Or you can contact me me through the staff pages at http://stpaulshouston.org/ by clicking on http://stpaulshouston.org/form/online_form.aspx?formid=37
I hope you'll join me!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Friday, March 8, 2013
WE HAVE MOVED!
Or you can contact me me through the staff pages at http://stpaulshouston.org/ by clicking on http://stpaulshouston.org/form/online_form.aspx?formid=37
I hope you'll join me!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Station VI: No Longer Hidden
43Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years; and though she had spent all she had on physicians, no one could cure her. 44She came up behind him and touched the fringe of his clothes, and immediately her hemorrhage stopped. 45Then Jesus asked, “Who touched me?” When all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the crowds surround you and press in on you.” 46But Jesus said, “Someone touched me; for I noticed that power had gone out from me.” 47When the woman saw that she could not remain hidden, she came trembling; and falling down before him, she declared in the presence of all the people why she had touched him, and how she had been immediately healed. 48He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.”
The sixth station of the Stations of the Cross, named Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus, does not come directly from Scripture but rather from the hearts and the traditions of the early European Christians. Tradition holds that Jesus healed a young woman named Veronica in his early ministry and as a sign of her deep and abiding gratitude for him, she accompanied him to the place of his execution. When she wiped his sweating face along this walk, the imprint of his face supposedly remained on the cloth. Eusebius, in his Historia Ecclesiastica, tells how at Caesarea Philippi lived the woman who Jesus healed of the blood disorder. In the West, she was identified as Martha of Bethany; in the East, she was called Berenike, or Beronike, the name appearing in the Acts of Pilate. The derivation of the name Veronica comes from the words "Vera Icon", or "true image".
This man had shown her great compassion when she thought there was none. The bleeding had started and had never stopped. And so, always, she was deemed unclean and, therefore, unacceptable, untouchable, shunned. This was a last effort to claim her life, to become a person of value and worth again in a society that so carefully laid out who was acceptable and who was not. She had, carefully, made her way through the crowds that day avoiding the stares and recoils that others held for her. And then she touched him. It was only a touch but she could feel something. She cowered back into the crowd trying to hide. But he saw her, compelling her forward and her life was never the same again.
And so on this day, she could not just hide out in the crowd. He needed someone--companionship, mercy, compassion. She didn't care what she was risking. After all, this is the one who had given her her life. She could do this one thing. And when she wiped his face, she felt that same burst of power that she had felt before, a life-giving, life-awakening power. And she was left with the image of Christ.
Whether we take this literally or not, whether we believe that she was healed or that Christ's imprint adhered to a cloth, is not the point. You see, each of us was made in the image of God. We are not destined to BE God but to be an image, a reflection of the Godself into the world and into the lives of each and every one that we meet. And when we show compassion, when we show mercy, when we step forward and show love to those who need it the most, the imprint of that image DOES stay with us. We become a reflection of the Christ, an image of the God who gave us life and calls us to show it to the world. And as Jesus walked toward death, the image of the Christ remained, no longer hidden, on the one who reached out to one in need. Reaching out to others does not mean that we are Christ; it means that we are human, fully human, the way Christ showed us to be.
So in this season of darkness and shadows, remain no longer hidden but step forward into this Walk of Christ and help someone in need. And the imprint of Christ, the image of the very Godself, will stay with you always.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
And just a note...I am in the process of transferring this blog to http://dancingtogod.com. I'm currently posting in both places but within a couple of days, I hope to be completely moved. So, click on the link to the new location to follow this blog.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Manna Lessons
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| The Gathering of Manna Bernardino Luini, c. 1520 |
9The Lord said to Joshua, “Today I have rolled away from you the disgrace of Egypt.” And so that place is called Gilgal to this day. 10While the Israelites were camped in Gilgal they kept the passover in the evening on the fourteenth day of the month in the plains of Jericho.11On the day after the passover, on that very day, they ate the produce of the land, unleavened cakes and parched grain.12The manna ceased on the day they ate the produce of the land, and the Israelites no longer had manna; they ate the crops of the land of Canaan that year.
