Rainy Days & Mondays

This morning I made a bad decision. Rather than take my normal old-highway-back-route in to my downtown office, I chose the freeway. Bad choice. Very bad choice.

I never saw a wreck. Never saw a cop (other than the highway patrolman in the lane next to me. Remind me again why they get laptops in the car and we can’t so much as look at a cell phone?). Regardless, it was 8:22 am before I was anywhere near my downtown exit.

By that point, nerves shot and patience thin, I deserved a little luxury to sooth my anxiety. That meant being one of those annoying people who pulls into the most ridiculously located Starbucks ever. Normally, I’d be the person complaining about the line holding up traffic and preventing people from getting to work. Today, I was the enemy. But dammit, I deserved it!

Waiting in line and listening to my obligatory Dolly Parton (St. Dolly is known to soothe the soul), I noticed a man squeeze by my window in his SUV to get past the drive-thru lane. Assuming he was going to park and run in, I instead watched as he drove straight through to the exit. As I got closer to the bend in the drive-thru, I noticed that rather than leave, the man had parked his SUV on the other side of the dumpsters and was walking in his suit around muddy puddles and through wet grass. “Geesh!” I thought, “this guy really doesn’t want to get trapped in the parking lot while going to get his coffee.”

I mean, I pretty much never stop at Starbucks on a weekday morning. I only did it today because I needed it. I deserved it! But this guy – this guy probably doesn’t even know how to brew his own coffee. His time is too precious to get stuck in a Starbucks. He lives by different rules.

I glanced back through my rearview mirror to chart his beeline to his caffeinated beverage of choice, and that’s when I saw the big picture. A homeless man who I don’t know by name, by definitely recognized by presence, was sitting off in the grassy area, alone. Mr. Suit was continuing his trek through the grass and mud, headed straight toward his neighbor. His neighbor I hadn’t even noticed in my haste to get my reward for a shitty start to my week. (Late to a good job? That’s practically a tragedy! My life is so hard!) He stopped his morning, pulled off the road, found a quick spot to park, and took his nice suit for a trip through dirty, wet grass to take food to a neighbor and offer him a bit of conversation.

Now, that’s a reason to be late. That’s a way to start a week. Let’s go & do likewise.

modeling listening

"The Christian helper needs to realize that he or she is not only watching and promoting spiritual growth in the other, but necessarily also earnestly pursuing it in his or her own life. This is not only because we do God's work effectively in the measure that we are united to him, but also because we can hardly ask others to do what we will not take the trouble to do ourselves. Jesus never did. And any kind of helping is so largely a matter of modeling. One thinks of the words of Emerson: 'What you are thunders so loud I cannot hear what you are saying.' Yet even where our words are concerned, we affect others more sometimes by offhand or incidental remarks than we do by our most careful and concerned discourses. The quality of our offhand remarks is largely determined by the quality of our lives.”

~ Thomas N. Hart, The Art of Christian Listening

Confession: I Miss My Congregation Today

The process of letting go of what was Eikon is just that - a process. And some days it hits you unexpectedly, in seemingly innocent moments. I don't know what those moments have been for others, but I'm sure they have happened. This morning, it was prompted by glancing at an article on learning styles:

Chances are, there are tons of doodlers in your congregation. And wanderers, ponderers, frantic note takers and artists as well. People learn in drastically different ways, yet most church services are set up for auditory learners - those who learn by hearing.

At Eikon, not only did we honor different learning styles, we honored different teaching styles - from the graphic designers to the mystics to the academics - we all engaged one another from our paticular strengths and styles. My comfort zone (though I certainly used other styles, as well) was captured by my friend Don:

That's really all this post was for - to create a space to be vulnerable for a moment. To admit "I miss this," even while acknowledging "we made the decision we had to make as a community." I want to continue to hold that space, to allow others from the community to exist in that tension between looking back & moving forward, and to know they are not alone.

the mountaintop experience

Photo Credit: Paul Martin (via creative commons)

I realize the mountaintop experience is the quintessential stereotype of divine moments, but there's a reason for that. Just look at the view in this photo - breathtaking, awe-inspiring, deeply moving.

Here in central Arkansas we have a popular hiking hill called Pinnacle Mountain. It's a little over a mile from base to summit, roundtrip, which makes it easy to set aside a few hours one morning or afternoon to enjoy.

