Retreat at Harbor

This past weekend I was at Covenant Harbor Bible Camp, in Lake Geneva. 8 other women from church and I attended the annual Womens Retreat. The weekend was fantastic. Great. And a superb speaker, even if I am a bit biased. Karen Hinz, one of my good friends, was the speaker, and did a phenomenal job at speaking to the issue of waiting… waiting on God… waiting with God… waiting with others… God waiting with us…. Way to go, Kar.

Sunday morning I walked outside before breakfast, to take a few photos, and I took this one. Of course, I love to be at Harbor, because of having worked there for two summers, but it is a gorgeous location.

Ashes, ashes… we all fall down

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Some years I embrace Lent, because I’m feeling solemn enough and ready for the rest of the world to engage such solemness.. (not the purpose of Lent, I realize.) And I like ashes on my forehead. I like to reflect on how Christ is challenging me to change. To follow him. And some years I am so not ready for Lent, because I feel “Lented” out. Lent has not felt like a liturgical season in my life as much as a pattern for many years. Somber, sadness, darkness, dust to dust, ashes… enough. I’m ready for a year of Easters. Of rejoicing because of Good News.

This year it’s a bit of both. I’m embracing Lent, ready for its challenge. I want to realign my priorities, and Lent seems to be a natural place to make time for that process. I’m excited and feeling spiritually challenged by the Photo Group this Lent. We are reflecting–through photography–on the Gospel lessons from the lectionary each week. (So starting today through Saturday, my photos will be my photographic reflections of the Ash Wednesday text. Then starting Sunday, the text for the first week in Lent.) I like the Lent Prayer site I found a couple of years ago, and am eager to visit it everyday. There are many reasons I embrace this season this year.

But I’m also feeling a bit Lented out. I feel as though we have all fallen down so much lately, that we are merely ashes, and we are stuck on the ground. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down… that familiar phrase from “Ring around the rosy” runs through my head each Lent.  And this year, though I have much to celebrate (i.e. Kajsa!), I’m wrestling with  much as well: the friend/parishioner who is still in ICU after a skating accident; others who are sick; the loss of some dreams this year; God’s purposes/plan for my infertile/single/job-frustrated friends, and some broken relationships.

I’m Lented out. I’ve lived it enough. Or so I feel and think. My loved ones have lived it enough. Enough, God, enough! How long? And yet, I have to remind myself that Lent isn’t about me–at least not in that way. Lent is about traveling to the cross with Jesus… and Christ’s sacrifice for us.

I used the “Ring around the rosy” phrase several years ago in an Ash Wednesday sermon. One of the things that stuck with me (and my own sermons do not always stick with me!) was that we tend to get back up… Ashes, ashes, we all fall down! But then as children playing this game, we get back up and start again. That’s what I’m hoping to do this Lent. Get back up and start again. Start up my efforts at being more faithful to God. The God I don’t always understand. The God I cry out to in anger. The God I lean on when I need strength. Get back up when I feel down, like dust-with-no-theological purpose…. and work again at realigning my priorities. Get back up and try to be faithful to the God who does provide me with countless blessings, even in the most dark Lenten seasons.

I’m looking forward to tonight’s ashes. I need that reminder of who I am. And I love reflecting on that in the context of a worship service with beautiful music and visual elements. But tomorrow I need to get back up, as a reminder of who God has called me to be.

Blessed Ash Wednesday…. and all of Lent.

Give it up for Lent

I don’t often give something up for Lent. Sometimes. But usually I take something on–more prayer, Bible reading, exercise… last year I did the photo a day exercise. This year I’m doing the photo a day exercise again, along with other friends. But I’m also considering some other options, to help me focus more on God, and less on problems.

So, as a fun distraction from thinking about tomorrow’s impending exercise, I thought I’d look up what other people are giving up or taking on for Lent. And here are some of the things I found online:

What some people are taking on: go to church every Sunday, saying the rosary every night, detaching from “distractions”, pay the 25 cent bridge toll for the person in line behind me, stay calm & freak out less, spend an extra half hour each day in prayer, head back to church, smile at a stranger everyday, and work out.

What some people are giving up: DISH TV, ice-cream, sarcasm, buttered popcorn & lemonade, cursing, being lazy, Facebook or MySpace, hope, beer, spending money on anything “luxurious”, sweets, soft drinks, coffee, hopefully 10 pounds, TV watching, cigarettes, butter, Facebook & political news, pretzels potatoes & pasta, writing about politics, screens (TV screens, computer screens phone screens, etc…) and sugar in coffee.

How about you? Are you giving something up? Or taking something on? Or doing anything to help you focus on God this Lent?

Bruised reed… not broken, supposedly

Years ago, when Jim and I were first beginning our attempts to get pregnant, I began seeing a Spiritual Director. It was overall a powerful, healing, renewing experience. But at that first meeting with her, I was so full of hope. Things were beginning to be difficult in the church, I was struggling with fibromyalgia and fatigue and everything that accompanies FMS… but I was excited to begin trying for a baby, which would, naturally, come quickly.