That experience in Egypt was still hanging around, a past that you just can't shake, that haunts your dreams and gets in the way of moving forward. If was hard, hard to live within someone else's culture, to live with what is important to someone else, to give up who you were and, more than that, to give up who you were becoming. Hope had all but died. And then God opens a door and you can literally taste freedom just over the horizon. But the horizon was far away. And on the way was danger, and hunger, and thirst. And then manna appears.
It was a mysterious little plant, appearing each day so that they could eat their fill and then disappearing just as quickly. You couldn't hold on to it, couldn't save it, couldn't pack it away for safekeeping. It was downright elusive. But maybe that's what hope is all about. Maybe hope is like that, appearing when we need it and then disappearing when we try to hold onto it. Maybe hope dies when we hold it too long and try to make it something that it is not. Maybe hope requires that we keep moving.
But now, God has rolled Egypt away. We have to let the pain go. We need to remember, yes, because it is part of us and we need to make sure that it doesn't happen again--to anyone. But we have to forgive and let go of the disgrace. God has rolled that away. And here at Gilgal, meaning "rolling away", that all comes true. On this day, we have eaten of the land. This beautiful land with disgrace rolled away has provided for us. And the manna is only a memory. Maybe it was there to teach us to only take what we need, to teach us to let go, to teach us to hope, to teach us to keep moving. It is good lesson to carry into this land. I am no longer looking for manna. God has now invited me to participate in what God provides. This land can feed us all.
So, as you continue on your Lenten journey, think about those things that you still hold, those things that you need to let go. Learn to take what God offers; learn to let go; learn to hope, learn to keep moving. Learn to not miss what God has provided because you're looking for manna.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Sunday, March 3, 2013
The Season of Unpreparation
7He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits.8He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts;9but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.10He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place.11If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.”12So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent.
What do you mean we're not supposed to take anything with us? This journey is hard. There might be danger along the way. We have to be prepared. Admit it. That's what we all think. After all, this journey to the cross is hard. We're not even halfway there--just sixteen days or so--and we've already encountered more than we really thought we could handle. And now we're told to go out there virtually unprepared for what will come next.
Maybe that's our problem. Maybe we mistake this Lenten journey as a time of preparing us for the Cross when, actually, we're being called to unprepare ourselves, to put it all aside and encounter the raw roughness of the road itself. This season is not a season of preparation but, rather, a season to shake the dust off, to clear our minds of any baggage that we have brought to this place, and to leave empty-handed, open, ready to receive.
It's not something that we do well, this letting go, this allowing ourself to appear vulnerable, out of control, and unprepared. I mean, we know that we have to walk this walk. We know what's coming. We know what we have to go through. And so we don some sort of cross-cut suit of armor to protect us, to make it just a little bit easier. But think what Jesus did at the beginning of this journey. He went into the desert, unprepared, taking nothing. He did encounter danger--the danger of his own needs, his own desires, his own vision of what his life could hold. What he encountered was himself. And then he shook off the dust and left, returning to the road itself. St. Catherine of Sienna once said that "all the way to God is God."
This road to the Cross IS the road to which we are called. It is the Way of God. The challenge for us in this season is not to prepare ourselves for what is to come, but to clear the way.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Station V: Anonymous Bystander
They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from the country, to carry his cross; it was Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus. 22Then they brought Jesus* to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). 23And they offered him wine mixed with myrrh; but he did not take it. 24And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take.
We know the town from where he came--Cyrene, an ancient Greek colony that became a Roman colony near modern-day Shahhat, Libya. We know that he was a father of two sons. Beyond that, this man Simon is essentially an anonymous bystander. We don't know why he was there at all. Had he intended to come and bring his sons to this gory event or had they planned to visit Jerusalem, perhaps steep themselves in history and a little shopping, without realizing what this day would bring? We don't know what about him prompted the guards to literally pluck him out of the crowd. All we know is that this man lives in history as the one, the only one, who helped Jesus carry his cross to Golgotha.
The Scriptures do not say that he responded in any way other than to do it. It is interesting that in all those years upon years of God's calls being met with "no, not me, please not me" that this anonymous man about whom we know little would be the one to do this. So God calls a scared, young, no-name peasant girl to bring Jesus into the world and a foreign, probably dark-skinned, anonymous bystander to carry him out. Isn't that just like God? Here, just before the end, God slips one more Divine reversal in.