One could incorporate the prayer model from the labyrinth walking up the hill (releasing), sitting at the top and taking in the expanse (receiving), and walking back down (integrating). Plus, all those endorphins you'll release should aid in prolonging that feeling of union, of being anxious for nothing, of resting in God's peace.

Spring: part 5 ~ released

Photo Credit: St. Scholastica Monastery

(…continued from yesterday.)

Entering the labyrinth path, I proceeded at a slow and steady pace, one foot in front of the other, between smooth stones and crunching dried pine needles. I started by tapping each finger one at a time on my leg, repeating the name of the person whose initial was on that fingertip, presenting them before the father.

Pacing the rhythm to my steps, I returned to the first finger and continued winding patiently through the path as I recounted the words that were spoken, the wounds that were cut, the actions that were taken.

Surprisingly, there was no fear, no anxiousness, no sorrow. The bitterness, anger, wounds and pride, indeed, had no power over me. God is greater than my heart, and he knew I was ready.

I repeated each name again, slowly, methodically, melodiously. Then I recited the name of each person’s spouse and, because they are one flesh, I went back through my fingers naming the person and their spouse together.

Once everything was out there, I began to pray forgiveness over each name:
“Lord, I surrender this person to you.
I surrender my need to change what happened,
I surrender my desire to control their actions,
I receive the responsibility to press on toward the goal, to follow your path.”

I lifted each name some more and, as I approached the center, I began rubbing each initial off my fingertips until they were no longer visible. I entered the center of the labyrinth, and I knelt at the feet of the father. One by one, I laid yellow wildflowers I had been carrying in my right hand, one for each person, at his feet, as well. I stood and opened my arms to his spirit. I silently recited several times, “You will go out with joy and be led forth in peace, the mountains and hills will burst forth in song.”

I took my pen and, where I had removed the initials, I inscribed the word “LOOSE” across my fingertips, and drew an open heart on my palm. I circled back out of the labyrinth, reciting scripture and singing hymns of praise, realizing the power to forgive, the awe-inspiring responsibility of forgiveness, comes not from my knowing how to release control, but through leaning on the grace and strength of Christ, my savior.

In the few days that have followed that encounter, it is not as if all memories have been replaced by rainbows and butterflies, but I can sense a change in my spirit. I’m less lethargic, my creative juices are flowing, and I haven’t been late for work all week (hey, that's something). I believe our father longs to release us from the burdens we willingly heap upon ourselves, to bring us fully into the freedom of his presence. If God created us, he knows our faults and our fears, and he formed our innermost being. As the psalmist says, he has searched our hearts, he knows us inside and out, we are fearfully and wonderfully made, wonderful works of his hands.

God knows our anxious thoughts, and yet he calls us to be anxious for nothing, to seek him first and trust him to take care of the rest.

Let us commit our spirits into his hands, whether they are spirits of condemnation, fear, or anxiety. Let us allow him to mold and transform them into spirits of joy, peace and grace. May we learn to forgive as we have been forgiven. May we learn to extend grace as we have received grace. May we grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord.

Spring: part 4 ~ initiated

Photo Credit: St. Scholastica Monastery

I wasn’t the one who did wrong.

I was hurt deeply, you see, so I deserved to feel this way.

And I planned to forgive them, but I didn’t know how. One and maybe I could have handled it. But not when each person’s injury was piled on top of the injuries that had come before. I’m not that strong.

I had books on my shelves that held pieces to the puzzle of forgiving, but I wasn’t quite ready to read them, certainly not to apply them. It wasn’t just the pain, it was the life changes I was forced to make because of each decision, each infliction, that was beyond my control.

But the Lord, he is a tricky thing.

I signed up for the prayer retreat because I love prayer. I love the conversation with my God. I love abiding in his presence, and listening and sharing. And I especially enjoy opportunities to get away to places of beauty and quiet, where I am free to give God my undivided attention.

Arriving at the retreat center, I was filled with joy. Entering the first session, I was filled with calm.

And then the invitation, to go around the room, to make introduction, and to answer the questions: Why are you here? What question will you take to God as you walk the labyrinth? What are you hoping to hear from him? What are you hoping to release?

Like a mother who has taken her child to the doctor on promise of ice cream (Oh, sure. There will be ice cream. But first, let’s go ahead and get these shots out of the way…), the element of surprise, no time to get anxious, just a quick pinch and then all will be well. And I’ll be here with you, holding your hand.