Ha.

At that same meeting, my then-Spiritual Director told me God had given her a verse for me: Isaiah 42:3. “A bruised reed he will not break…” I liked that. I liked the verse, I liked the hope it represented at that time, I liked the fact that my SD had felt God had given her that verse for me. That it represented God’s activity and presence in my life, and I should hold on to that as a promise.

I’m thinking there must be another verse for me at this point. Because every time I hear that verse, I flinch. I am so bruised it’s not funny. I have always bruised easily–physically and emotionally. Now spiritually as well. But that’s ok. That’s life. However… now, 6 years after that verse first came to my attention as one for me, that verse only serves to represent how wrong I was to hope.

I know, I know… I have many things to give thanks for, many relationships that sustain and renew me, many situations for which I am eternally grateful. I’m not so self-centered (at least I don’t think so) as to think that just because God hasn’t given me all the desires of my heart, that God is not present. Nor do I think-now-that because my SD said this verse was for me, that God was promising to never let me be broken. But I kind of thought that at the time. Naive? Yes. Too optimistic? Probably. Still, it’s a bit ridiculous…

So maybe I’m not as broken as I think I am, and maybe I’m just extremely bruised, bent, bumped, bewildered, battered, bedraggled, betrayed, b-b-b- yep, I still think the word is broken.

This all came up for me because last week’s bulletin cover at our church featured this verse, Isaiah 42:3. And I simply wanted to cry. I wanted to–and still want to–cry for the brokenness that has happened. The broken friends, who are tired of being bruised and beaten by life… for the broken systems that contribute to our brokenness. (and sometimes cause it). For the brokenness that is all around.

I might be going to hell…

if the phrase, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions” is true. Thankfully, though it may be partially true, I realize there’s more to it than that. But, just for a split second today, I realized that my “good intentions” list has been growing and growing… and my actual productivity level has not been growing in proportion. So, here are some of the many things I fully intended to do this week or last week or last month or even today:

send a Thanksgiving letter

write a Thanksgiving letter

catch up on work I’m behind on (church work)

reply to all those emails that came in that I’ve forgotten about, yet need a response

send a Christmas letter

write a Christmas letter

send Christmas gifts to friends and family

buy Christmas gifts for friends and family

post today’s Advent photo before noon

take today’s Advent photo before noon

respond to hard words rather than react

go to bed earlier than 12:30 am

walk the dogs today

forgive someone hard to forgive

ask for forgiveness

write a letter of appreciation for someone who is leaving his position

clean the house

move the home office downstairs

organize my winter clothes

start our child’s nursery

call friends and family

start sermon early

finish my list of “necessary phone calls” yesterday

Advent devotions today

call youth to see how they’re doing

read a book

read several books

play in the snow with the dogs

blog several times in the past week

read the newspaper

play the geography games online that help me learn world geography

check our adoption paperwork to see if it’s all good (might need to be fingerprinted again… joy)

call my Mom

spend less time on the computer

exercise

do my laundry

clean my church office

finish my Guatemala ‘06 scrapbook

and many many more things….

ah, well… such is life. Good intentions are great, but now I need to work on some of these items. Thank goodness–no, thank God–for grace.

Stumps and Hope

“A shoot shall come out of the stump of Jesse…and a branch shall grow out of his roots.” This is the first verse of Isaiah 11. The first verse in the Old Testament lesson for this coming Sunday. The verse that promises hope, where there seems to be none. I can visualize this verse because I have seen life growing out of stumps in the ground: literally. I think I have also seen it figuratively, though not so much recently.

I want to see it. I want to hope. I want to let go of my cynicism and doubts, and cling to hope. It’s hard, but that doesn’t mean impossible.

So today I try to hope. I hope that we will have a child. I hope for reconciliation in strained relationships. I hope that my single friends find spouses. These are selfish hopes, I realize. Of course I also hope for peace in the world, an end to poverty, racism, sexism, abuse, corruption, etc. But today, I am hoping for the things close to home that are on my mind and heart.

And, I hope that today, and this season, I continue to seek the One who brings hope: Jesus Christ, the shoot that came out of the stump of Jesse.

Advent Guilt

I have it every year: Advent guilt. Guilt that I didn’t get my Advent candles and wreath set up… (I know, I still have time); guilt that I’m more excited about my house being decorated and my 1500 white Christmas tree lights than I am about preparing for this Sunday’s sermon; guilt that I love having the secular part of the Christmas season despite efforts to focus, focus, focus.. on the real reason for the season. I’m a pastor-shouldn’t a desire for Advent and all its’ true meanings come naturally?

It’s not that simple, I’ve discovered. Fortunately I have never been one of those people who thinks that by becoming a pastor (I’m an MK=Missionary Kid and a PK=Pastor’s Kid…I know better) this Advent desire comes naturally. But I still hope that each year will be different for me. It’s not that I don’t have joy for the coming of Christ. It’s not that I don’t feel overwhelming gratitude for Christ’s birth and entrance into our world as human flesh-yet-divine…. It’s simply that I like the Christmas celebrations. And, it’s not-so-simply that I am still waiting for the hopes and dreams of my life to be fulfilled. Some of them.