You know, Simon had to be afraid. Good grief. Here he was in the middle of the processional to a crucifixion! What if they killed him too? What would happen to his sons? His family was miles away. How would they even know what had happened to him? And, yet, he didn't seem to question his role. He put his hand on Jesus' shoulder as if to say, "I'm here." Then he leaned down and picked up the heavy cross, being careful to place his hands rather than running them down the splintering wood. And then they began to walk--Jesus and this man, this dark-skinned anonymous man who Jesus had never met, this child of God, this new disciple, this one who without hesitation carried the cross of his Savior. He would go through the gates and up the hill, touching the edge between life and death.
But, again, I have to ask, where were those disciples? Where were those who Jesus had called, who Jesus had groomed, who had been part of Jesus' ministry, who had been Jesus' friends? Why was it THIS man and not them? Why was it Simon that when it was all said and done was the first to take the yoke of Christ unto himself? After all, it seems, the disciples would have been in the best position. It would have made a whole lot more sense. But, then, where would we be? Where would those of us who Jesus had called, who Jesus had groomed, who are part of Jesus' ministry? Why isn't it us touching the edge between life and death? Why do we hold back?
28 ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. 29Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’ (Matthew 11: 28-30). See, we read this with such comfort at what Jesus can do for us. But what does it mean to "take my yoke"? For, THAT is the way that our souls will rest.
So, on this Lenten journey, move from being an anonymous bystander to a disciple of Christ.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Friday, March 1, 2013
Waiting for Figs
At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.2He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?3No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.4Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem?5No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”
6Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none.7So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’8He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it.9If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”
We spend a lot of time trying to make this faith thing make sense, don’t we? We try to offer reasons for what happens in our life, the good and the bad. After all, we surmise, everything has a cause and every cause has an effect. And so we live under the illusion that somehow we have control over things, that somehow everything in some way has got to make sense. But truth be known, we really don’t have the answers. In fact, our lives are really pretty precarious when you think about it and sometimes the answer is just that we have to wait and wonder and be willing to just let God be God. And repent...
And then we read this parable of the fruitless fig tree. The owner waited and waited and no fruit appeared. So, he got tired of it and told the gardener to cut it down. After all, nothing was happening. It was just wasting soil. But the gardener stopped him, offering to nurture it just a little bit more than it had been, putting fertilizer around it, and waiting just a little bit longer.
Now, granted, this is not one of our warm and fuzzy passages. Jesus is not healing or welcoming or feeding a crowd. In fact, this is downright hard, probably because we find way too much of ourselves in it. We, too, want so badly to find answers to things that happen in our lives that we often lapse into that same notion of God rewarding and punishing based on what we do that these first century followers did. After all, what other answer could there be? And then, the fear factor...if we don't bear fruit, we get cut down? If we don't repent, we'll die?
Well, do you remember the Book of Job, the quintessential story of all in life that makes no sense at all, that has no answer, that comes to us from the margins of faith, those places where we’d rather not go? You remember it…Job, righteous and reverent, loses everything he has. And most of the book is about his so-called friends and even Job trying to figure out why. After all, God doesn’t just pull life out from under someone for no reason. Job must have done something. He must have not been who he was supposed to be. The truth is, Job and his friends, like us, I’m afraid, inherited a somewhat myopic world of retribution and distributive justice. It is hard to imagine a God who loves us just to love us and who, when bad things do happen, when life begins to feel like a whirlwind, appears into the depths of our being to help us stand, to help us walk, and to wait…just a little bit longer.
That’s
where that turning, that repentance comes in.
You see, our problem is that we see repentance as a negative thing. We envision repentance as a change toward
being “right” or “moral” or something else that will win us favor with God or
rack us up enough points to get us into heaven.
That’s why we sometimes have this Job-like image of God as some
controlling entity that pulls some sort of Divine strings based on what we
do. But what kind of God is that? Repentance is not about losing who you are; it’s
not about becoming a puppet of some sort of string-pulling God; it means
discovering the wonder of who you are meant to be.
