessedly, God is not distant,
nor will God be muted.
The Son comes to Bethlehem
and the tomb is empty in Jerusalem.
Stand up with Him and live in faith with others
as you are birthed to do.
This is not an issue of guns,
but a lack of value for the Life God intends,
a break down of cultural and corporate responsibility,
one-for-the-other.
Live the Hope.
Embody the Joy.
Lest all you are left with in life is
"Run, Hide, Fight".
Monday, July 23, 2012
There Is A Look In A Farmer's Eyes . . .
There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . .
Over ninety-nine percent of our nation, and much of the world, depends on the vocational determination, raw strength, faith, love and vision of farmers, who are less than one percent of our population. Think about that. Cultural financial icons, whom the economic lords deem the privileged '1 percent' of our nation, don't have enough money in their scattered accounts and investments to equal the driving power of the less than one percent who feed the world. Think about it. When was the last time you ate a dollar bill and felt filled by it? A hundred dollar bill? Maybe a thousand dollar bill would fill you? There isn't a stock market broker or company on Wall Street more powerful, more reliable, or more capable of meeting your body's truest need than a farmer . . . yet, our world worships the ground financial advisers walk on, providing them with compensation packages that, at best, could be considered as bizarre, all in the name of 'market value'.
Well, what is the market value of the food you eat, the nutrition your body requires, the sustenance you depend upon? What is the essential price you would pay for the fuel you need to see you through the day? Time after time, we have seen the pictures of the 'poor, poor souls in other lands' whom nature has deprived of favorable weather and a lack of education has cheated out of the means to meet their needs - and time after time we have commented, 'How sad. How very, very sad and unfortunate.' Though many work tirelessly to meet the needs in such places, giving generously of themselves and their resources, seldom do we in these privileged United States spend much time relating to their stories as one which might become our own. Yet, such a time of relating may be closer than we dare imagine . . .
There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . .
I think it was in 1983, our family farm near Marissa, Illinois was part of an area which received very little rain throughout the growing season. In October of that year, as I was preparing a nearby field for wheat sowing, Dad drove the combine into an 18 acre field of corn adjacent to where I was working and began to shell corn. He shelled both headlands and made, as I recall, four rounds in the field before he had enough in the hopper to unload into the waiting truck. As he emptied the hopper, I pulled my rig alongside his and waiting for him. Idling the combine, Dad stepped out of the combine cab, tears running down his cheeks, and said in a halting voice, "This is bad. It's been a long time since I have seen something like this." Then, he could say no more. He didn't have to, his silence spoke volumes. I have never forgotten that moment and now, facing a drought in the Midwest of nearly unprecedented proportions, both geographically and economically, with another four days of 100+ temperatures and no chance of rain expected, I am bracing for what I fear many, many among us will see in a farmer's eyes.
There is no way to convey to ninety-nine percent of the nation, much less the world, what less than one percent of the population is anticipating but, suffice it to say, the look in many a farmer's eyes in this region should give one hundred percent of the people in the world reason to pause. There are changes coming in the food supply, if for no other reason than what once has been taken for granted as being abundantly available, in all likelihood will no longer be true. The drought and heat of 2012 may well be written into the annals of history as a watershed moment (pardon the pun) in both American and world development. Shrewd and diligent market analysts are already driving up the commodity markets in anticipation of what will not be produced this year . . . and if you think the rallies on Wall Street over the last couple of months regarding bank loans were huge, imagine the anger and resentment which will be kindled over rising food prices and shorter funds on which to live.
There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . .
The look in the farmer's eyes in this part of the world has much to do with disappointment, frustration, anger, faith, hope, pride, and a brooding sense of failure . . . all centered in their heartfelt vocational call to provide nourishment for the world in a changing environmental climate. It is a look with which many of us can relate and one which deserves our deepest respect and support.