So this Advent, I’m going to try and not add to the pressure of the season… I’m going to try and focus on Christ’s first coming. I’m going to enjoy the Christmas season that I love so much, while also taking time each day to center my heart on Christ Jesus. Jesus the babe in the manger, Jesus the one who calls for change of heart, Jesus the Savior.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

“Zacchaeus, I used to like you!”

I’ve always liked Zacchaeus—until today. I think I would still like him, had I not been asked, by an online prayer site, to think how I would feel if I were in the crowd, and had been one of those angered at Zacchaeus for his unethical tax practices. Apparently, I have identified with Zacchaeus in the past, and not with the crowd: I have loved this passage because it speaks to the love, grace and forgiveness that happens only through Jesus Christ. I have been grateful for that love, grace and forgiveness, and wanted to give that to others. I’ve probably preached on this text, or read devotionals, and commentaries… and encouraged others to respond in love and forgiveness.

Yet today, I’m part of the crowd. I’m angry, and grumbling at the Zacchaeus’ in my life, who knowingly mistreat me and those I love. And, I’m kind of mad at Jesus, too, for going to Zacchaeus’ house—doesn’t Jesus want to hear my story first? Don’t I get to tell Zacchaeus what I think of him and his tax practices?

But we aren’t the judges of that, either. I am not saying that we need to automatically release Zacchaeus from responsibility, and go on as if nothing happened. Proper and just procedures need to happen to hold people accountable. But I am saying that whether the Zacchaeus’ in our lives have a turn of heart or not, we are called to forgive. (not necessarily trust again, but forgive) I am called to forgive, and to let go of the grumbling long enough to see Zacchaeus through Jesus’ eyes.

I should say that I still like Zacchaeus—after all, I have been Zacchaeus to many other people over the years. But today, I feel like I’m in the crowd. Help me, Lord, to see the Zacchaeus’ of life through your eyes. Help me to forgive. And help me to remember that you have also forgiven me.

“The Apostle”

Last night our M&M small group watched the movie “The Apostle.” Great movie, in my opinion. Though it’s been on my list of movies to see since released 10 years ago, I had not seen it until last night. From what I had heard, I didn’t think I would like it this much: Robert Duvall’s character felt called by the Lord to be an apostle… yet was also obviously a sinner. Yes, the movie is full of contradictions. As I had heard, Robert Duvall’s character (Sonny/E.F.) felt called by God, and yet was obviously a sinner… As the movie progressed, I didn’t want to like Sonny. But I did. He was enormously complex, loved people, a little too human for comfort, sometimes a jerk… and yet real.

Sound familiar? Aren’t we all enormously complex? Human… sometimes jerks… (some of us more than others, maybe.).. and yet real. Maybe that’s why I liked the main character so much. I’m a little too real at times. I mess up, I can’t always keep quiet when I should , I try–I genuinely try–to behave, to do better… and I still fall into similar human sinful patterns. And yet, like Sonny, I also care about people, and my heart’s usually in the right place.

Usually. But even when my heart’s in the right place, my actions still trip me up. And so I am grateful for God’s grace. Grace…. so undeserved, in the “Apsotle”, in Cathy, in those around me… so undeserved, and yet freely given.

Thanks be to God.

The Enigmatic God

My friend Dan posted this quote by Robert W. Jenson on his blog over a month ago, and I am just now responding. (Sorry, Dan!) It’s quite the quote. Deep, and challenging. It’s about—in my opinion—God’s presence, revelation, love, and majesty. It speaks to the reality that though God is always present to God’s people, God is also difficult for us to see, to touch, to feel, to know… and to understand. So much about this God we don’t understand. For example, we don’t understand how, if God foreknows all things and wills all things, how bad things can still happen…

A-ha.. my issue. Mine, and that of many others. God is, as Jenson says in the quote, an impenetrable enigma. God both loves us and allows horrible things to happen. “The only real God is the God within whose will all things occur.” Jenson writes. All things. Good and bad. And the things that we think are bad, but God, in his all-knowing majesty might think isn’t quite so bad. I don’t know. I’m not so sure. But Jenson continues, writing that given that this is “the only real God…”, God is a moral enigma. Not only an impenetrable, but a moral enigma. Absolutely. How can a just and loving God be so seemingly mean?

And yet I believe in this God. This moral enigma, this impenetrable enigma.. this constant enigma of a God who loves his people, including me. This strange God who is both hidden and revealed. Sometimes I feel as though God is so distant that there’s a better chance of me traveling at the speed of light than God revealing himself to me. And at other times I recognize him in moments throughout the day. I like those days.

I pray for more of those days, when though God remains an enigma, I am able to focus on God’s majesty, love, and desire to reveal himself to the world.