The Greek word that is usually translated as “repentance” is metanoia. In Classical Greek, it meant to change one’s mind, one’s heart, one’s soul, one’s life. Penance was not a part of it until later. We did that to it! It simply meant to follow a different road. But, as Jesus said, unless you repent…unless you change course…unless you let go of the life that you’ve created and the image of this string-pulling God that you’ve somehow concocted, and listen to the road that beckons before you, you will remain comfortable and secure and right where you are. And you will, surrounded by comfort and answers, die! But, oh, what you will miss! Frederick Buechner says, “To repent is to come to your senses. It is not so much something you do as something that happens. True repentance spends less time looking at the past and saying, ‘I’m sorry,” than to the future and saying, “Wow!” ( Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1973), 79.)
So,
what does this have to do with waiting on figs?
It sounds a little bit like a threat.
OK, one more chance you lazy fig tree.
Because if you don’t, you will die and that will be it. You have one more chance to get it right, to
repent, to turn, or, that’s it. Well,
you know as well as I that there are well-meaning people in pulpits all over
the world saying exactly that. You have
one more shot! And that it! Oh,
that’s not it at all! Read it
again. There’s always another
chance. There’s always someone that will
come along to nurture and wait patiently for us to turn, for us to change, for
us to see what we’re missing. You see,
there ARE consequences for those who do not repent. But it has nothing to do with
punishment. It has to do with missing
who we’re called to be, missing out on the life that is offered us, missing out
on being able to see what God is showing us.
And that, my friends, IS a form of dying.
You know, it’s an interesting thing about figs--the common fig bears a first crop, called the breba crop, in the spring on last season's growth. The second crop is borne in the fall on the new growth and is known as the main crop. But the fruits cannot happen without the first crop and, likewise, without the last season. Essentially, the fruit sprouts from a seemingly fruitless crop. Maybe the gardener saw that. I think God certainly does. See God sees things that we miss, things that our eyes, unadjusted as they are to the light, have not seen yet. God is good at leading us through our darkness and nurturing us over and over again. The truth is, God is pretty incredible at patiently waiting for figs.
And yet, with all the omnipotence that we imagine God to have, God cannot pull strings. Because there is one thing that the Almighty cannot do because God in God’s infinite Wisdom placed the power to choose in our hands. And so God cannot coerce us to love or to serve or to respond. God cannot force us to see what God is showing us. And so God waits for figs to bloom and the world to change. And God holds us and guides us and picks us up off the bottom of our existence time and time again. There’s always another season.
We read this passage in our Lenten season because it is our season to wake up, to open our eyes, to turn, to love, and to learn that sometimes the world that we see does not make sense. But it’s not all up to us. God is waiting patiently for our response. God knows it’s hard. After all, it just doesn’t make sense. We wish it made sense. G.K. Chesterton said “to let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair.” You see, God just desires that we love. And for that God waits. God knows that there’s always a little bit more time to wait for figs.
So in this Lenten season, turn toward God and wait for figs.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Station IV: In the Silence of Grief
And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
The hurt in Mary's eyes is evident. This is her son. This was the child that she carried in the womb, birthed into the world in the rough hues of that cold desert night shielded only by a stable, or a cave, or a grotto, or something of the like. This was the child that she nurtured and saw grow into a young man. This was the child that she never understood, the one who seemed to choose his own path, the one who even at a young age always seemed to have some sort of incredible innate wisdom. This was the child that would rather sit at the feet of the rabbis, would rather soak in all of the eons of lessons, than play like the other children. This was the young man that had made her so proud, full of compassion and empathy, always thinking of others, always standing up for the poor and the outcast. This was the young man who had more courage than she had ever seen. Where did he get that? She remembers that night long ago in Bethlehem. They almost didn't get there in time. They almost didn't have a place. But there he was. Even the first time that she looked into his eyes, she knew. This child was different. Born of her and, yet, not really ever hers. He always seemed to belong to something bigger. But she could pretend. She could think that he was hers. And she could love him more than life itself. And now, today, the pain is almost to great to bear. It looked like this was it. Was it all for naught? After all, she herself had given up so much. What meaning did it have? Why was it ending so soon? It couldn't be time to give him back--not yet.
This station is another one that is considered "non-canonical". But we know that Mary was there. Love would put her there. Love would make her want to pick him up and hold him, cradle him like she did that cold Bethlehem night. The station is marked with a relief carved in stone. The church next to it still has the mosaic floor from an earlier Byzantine church that stood on the premises. In the floor is an image of a pair of sandals facing north, supposedly marking the place where Mary stood in suffering silence when she saw her son carried on the cross.