Yet, among us are those whose eyes gleam at the notion of riches to be made in a market of shortage. Some would call them 'market savvy', some might call them profit-takers, some might even call them knowledgeable and calculating yet, regardless of what they are called, the lives of many will intimately depend upon the decisions of a few - and the less-than-one-percent who grow the food are going to be a part of the ninety nine percent who will have to stand, hat in hand, hopeful to afford to live as once they lived. For you see, in the farmer's eyes is reflected the ever present reality that they sell their commodities wholesale and buy everything they need retail. In years such as this, what you see in a farmer's eyes is the injustice of their vocation reflected against the hope of their deepest faith. In years such as this, the injustice shines more brightly than ever and despair threatens the thinnest threads of hope.
There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . . and we all would be well served to heed it. For in recognizing the challenges which those who produce our food face this day, we can be responsibly proactive in both, seeing to equitable distribution of resources for all and fairly supporting those upon whose labors our very lives depend . . . and I am not talking about the stock market.
There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . . I pray you see it, too.
Over ninety-nine percent of our nation, and much of the world, depends on the vocational determination, raw strength, faith, love and vision of farmers, who are less than one percent of our population. Think about that. Cultural financial icons, whom the economic lords deem the privileged '1 percent' of our nation, don't have enough money in their scattered accounts and investments to equal the driving power of the less than one percent who feed the world. Think about it. When was the last time you ate a dollar bill and felt filled by it? A hundred dollar bill? Maybe a thousand dollar bill would fill you? There isn't a stock market broker or company on Wall Street more powerful, more reliable, or more capable of meeting your body's truest need than a farmer . . . yet, our world worships the ground financial advisers walk on, providing them with compensation packages that, at best, could be considered as bizarre, all in the name of 'market value'.
Well, what is the market value of the food you eat, the nutrition your body requires, the sustenance you depend upon? What is the essential price you would pay for the fuel you need to see you through the day? Time after time, we have seen the pictures of the 'poor, poor souls in other lands' whom nature has deprived of favorable weather and a lack of education has cheated out of the means to meet their needs - and time after time we have commented, 'How sad. How very, very sad and unfortunate.' Though many work tirelessly to meet the needs in such places, giving generously of themselves and their resources, seldom do we in these privileged United States spend much time relating to their stories as one which might become our own. Yet, such a time of relating may be closer than we dare imagine . . .
There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . .
I think it was in 1983, our family farm near Marissa, Illinois was part of an area which received very little rain throughout the growing season. In October of that year, as I was preparing a nearby field for wheat sowing, Dad drove the combine into an 18 acre field of corn adjacent to where I was working and began to shell corn. He shelled both headlands and made, as I recall, four rounds in the field before he had enough in the hopper to unload into the waiting truck. As he emptied the hopper, I pulled my rig alongside his and waiting for him. Idling the combine, Dad stepped out of the combine cab, tears running down his cheeks, and said in a halting voice, "This is bad. It's been a long time since I have seen something like this." Then, he could say no more. He didn't have to, his silence spoke volumes. I have never forgotten that moment and now, facing a drought in the Midwest of nearly unprecedented proportions, both geographically and economically, with another four days of 100+ temperatures and no chance of rain expected, I am bracing for what I fear many, many among us will see in a farmer's eyes.
There is no way to convey to ninety-nine percent of the nation, much less the world, what less than one percent of the population is anticipating but, suffice it to say, the look in many a farmer's eyes in this region should give one hundred percent of the people in the world reason to pause. There are changes coming in the food supply, if for no other reason than what once has been taken for granted as being abundantly available, in all likelihood will no longer be true. The drought and heat of 2012 may well be written into the annals of history as a watershed moment (pardon the pun) in both American and world development. Shrewd and diligent market analysts are already driving up the commodity markets in anticipation of what will not be produced this year . . . and if you think the rallies on Wall Street over the last couple of months regarding bank loans were huge, imagine the anger and resentment which will be kindled over rising food prices and shorter funds on which to live.
There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . .
The look in the farmer's eyes in this part of the world has much to do with disappointment, frustration, anger, faith, hope, pride, and a brooding sense of failure . . . all centered in their heartfelt vocational call to provide nourishment for the world in a changing environmental climate. It is a look with which many of us can relate and one which deserves our deepest respect and support.