“It’s time,” God said.

“I know,” I replied.

And I did know, because the anxiousness was gone and his peace was present. Why was I there? What did I have to release? My firm grasp on a spirit of condemnation. I wanted to forgive, and I wanted to give up my need to control. I wanted to allow Christ to heal my hurt.

I really should have seen it coming. If I had brought my laptop, I could have looked back at the posts of the previous week and seen that God was leading me to this point. It’s not that I didn’t think I would get to a place of forgiveness, but I figured it would be down the road, after I had figured it all out and knew all the right words, and had sufficiently fortified myself against future attacks. In other words, I would forgive once I had regained control.

Saturday afternoon, after spending the morning reading scripture and resting, I wrote “loose” on my left wrist in thick black ink, for that was my intention. On each finger of my left hand, I inscribed the initial of someone whose debts I needed to forgive, whose actions I needed to release, whose sins I needed to loose. I approached the labyrinth, but I dared not enter. It wasn’t that I thought it was going to be a magical walk, but I knew it would be a powerful one. The path was designed so that I could simply follow, as I conversed with the creator of the universe. No big deal, right?

I circled once around the perimeter of the path, repeating “Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven; whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”

And again, repeating “Whosoever you forgive, their sins will be forgiven; whosoever you do not forgive, their sins will not be forgiven.”

A third time, “Forgive, as you have been forgiven.“

Then, because I still did not feel ready (and because I had made reference to the film The Labyrinth the previous day), I circled, repeating to the evil one “You. Have. No. Power. Over. Me.”

And to his fruit, I proclaimed (circling once for each):
“Bitterness has no power over me.”
“Anger has no power over me.”
“My wounds have no power over me.”
“Pride has no power over me.”

The last circle before entering the labyrinth walk was “God is greater than my heart, and he knows everything.”

He knows how I was hurt. He also knows what was going on in the hearts and lives of those I have been unable to forgive. He knows how he will redeem every person and every situation.

I stood at the entrance to the path, took a deep breath, said a prayer for peace and began my pilgrimage.

(to be continued tomorrow…)

Reconcilable Differences

on Binding and Loosing from John Howard Yoder's Body Politics:

Moral discernment and forgiveness condition and enable one another in complex ways. Admonition presupposes prior discernment; otherwise the criteria for admonition would not be common to both parties. Conversation with reconciling intent is the most powerful way for a community to discover when the rules they have been applying are inadequate, so that they may be modified. Asking whether there has really been an offense helps determine which differences need to be resolved by coming to unanimity by means of dialogue and forgiveness and which call for an agreement to differ. Having experienced forgiveness together enables a community to deliberate in an otherwise inacessible mode of mutual trust...

Taking seriously this apostolic witness would seem to put us at the mercy of a number of ecclesiastical scarecrows. It gives more authority to the church than does Rome, trusts more to the Holy Spirit than does Pentecostalism, has more respect for the individual than does liberal humanism, makes moral standards more binding than did Puritanism, and is more open to the new situation than was what some called "the new morality" a quarter-century ago. If practiced, it would radically restructure the life of churches...

...We have here a fundamental anthropological insight into the relationship of conflict and solidarity. To be human is to have differences; to be human wholesomely is to process those differences, not by building up conflicting power claims but by reconciling dialogue. Conflict is socially useful; it forces us to attend to new data from new perspectives. It is useful in interpersonal process; by processing conflict, one learns skills, awareness, trust, and hope. Conflict is useful in intrapersonal dynamics, protecting our concern about guilt and acceptance from being directed inwardly only on our own feelings. The therapy for guilt is forgiveness; the source of self-esteem is another person who takes seriously my restoration to community.

The Christian community has thereby been endowed with the wherewithal for ongoing moral discernment in the face of questions which could not conceivably have been answered substantially ahead of time. Just as a wisely written constitution for an institution or government provides procedures for amendment and for decision making rather than immutable prescriptions, so the Christian community is equipped not with a code but with decision-making potential.

Dare to be a sinner.

on Confession and Communion, from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Life Together:

But it is the grace of the Gospel, which is so hard for the pious to understand, that it confronts us with the truth and says: You are a sinner, a great desperate sinner; now come, as the sinner that you are, to God who loves you. He wants you as you are; He does not want anything from you, a sacrifice, a work; He wants you alone. "My son, give me thine heart" (Prov. 23:26). God has come to you to save the sinner. Be glad! This message is liberation through truth. You can hide nothing from God. The mask you wear before men will do you no good before Him. He wants to see you as you are, He wants to be gracious to you. You do not have to go on lying to yourself and your brothers, as if you were without sin; you can dare to be a sinner. Thank God for that; He loves the sinner but He hates sin.