The Mary we know is usually silent. With the exception of that story of the wedding at Cana when she told Jesus to fix the problem with the wine, she is usually depicted as almost stoic. I don't think stoicism has anything to do with it though. Mary's grief and pain were real. When Jesus encountered her this one last time, they both knew it. And they both felt Mary's deep, unending, nurturing love. Perhaps that is what we are to glean from this--that in the midst of one's grief and pain and unbearable loss is the deepest love imagineable. We see it in Mary and we know that at this moment, this is what God is feeling too. After all, both have given themselves for the world and both are shattered that the world is throwing their love back.
At this point, nothing need be said. The love is evident--the love of Mary, the love of God. It is a love that we must experience--self-giving, suffering, silent--if we are to understand who God is and who God calls us to be. It is the love that we are called to have for one another, a love that in the deepest of grief pulls us up and pulls us through, a love that would compel us to stand up for another, a love that, finally, creates room, a love that is of God.
So, in this Lenten season, let us, finally, learn to love one another.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
The Road
I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea,2and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea,3and all ate the same spiritual food,4and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was Christ.5Nevertheless, God was not pleased with most of them, and they were struck down in the wilderness. 6Now these things occurred as examples for us, so that we might not desire evil as they did.7Do not become idolaters as some of them did; as it is written, “The people sat down to eat and drink, and they rose up to play.”8We must not indulge in sexual immorality as some of them did, and twenty-three thousand fell in a single day.9We must not put Christ to the test, as some of them did, and were destroyed by serpents.10And do not complain as some of them did, and were destroyed by the destroyer.11These things happened to them to serve as an example, and they were written down to instruct us, on whom the ends of the ages have come.12So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall.13No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.
Well, it seems as if Paul is trying to shake up his Corinthian hearers a bit. After all, they were pretty sure of themselves. They were righteous and God-fearing and their faith was serving them well. But Paul reminds them that it is not about them. After all, a life of faith is not a life of checking off the boxes of all things good that one has done and counting one's accolades; it is, rather, a life of an ongoing relationship with God. And, as we all know, relationships do not move in a neat escalating line. They have ups and downs and sometimes feel as if they are going to break completely apart. Paul (as opposed to others in that day and, sadly, in ours) sees salvation here as a journey, an ongoing relationship, rather than securing a place in heaven or avoiding a place in hell.
The truth is, relationships are hard. This faith thing is hard. It does not guarantee one a life of ease or plenty. As Paul reminds us, look at the past. Faithful people lived in the shadows and had the waves crash over them. Things were not easy. Why would our life be different? You see, faith is not something that removes us from life, that separates us from the world. Faith is what calls us to live there, to be who we are called to be in this world, showing the world a different pathway. Yeah, I know, it's not easy. But we have to persevere.
In our time, so much of religion is presented as a cure for all. Well-meaning seekers are promised that faith, REAL faith, UNENDING faith, UNFALTERING faith, will bring them health and wealth and ease. OK, excuse me here, but, really...no. The Scriptures never depicted that. This faith thing is hard. Did you forget that it has to do with a cross, an instrument of death? Did you forget that it acknowledges that pain and suffering is part of life? Did you forget that we are told to deny ourselves and follow a pathway that we've never followed before? But, more than anything else, did you forget that God has walked ahead?
It may not be easy; it may destroy you; it may even end your life as you know it. But God has walked this way before. That's the difference between shallow, empty pictures of fame and fortune dangled above a well-paved and perfectly landscaped path and following this bumpy, over-grown road with the marks of a cross drug through it and the, albeit faint, footsteps of faithful travelers who have gone before.
Faith is not about finding the easiest way but following where God has gone before.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Station III: Vulnerable
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| "Station III", painting by Chris Gollon Commissioned in 2000 by St. John on Bethnal Green, London |
The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock.