Yet, among us are those whose eyes gleam at the notion of riches to be made in a market of shortage. Some would call them 'market savvy', some might call them profit-takers, some might even call them knowledgeable and calculating yet, regardless of what they are called, the lives of many will intimately depend upon the decisions of a few - and the less-than-one-percent who grow the food are going to be a part of the ninety nine percent who will have to stand, hat in hand, hopeful to afford to live as once they lived. For you see, in the farmer's eyes is reflected the ever present reality that they sell their commodities wholesale and buy everything they need retail. In years such as this, what you see in a farmer's eyes is the injustice of their vocation reflected against the hope of their deepest faith. In years such as this, the injustice shines more brightly than ever and despair threatens the thinnest threads of hope.
There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . . and we all would be well served to heed it. For in recognizing the challenges which those who produce our food face this day, we can be responsibly proactive in both, seeing to equitable distribution of resources for all and fairly supporting those upon whose labors our very lives depend . . . and I am not talking about the stock market.
There is a look in a farmer's eyes . . . I pray you see it, too.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Grandpa's Grief
A couple of days ago my memory took me back to a place kept tucked away in the powerful images of childhood: I found myself sitting on the front porch of my childhood home, holding the hand of my Grandpa Triefenbach as he rocked gently back and forth upon the glider with big tears in his eyes. He had just received word that his best friend, Bill Deupke, had died and, as most stoic Germans do, he had gone to a place where he thought there was no-one else present to see his tears . . . and that is where I found him. The young boy I was I didn't know you shouldn't intrude on such moments, so I just went up the steps and asked, "What's wrong, Grandpa?" His lower lip trembled, the tears flowed even harder and not a word was spoken. Not receiving the answer I wanted, but sensing Grandpa's distress, I climbed up on the glider and sat beside him, holding his right hand in both of mine, allowing the world to go on by and for time to find its place of healing. Comfort would not come to Grandpa for quite a while and, being the kid I was, I stayed only until I sensed he wanted me to leave more than he wanted me to stay. Grandpa's grief and pain ran deep that day and, though I didn't understand it then, now I know that 'look' by name. Thinking back on those moments, I wish I could have been a better grandson, the one with just the right words, with just the right comfort, the one who could make it all better, yet those were not the gifts which were mine to give as a child. Mine was to sit there with him when all his world was darkness and loss. Mine was to be the accidental observer of death's long tentacles and, there, offer the innocent love only an adoring grandson can give.
Grandpa didn't live long after Bill's passing and today, looking back, I have a better sense of why: There is only so much a heart can endure.
The gift of Jesus, both in His life and teaching, extends to us the truth of our connectedness to all of God's creation, to all of our sisters and brothers around the world. We cannot ever journey alone in this life for we were never created to be alone. "No man is an island" is more than the title of a poem or a song, it is the steady reminder of our intimate weaving into the fabric of God's design. Each of us needs the other to fully live into the potential God has intended from the beginning. An afghan without all the yarn, without all the loops, is just pieces of fabric dumped in the corner, unusable by anyone. So, too with each of us.
Yet, among all those we know there are those who know us best, those with whom our lives are most tightly attached, those with whom we share the most joyous and the deepest of difficult times. These are the ones we call 'best friends', for they are among those we count on one hand. They are more than 'acquaintance', more than 'friend', and sometimes even more than 'sibling'. Sisters and brothers may share blood, but best friends share the DNA of life's journey, imbued with all the love, laughter and tears that may include. Even geography cannot separate us from the love of God . . . our best of all Friends, and as it is in heaven, may it be so on earth.
In the heat and intensity of Grandpa Triefenbach's tears I see my own life, my own relationships, my own friends. From his grief I am learning to count the blessings of those with whom I still share each day. From his broken heart I am taught, not to distance myself from others, nor to insulate my life from such pain, but to embrace the kind of caring which offers my heart to others in the same way, for therein is the greatest of gifts: To be loved as we love, to risk being mortally wounded for the grace to be received in the sweetness of caring so deeply.
Only those who have cried such tears, who have felt the pain of a broken heart, will ever be blessed to know exactly why God sent Jesus to roll away the stone of the tomb. The best of all Friends desires us to mourn no more. "What a Friend We Have In Jesus" . . . Thank you, God, for such friendship - and 'Thank you, Grandpa' for holding my hand and giving me such a gift that day, not so long ago. May it be so for us all.