Christ became our Brother in the flesh in order that we might believe in him. In him the love of God came to the sinner. Through him men could be sinners and only so could they be helped. All sham was ended in the presence of Christ. The misery of the sinner and the mercy of God - this was the truth of the Gospel in Jesus Christ. It was in this truth that his Church was to live. Therefore, he gave his followers the authority to hear the confession of sin and to forgive sin in his name. "Whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained" (John 20:23).

When he did that Christ made the Church, and in it our brother, a blessing to us. Now our brother stands in Christ's stead. Before him I need no longer dissemble. Before him alone in the whole world I dare to be the sinner that I am; here the truth of Jesus Christ and his mercy rules. Christ became our Brother in order to help us. Through him our brother has become Christ for us in the power and authority of the commission Christ has given to him. Our brother stands before us as the sign of the truth and the grace of God. He has been given to us to help us. He hears the confession of our sins in Christ's stead and he forgives our sins in Christ's name. He keeps the secret of our confession as God keeps it. Whe I go to my brother to confess, I am going to God.

So in the Christian community when the call to brotherly confession and forgiveness goes forth it is a call to the great grace of God in the Church.

Slow to Speak, Quick to Listen

on The Ministry of Listening, from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Life Together:

The first service that one owes to others in the fellowship consists in listening to them. Just as love to God begins with listening to His Word, so the beginning of love for the brethren is learning to listen to them. It is God’s love for us that He not only gives us His Word but also lends us His ear. So it is His work that we do for our brother when we learn to listen to him. Christians, especially ministers, so often think they must always contribute something when they are in the company of others, that this is the one service they have to render. They forget that listening can be a greater service than speaking.

Many people are looking for an ear that will listen. They do not find it among Christians, because Christians are talking when they should be listening. But he who can no longer listen to his brother will soon be no longer listening to God either; he will be doing nothing but prattle in the presence of God too. This is the beginning of the death of the spiritual life, and in the end there is nothing left but spiritual chatter and clerical condescension arrayed in pious words. One who cannot listen long and patiently will presently be talking beside the point and never really speaking to others, albeit he be not conscious of it. Anyone who thinks that his time is too valuable to spend keeping quiet will eventually have no time for God and his brother, but only for himself and his own follies.

Brotherly pastoral care is essentially distinguished from preaching by the fact that, added to the task of speaking the Word, there is the obligation of listening. There is a kind of listening with half an ear that presumes already to know what the other person has to say. It is an impatient, inattentive listening, that despises the brother and is only waiting for a chance to speak and thus get rid of the other person. This is no fulfillment of our obligation, and it is certain that here too our attitude toward our brother only reflects our relationship to God. It is little wonder that we are no longer capable of the greatest service of listening that God has committed to us, that of hearing our brother’s confession, if we refuse to give ear to our brother on lesser subjects.

Where are you?

I ask a lot of questions.

I ask them of myself, I ask them of others, and I ask them of God.

My questions are often confusing, and lengthy, and still in the process of figuring out what it is I really want to know in the first place.

I don’t think God minds my questions, because he seems to like them, too.

Jesus asked lots of leading questions, often about the crazy parables he told, knowing no one had a clue what he was talking about.

God’s not quite so cryptic.

God’s questions seem to be pretty simplistic and straight forward, which is kind of annoying, because you know he totally already knows the answer.

I think he asks the questions just to see what kind of whacky answer the human will respond with, and I think he gets a good laugh.

Oh sure, sometimes he may appear stern, but I think like any parent who is listening to his child trying to explain away a situation, digging deeper into a hole, God has to turn his head a bit to the side to suppress his uncontrollable chuckle.

Take Adam and Eve. They’re in the garden, communing with God, everything’s kosher. Cue the snake, Eve eats the fruit, politely shares it with Adam, boom they’re naked. Ok, so they were already naked, but now they know they’re naked. And they’re not just naked anymore… they’re nekkid! They start covering themselves up with leaves, hear God coming, and hide behind some trees.

God asks, “Where are you?”