The third station of this Way of the Cross is the image of Jesus falling under the weight of the cross. It is one of the non-Canonical stations and yet we know that the sheer exhaustion alone would be enough to make this a reality for any human. That's right. Lest we forget, Jesus was human. God did not come to earth to live as a figure resembling one of our super heroes, above the fray, untouchable, undaunted by the difficulties of human life. No, God came as one of us, struggling and vulnerable. And as Jesus falls, we feel that vulnerability. It is uncomfortable for us. After all, if this one on whom we rely, in whom we place all of our hopes and our dreams, is vulnerable, what does that say about out own lives?
Maybe the crux of this Walk is that we ARE supposed to be vulnerable. Living a life of faith does not place some sort of impermeable bubble around us. Regardless of what many will tell you, walking this walk does not guarantee that you will be healthy, wealthy, and wise. If anything, it points to our vulnerability in the most profound way. As humans, we will at times experience sadness, despair, and the deepest grief imagineable. We experience those not because we are weak but because we are real. And Jesus experienced the same thing because he, too, was real. And, when you think about it, what kind of God is it who will plunge the Divine Self into the deepest of despair and the vulnerability? It is the kind of God that does more than pull us out of it but rather lays at the bottom of it all and cradles us until it subsides. But we will only experience that when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, when we allow ourselves to be real, when we finally allow ourselves to need others, to let them in to our darkness.
This depiction of Jesus falling under the weight of the Cross affirms that vulnerability is part of us. It also compels us toward the vulnerable, the hurting, the outcast, for it is there that we will find in ourselves empathy and compassion, and, finally, a Love greater than we thought we could have. If we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, we will be able to see the same in others. We are not called to become a Super Hero; we are called to cross boundaries and be Christ for others when they need it the most and, perhaps with even greater faith than that, we are called to let others into our grief and pain. We are the ones who both lift the fallen and allow ourselves to be lifted. Sometimes we will fall. Sometimes life will hurt. But we are never there alone. But it takes great faith to know that.
Jesus will fall two more times on this Walk. Life goes on.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Monday, February 25, 2013
Come to the Waters
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Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.2Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food.3Incline your ear, and come to me; listen, so that you may live. I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David.4See, I made him a witness to the peoples, a leader and commander for the peoples.5See, you shall call nations that you do not know, and nations that do not know you shall run to you, because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, for he has glorified you. 6Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near;7let the wicked forsake their way, and the unrighteous their thoughts; let them return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on them, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.8For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.9For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Most of us do not really know what it means to thirst. I mean, really, really thirst. After all, the shortage of clean water in many parts of the world is lost on us. We just go to the faucet (or the automatic water spout in our refrigerator door or the waiting bottle of water in the bottom fridge door). Thirst, real thirst, eludes us. But Timothy Shapiro claims that "hope is preceded by longing". You see, God is not requiring us to be right or moral or steadfast. I don’t think that God is even requiring us to lay prostrate at the feet of God in good, old-fashioned repentance. God’s only requirement is that we thirst for God, that we desire to be with God so much that we can do nothing else but change our course and follow God. It is our thirst that draws us closer to God and closer to each other. We just have to desire something different enough to be part of making it happen.
So, what happens with those of us for whom thirst can be so easily quenched? How do we learn to hope at the deepest part of our being if we never truly long for anything? How do we discover what true need is when we often live our lives over-filled and over-served? How do we hunger for something better in a life where we are so satisfied? Perhaps that is why people like us need this season of Lent, plunging us into the depths of human need and profound grief. Maybe the point of it all is to teach us how to thirst and, therefore, to show us that for which we long.
God's abundance, God's quenching of thirst, God's feeding of hunger is greater than anything that we can offer ourselves. But those of us whose lives are already filled to the brim, already stuffed beyond what we need and beyond what we can really manage, often convince ourselves that we need nothing more. There is nothing more that we can cram into our time or our budget or our houses or our bellies or our lives. And, yet, we are never satisfied. Maybe what we're missing is not something else to fill us; maybe what we're missing is the longing for something that we cannot quite grasp. But that longing, that deep, deep, profound longing will only come when we realize that we cannot fill it. In other words, we do not need something more; we need to learn to thirst, to long.
So, in this Lenten season, let us clear away the things with which we have filled ourselves and learn to thirst--really thirst. And there we will find our true hope.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Blivet
22Then Paul stood in front of the Areopagus and said, “Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way.23For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you.24The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands,25nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things.