Grandpa didn't live long after Bill's passing and today, looking back, I have a better sense of why: There is only so much a heart can endure.
The gift of Jesus, both in His life and teaching, extends to us the truth of our connectedness to all of God's creation, to all of our sisters and brothers around the world. We cannot ever journey alone in this life for we were never created to be alone. "No man is an island" is more than the title of a poem or a song, it is the steady reminder of our intimate weaving into the fabric of God's design. Each of us needs the other to fully live into the potential God has intended from the beginning. An afghan without all the yarn, without all the loops, is just pieces of fabric dumped in the corner, unusable by anyone. So, too with each of us.
Yet, among all those we know there are those who know us best, those with whom our lives are most tightly attached, those with whom we share the most joyous and the deepest of difficult times. These are the ones we call 'best friends', for they are among those we count on one hand. They are more than 'acquaintance', more than 'friend', and sometimes even more than 'sibling'. Sisters and brothers may share blood, but best friends share the DNA of life's journey, imbued with all the love, laughter and tears that may include. Even geography cannot separate us from the love of God . . . our best of all Friends, and as it is in heaven, may it be so on earth.
In the heat and intensity of Grandpa Triefenbach's tears I see my own life, my own relationships, my own friends. From his grief I am learning to count the blessings of those with whom I still share each day. From his broken heart I am taught, not to distance myself from others, nor to insulate my life from such pain, but to embrace the kind of caring which offers my heart to others in the same way, for therein is the greatest of gifts: To be loved as we love, to risk being mortally wounded for the grace to be received in the sweetness of caring so deeply.
Only those who have cried such tears, who have felt the pain of a broken heart, will ever be blessed to know exactly why God sent Jesus to roll away the stone of the tomb. The best of all Friends desires us to mourn no more. "What a Friend We Have In Jesus" . . . Thank you, God, for such friendship - and 'Thank you, Grandpa' for holding my hand and giving me such a gift that day, not so long ago. May it be so for us all.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
You Are Not a Doctor's Diagnosis
In honor of a dear friend of mine:
A doctor's diagnosis has never defined you. Never has, never will.
When you were born, the doctor may have said to your sainted Mother, 'My condolences . . .' or 'It's a boy, but not sure how he'll turn out . . .' or even, 'Try taking this one home to show the neighbors . .', but no doctor's comments, no doctor's observations, and certainly no doctor's diagnosis ...has ever defined you. You have been defined by the God of your faith from the first.
You have also been defined by the choices you have made and by the man you have chosen to become. You have been defined by the love of the wonderful woman with which you have chosen to spend your life. You have been defined by the heart of love you shared with your daughter all her days. You have been defined by the sharpness of your wit, the keenness of your wisdom, the audacity of your will for life, your passion for the earth and all that dwells therein, and by your strength of character which has served as your moral, ethical and religious compass all your days. But, you have never been defined by a doctor's diagnosis. Never have, never will.
The most any doctor can do is articulate what your body is or is not doing. A doctor cannot diagnose your life. You, in the hands of God, are the only one who determines the veracity of your life, the power of your living, the authenticity of your existence, the reality of your being. A doctor's diagnosis can only speak to the parameters within which your body can express the fullness of your soul and, even then, a doctor's diagnosis cannot possibly perceive the internalized reservoir of pure grit and determination your heart seeks to express in the person you are still becoming.
You are not the sum of an X-ray, a cat-scan, an MRI, a pet-scan, or any other imaging technology through which you journey. You are not the sum of what a surgery can remove or chemotherapy and radiation can treat, neither are you are the assessment of a doctor's consult or a oncologist's best seasoned reasonings.