Like. He. Didn’t. Know.

It’s like the parent playing hide-and-seek, whose child is lying under the coffee table with her feet sticking out the end, completely exposed. Yet, for the sake of the game, the parent continues wandering around the house, being sure to avoid the area directly surrounding the coffee table, calling out “Where are you?”

But here’s the thing for me, God could have ended it all right there. I mean, they ate the fruit, this is not going to be pretty. Like a writer whose story is going nowhere, he could have balled up the paper and tossed the draft into the waste bin. He could have called a do-over.

But he humored them. He played their little game. “Where are you?”

If God wasn’t the least bit surprised by Adam and Eve’s actions, if he didn’t scrap the whole project and go back to the drawing board, why are we so afraid to come before him honestly, just as we are?

Adam and Eve did not like everything God had to say to them, he didn’t just pat them on the head and let them off with a warning. Their actions had consequences. But life went on, and God did not leave them to face it alone. He loved them. He created them. He longed to be with them.

God loves you.

God created you.

God longs to be with you.

If you have to hide behind a tree and some fig leaves to be able to talk with him, ok – he’ll humor you.

But feel free to come before him just as you are. He already sees you, he already knows you, he already loves you.

“The great weakness in the North American church at large, and certainly in my life, is our refusal to accept our brokenness. We hide it, evade it, gloss over it. We grab for the cosmetic kit and put on our virtuous face to make ourselves admirable to the public. Thus, we present to others a self that is spiritually together, superficially happy, and lacquered with a sense of self-deprecating humor that passes for humility. The irony is that while I do not want anyone to know that I am judgmental, lazy, vulnerable, screwed up, and afraid, for fear of losing face, the face that I fear losing is the mask of the impostor, not my own!” ~ Brennan Manning, Ruthless Trust

Trip on Grace

I expected to respond to Ash Wednesday with a solemn, sullen post.

In spite of myself, or perhaps true to form, what I ended up with was a meditation built on three spunky songs that may or may not put one in a penitent mood.

One reason that writing is such an essential part of my spiritual journey is it helps me gather and process all the jumbled bits of sight and sound that get soaked up and stored in my soul. I am often like a peddler, with seemingly useless information as my wares, who doesn’t even know what’s in her pack until it falls out at an unexpected moment. Friends and family notice this most often when a random word or phrase uttered causes me to break into (a slightly out-of-tune) song that has been called forth from my memory.

I hear a lot of things, but I don’t always listen well.

Through the process of writing, I take the time to sit down and sort through my ragged bag of trinkets and tokens gathered from an assortment of mundane places. Sometimes I may just sift through the pile, polish some tarnish off a few items, and stuff it all back in the sack. Other times, an article catches my eye and holds my attention, and as I’m paying attention to what I found, I start gazing through the collection and noticing objects that compliment the one I’m holding in my hands. A pile of junk starts to reveal itself as a beautiful assemblage of interrelated treasures.

Writing trains me to listen deeply.

As I learn to listen, as my senses become more attentive to the world around me, I am more open to recognizing and receiving patterns of truth and beauty that are woven through the songs I hear, the words I read, the sights I observe, the friends and teachers I encounter. Margaret Feinberg refers to these as God Whispers and Sacred Echoes. (Lorelai Gilmore refers to them as a wild jungle full of scary gibberish.)

So, I thought of Ash Wednesday.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

All fall down. That's the first song I ever heard from Sarah Masen, who has long been one of my favorite songwriters:



Trip on grace.

That's a lovely phrase.

It requires a great amount of trust, a release of control, for one to trip on grace, to embrace and dive into sweet communion.

Trip on love… that was a good song:



When you feel too much, do you start to panic?

Accepting love requires us to expose ourselves to the possibility of loss.

Grace and love.

Oh, to understand how loved we truly are.

You. Are. Loved.



You. Are. Really. Loved.

Entering into the reflection and repentance of the Lenten season requires the humility to admit your brokenness, but also, and perhaps more importantly, the vulnerability to accept that you are loved in spite of how you may feel, in spite of what you may have done, in spite of who other people are saying you are.

You can be fully honest with God because you are fully loved by God.

You were created out of God’s love. You are sustained through God’s love. You will be redeemed through God’s love.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, love to love.

God’s kingdom has come near to us through his son and through his spirit. May we turn toward that truth, may we believe it, may we live and move and have our being within it.