Do you know what a blivet is? No, I didn't either. It is an undecipherable figure, an optical illusion, an impossible object. It is a figure whose ending and beginning seem to blend together and are yet impossible to reconcile, impossible to separate. The U.S. Army uses the same word to refer to "an unmanageable situation". A blivet cannot be explained, cannot be imagined, and cannot be figured out. It is totally anathema to our world, where everything has to be explained, planned, and carried out.
Perhaps Lent is our blivet season. It throws us off a bit. After all, it counters everything we know. It's a lot like God. We want to know God; we strive to know God. And, yet, God remains elusive to us, sort of a "blivet", if you will. Now don't get me wrong--I don't think that God is playing some colossal game of hide-and-seek. God is not TRYING to remain unknown. God is not unknown; we just don't know how to know God. In fact, don't you think God desires to be made known, desires for us to get so close to the Godself that we know God?
We like to think of God as omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent, and unchangeable (sorry, couldn't come up with an "omni" for that) And yet, maybe those depictions short-change us and, in turn, short-change God. God does not want,- I think, to be "omni" anything. God instead calls us to be knowing, to be present, and, if the truth be known, God gave up that omnipotent thing to free will. God is powerful, yes. But God gave up a part of the Godself for us and a part of the all-powerful Godself to us, to our free will, to our humanity.
I know...this doesn't really make sense. Maybe we have a blivet God, who gives the illusion of being omnipotent and omnipresent and omni-everything but instead created the very likeness of the Godself (yes, that would be us!) to be that way, the essence of who God is throughout the earth.
So, in this Lenten season, let us walk this way and be the image of this omni-everything God.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Station II: Take Up Your Cross
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| Copper Plate Depicting Station II Samarpan Spiritual Leadership Center Poway, CA |
18Once when Jesus was praying alone, with only the disciples near him, he asked them, “Who do the crowds say that I am?”19They answered, “John the Baptist; but others, Elijah; and still others, that one of the ancient prophets has arisen.”20He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered, “The Messiah of God.”21He sternly ordered and commanded them not to tell anyone,22saying, “The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”23Then he said to them all, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.24For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.
The second station of the Via Dolorosa depicts Jesus taking up his cross. Tried in a sham trial and condemned to death, Jesus is handed the heavy blocks of wood that have been hastily bound together. What began as God's creation pushed through from the soil has been taken and turned into an instrument of death. So, Jesus takes up his cross. The gates of the fortress open and Jesus is pulled to his feet and handed the heavy wood. He begins to walk what would become known as the Way of the Cross, the Way of Sorrows, the Via Dolorosa. He passes through the gate. There is no turning back.
We are told to take up our cross and follow. Surely that doesn't mean this! Surely the Gospel writers meant it metaphorically, meant that we shoul learn to be like Jesus, to follow his example. It can't mean this. Surely we're not supposed to take this literally! So, what does that mean to take up our cross then? If Jesus was nothing more than an example of how we're supposed to live, we could have just as easily followed Mother Teresa or someone else that did a really good job of being a human. And when you think about it, Jesus kept getting himself into trouble. He continuously broke the rules and there are indications in the Gospel accounts that he may possibly have dealt with some anger management issues. So, how do we follow THAT? We deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow. Now? Now, when things are not going well? NOW we're supposed to follow?
Jesus was not just an example of how to live; Jesus was the very embodiment of the Way to God. And this Way of the Cross, this way of sorrows, this Via Dolorosa is part of that. It is not rational to us; it doesn't make sense. But Jesus didn't come to make sense; Jesus came to show us the Way to Life. Being a disciple, a follower of Christ has little to do with behaving (Thanks be to God!). Being a disciple means that we take all of this life that we hold dear, all of this life with which we've surrounded ourselves, all of these rules and all of these "right" way of doing things and lay them aside. And we begin walking--through the gate, into the mystery of something that we don't understand. In essence, we walk into the unknown carrying nothing but our faith. We deny ourselves and open our eyes to what God has placed before it. That is our Way; that is our Cross. And we walk this Way of the Cross. It means more than following; it means becoming the very Way itself. It means yielding ourself to the mystery that is beyond what we know and becoming who we were always meant to be. It will take us through every aspect of life--through darkness and light, through suffering and joy, through doubt and faith.