You are a gift of God, not a diagnosis. Twenty-five years ago, when first our family was blessed to meet your family, when first you and I met as Pastor and parishioner, we quickly became good friends, best friends, precisely because you are who you are, not because of what anyone else said you were, nor because of what any doctor might have diagnosed you to become. We have shared the mountain-top highs and the lowest of valley experiences in the mutual respect, the earthy understandings, and the wonder of faith that has been our blessing to savor together. We have argued politics, debated parenting techniques, cried over disappointments, laughed about 'not being able to fix stupid' (in others, of course!), and always, always looked forward to the next time we could be together walking trails, sharing a drink, telling another story, enjoying the quiet of a new day, or simply watching the beauty of the night sky in awe. You are to me the best friend a man could possibly be purely because no-one on earth is like you.
In your trueness to self, you have chosen to be true to others, but you have never allowed yourself to be defined by them, as much as your incredible wife might like to have tried . . . and now is not a time to start, my friend.
In what has been diagnosed, God is with you in whom you are still becoming. In the things which will need to be done, your family will lend to you their strength, love and support to continue being who you have been all along. In the midst of the questions and challenges before you, your friends and faith family will gather you in the prayer, peace and embrace that only those who know you best can bring to you as you continue to live your days fully and well. Now is not the time to stop 'being'. Now is the time to live more fully the person you have been becoming all along. For, truth be told, that is all God has ever wanted for you, for any of us . . . to be authentic to our 'self' as only each of us can be, regardless of what others may say.
Some may diagnose your life, some may curse it, others may praise it, yet, if you are true to the life you are given to live, no one can ever take it from you . . . for, as you have taught me all along, life is God's from the beginning and so it shall be forever. That is the good news of the Gospel.
I love you, my friend, for all that you are and are becoming - and always will.
A doctor's diagnosis has never defined you. Never has, never will.
When you were born, the doctor may have said to your sainted Mother, 'My condolences . . .' or 'It's a boy, but not sure how he'll turn out . . .' or even, 'Try taking this one home to show the neighbors . .', but no doctor's comments, no doctor's observations, and certainly no doctor's diagnosis ...has ever defined you. You have been defined by the God of your faith from the first.
You have also been defined by the choices you have made and by the man you have chosen to become. You have been defined by the love of the wonderful woman with which you have chosen to spend your life. You have been defined by the heart of love you shared with your daughter all her days. You have been defined by the sharpness of your wit, the keenness of your wisdom, the audacity of your will for life, your passion for the earth and all that dwells therein, and by your strength of character which has served as your moral, ethical and religious compass all your days. But, you have never been defined by a doctor's diagnosis. Never have, never will.
The most any doctor can do is articulate what your body is or is not doing. A doctor cannot diagnose your life. You, in the hands of God, are the only one who determines the veracity of your life, the power of your living, the authenticity of your existence, the reality of your being. A doctor's diagnosis can only speak to the parameters within which your body can express the fullness of your soul and, even then, a doctor's diagnosis cannot possibly perceive the internalized reservoir of pure grit and determination your heart seeks to express in the person you are still becoming.
You are not the sum of an X-ray, a cat-scan, an MRI, a pet-scan, or any other imaging technology through which you journey. You are not the sum of what a surgery can remove or chemotherapy and radiation can treat, neither are you are the assessment of a doctor's consult or a oncologist's best seasoned reasonings.
You are a gift of God, not a diagnosis. Twenty-five years ago, when first our family was blessed to meet your family, when first you and I met as Pastor and parishioner, we quickly became good friends, best friends, precisely because you are who you are, not because of what anyone else said you were, nor because of what any doctor might have diagnosed you to become. We have shared the mountain-top highs and the lowest of valley experiences in the mutual respect, the earthy understandings, and the wonder of faith that has been our blessing to savor together. We have argued politics, debated parenting techniques, cried over disappointments, laughed about 'not being able to fix stupid' (in others, of course!), and always, always looked forward to the next time we could be together walking trails, sharing a drink, telling another story, enjoying the quiet of a new day, or simply watching the beauty of the night sky in awe. You are to me the best friend a man could possibly be purely because no-one on earth is like you.
In your trueness to self, you have chosen to be true to others, but you have never allowed yourself to be defined by them, as much as your incredible wife might like to have tried . . . and now is not a time to start, my friend.
In what has been diagnosed, God is with you in whom you are still becoming. In the things which will need to be done, your family will lend to you their strength, love and support to continue being who you have been all along. In the midst of the questions and challenges before you, your friends and faith family will gather you in the prayer, peace and embrace that only those who know you best can bring to you as you continue to live your days fully and well. Now is not the time to stop 'being'. Now is the time to live more fully the person you have been becoming all along. For, truth be told, that is all God has ever wanted for you, for any of us . . . to be authentic to our 'self' as only each of us can be, regardless of what others may say.
Some may diagnose your life, some may curse it, others may praise it, yet, if you are true to the life you are given to live, no one can ever take it from you . . . for, as you have taught me all along, life is God's from the beginning and so it shall be forever. That is the good news of the Gospel.
I love you, my friend, for all that you are and are becoming - and always will.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Prayers for Friends
This morning my soul is troubled for two young friends who are struggling mightily with their health. The questions they and their parents ask of God, of their mortality, and of their worthiness to be 'normal' (elusive as that may be for all of us), are both legion and eternal. Personally, my heart aches for they and their parents in these days of such severe trials, and pastorally, my soul cries out to God to hear their cries, to make it better, to tend to their pain.
Sometimes the hardest part of hearing those first words of Psalm 22 cross Jesus' lips upon the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" is remembering to continue reading the Psalm after verse one. Much like it is when someone tells a familiar story and after the first couple of words you instantly know the whole of the story, so it is with Psalms among God's people: The first words spoken invite the listening audience to re-member the whole of the story. In the midst of great pain and undeserved suffering, in the stir of angry crowds and vitriolic language, and in the trial of both body and soul in such a public arena, Jesus' call to God in the speaking of these words is both petition and confession: 'This is a hard spot to be in, God, I don't deserve it', and yet, 'I trust You, God, with all that I was, all that I am, and all that I ever will be. My life is in Your hands for all eternity. Use me to your glory.' (Read Ps. 22:25-31)
There is a part of every one of us which wants to assign a reason for what is happening, to issue blame, to understand the rationale. There is language in our culture which shifts the outcome of our mortality to God with phrases like, 'God won't give you more than you can bear', or 'God is testing you', or 'You must have done something to offend God', or 'God must have really wanted them in heaven' . . . . all of which makes God the 'bad Guy' (not that God can't take such accusations) and takes away the power of the cross and an empty tomb. You just can't root that sort of language in Jesus or the Gospels, it isn't there.
What is found in Jesus, what is written in the Gospels, is the good news itself, especially for those who suffer in this world: God has heard your cries and is come to meet you where you are and walk with you in it all. You are not alone, which is the nearness of the Kingdom embodied. Were that not true, Jesus would not have endured the cross in faithfulness to God. Everyone there waited for Him to step down from those wooden beams and steel nails of pain and say, 'No more!' Yet, what Jesus did was even more profound: He took on our daily suffering, He took on our questions, He took on our deepest anger and confusion . . . and endures with us every moment of it all and, that we not lose faith in the midst of it all, He walked out of the tomb and emptied death of its oppressive power.
God is not giving you pain to bear, God is bearing the pain with you in Christ. God is not testing you, God is undergoing the frailty of mortality with you in Christ. God has not taken offense with you, God is expressing favor for you in Christ. God does not take you away from your life, your friends, your family, prematurely just for the sake of having you next to God in heaven, but when the world conspires against you, when your body doesn't heal they way we would hope that it does, or when accidents in this life occur, God in Christ claims your very life as God's own and holds you in God's arms of deepest compassion, much as a parent holds a child in their lap and presses them against their breast.
I pray for my friends this day, even as I pray for all those who endure life's challenges, that there be healing, peace and assurance from the very hand of God through the Holy Spirit in the love and nearness of Christ. And, I pray the faith, strength and love to be the best friend I can be as a disciple of Christ, whose Good News is Life itself. Always.
Sometimes the hardest part of hearing those first words of Psalm 22 cross Jesus' lips upon the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" is remembering to continue reading the Psalm after verse one. Much like it is when someone tells a familiar story and after the first couple of words you instantly know the whole of the story, so it is with Psalms among God's people: The first words spoken invite the listening audience to re-member the whole of the story. In the midst of great pain and undeserved suffering, in the stir of angry crowds and vitriolic language, and in the trial of both body and soul in such a public arena, Jesus' call to God in the speaking of these words is both petition and confession: 'This is a hard spot to be in, God, I don't deserve it', and yet, 'I trust You, God, with all that I was, all that I am, and all that I ever will be. My life is in Your hands for all eternity. Use me to your glory.' (Read Ps. 22:25-31)
There is a part of every one of us which wants to assign a reason for what is happening, to issue blame, to understand the rationale. There is language in our culture which shifts the outcome of our mortality to God with phrases like, 'God won't give you more than you can bear', or 'God is testing you', or 'You must have done something to offend God', or 'God must have really wanted them in heaven' . . . . all of which makes God the 'bad Guy' (not that God can't take such accusations) and takes away the power of the cross and an empty tomb. You just can't root that sort of language in Jesus or the Gospels, it isn't there.
What is found in Jesus, what is written in the Gospels, is the good news itself, especially for those who suffer in this world: God has heard your cries and is come to meet you where you are and walk with you in it all. You are not alone, which is the nearness of the Kingdom embodied. Were that not true, Jesus would not have endured the cross in faithfulness to God. Everyone there waited for Him to step down from those wooden beams and steel nails of pain and say, 'No more!' Yet, what Jesus did was even more profound: He took on our daily suffering, He took on our questions, He took on our deepest anger and confusion . . . and endures with us every moment of it all and, that we not lose faith in the midst of it all, He walked out of the tomb and emptied death of its oppressive power.
God is not giving you pain to bear, God is bearing the pain with you in Christ. God is not testing you, God is undergoing the frailty of mortality with you in Christ. God has not taken offense with you, God is expressing favor for you in Christ. God does not take you away from your life, your friends, your family, prematurely just for the sake of having you next to God in heaven, but when the world conspires against you, when your body doesn't heal they way we would hope that it does, or when accidents in this life occur, God in Christ claims your very life as God's own and holds you in God's arms of deepest compassion, much as a parent holds a child in their lap and presses them against their breast.
I pray for my friends this day, even as I pray for all those who endure life's challenges, that there be healing, peace and assurance from the very hand of God through the Holy Spirit in the love and nearness of Christ. And, I pray the faith, strength and love to be the best friend I can be as a disciple of Christ, whose Good News is Life itself. Always.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Life Happens
Life happens.
Let me explain: I firmly believe that each of us is a gift of God, whose final sum journey is inconceivable to consider from its beginning. Yet, it is in the course of those days which we name as 'life', that we encounter the life journey of others and from those encounters, some chance, some intended, we experience that which 'happens'.
Life happens.
Birth happens, growth happens, language happens, family relationships happen, community relationships happen, education happens, world events happen, economic events happen, and intimate relationships happen. On a more focused scale, love happens, anger happens, prejudice happens, hatred happens, division happens, unity happens, connectedness happens, teamwork happens, vision happens, dreams happen, and completeness happens. And, in the midst of all that happens in life are the accidents, the stumbles, the inadvertent words, the pain in the patooties, the recalcitrant children, the unheeding parents, the nosey neighbors, and the effects of all sorts of ongoing wars, both global and local.
Life happens.
Which is exactly where God meets us in Jesus Christ . . . where life happens. There is nothing inside or outside of your life beyond the presence of God. As life happens to you, God is with you in the happenings. God does not inflict you or test you or see how much of life's happenings you can stand . . . that is not the God we come to know in Jesus. God is with you in your leprosy, in your challenge, in your oppression, in your hope to lead, in your fall from grace, in your standing up and in lying down, in your betrayal, in your trial, and in your crucifixion. God is with you as life happens because, from the very beginning of time, God has wanted nothing more than to share the happenings of life with you - and when that happens, Life Really Happens. The tomb is empty. Death is defeated. All that this world can cause in your life to happen gives way to what God Happens.
Life happens. Have faith in the midst of it all, for the fullness of joy this world cannot see or know awaits those who dare to trust that God Happens Always. That is the Kingdom, that is Eternity, that is the truest of Love. God Happens Always. Always has. Always is. Always will be.
Allow your life to happen in God today.
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