It is not an easy way. The cross is heavy. The rough-hewn wood is splintering into my skin. Those along the pathway that are yelling and jeering make it even more painful. This was not what I had planned. I never thought that it would turn out like this. I mean, I had so much more to do. But I will go because I know that I do not walk this way alone. Life as we know it is not all bathed in light. Perhaps the darkness ensues at times to show us that God is there, even there, in the darkness, walking with us. And I also know that somewhere down this road, there is more Light and more Love and more Life than anything that I could have conjured up. And somewhere it will all make sense. But, for now, I will take up my cross and walk this Way.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUFJJ-5K_LY&feature=player_detailpage
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Friday, February 22, 2013
Jerusalem, Jerusalem...
31At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.”32He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.33Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’34Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!35See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’”
Jesus is in Jerusalem. It is the holy city, the city of dreams of what God holds for all of the earth, the city of holiness and Presence, the City of God. This city is supposed to be, for all practical purposes, Ground Zero for the coming of the Kingdom of God into this world. But Jesus stands and looks out over the crying stones and the suffocating walls. The life that could have been is being snuffed out as we speak and replaced with the fear of something different, the fear that they might lose what they have gathered and attained, the fear of not being in control. And so the stones cry out and Jesus laments. "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, for you knew the plan that I had for you..." And the clouds gather and the city darkens just a bit. No one really notices it at that point. No one sees what is coming. Jesus laments alone--on his knees, before the city that he loves, lamenting for what could have been, what should have been, what will never be again.
We all know how it ended. This was only the beginning. The storm clouds would continue to gather until they hovered over the death of the world and then in that fateful moment, they clashed and broke apart, shaking the earth with rage and despair and plunging it into darkness. Jerusalem, Jerusalem. What happened? Just a short time ago, we had such vision, such hope. We dared to dream dreams. There was a star that hovered above us lighting our way. But now...what happened?
And so we sit here 2,000 years later--21 centuries of dreaming dreams and hoping hopes and imagining that we could make the world different. Oh, it's not that bad. Some things have changed. Little by little we dare to let go just a bit and give God room to spin the world into something that we can't even imagine. Did you see that Mississippi ratified the 13th amendment? I think things are looking up. Supposedly inspired by the movie "Lincoln", Mississippi finally filed the final ratification of the 13th amendment banning slavery that was originally approved 148 years ago. OK, so it takes time...Jerusalem, Jerusalem....Jesus looks out over the Kidron Valley toward Jerusalem and at the same time looks out over the oceans of the world at our cities, looks out at a world that drags its feet to welcome the stranger and washes its hands of justice and mercy...Jerusalem, Jerusalem...
But Jesus' lament is not a regret. It is a challenge. This lament is a reminder to get our house in order. That's all Jesus really wanted. I don't think he was under any sort of misconception that this was going to happen overnight or even in a little over 30 years. The truth is, God calls us and when we do not respond, God does not reject us; instead, God surely laments. And even through the Sacred Eyes now blurred by Divine Tears, God, with open arms, once again invites us home. Lent calls us to remember that, to remember that even when we make other plans, even when we lose our focus, and even when we completely reject what God is doing, God is always there, always calling us to return. But until we realize that, we’ll never find our way.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Station I: Condemned
20Pilate, wanting to release Jesus, addressed them again; 21but they kept shouting, “Crucify, crucify him!” 22A third time he said to them, “Why, what evil has he done? I have found in him no ground for the sentence of death; I will therefore have him flogged and then release him.” 23But they kept urgently demanding with loud shouts that he should be crucified; and their voices prevailed. 24So Pilate gave his verdict that their demand should be granted. 25He released the man they asked for, the one who had been put in prison for insurrection and murder, and he handed Jesus over as they wished.
It has begun. Our recognition of Christ's Passion is not just relegated to those few heartwrenching hours on Good Friday or even to the few fast-moving days leading up to it. Christ's Passion actually began years ago in a small grotto or stable in Bethlehem. Now do not think that I am one of those that thinks that God sent Christ to our little earth for the sole purpose of dying. I just can't see a God who is that cold and calculating. Christ was not sent here to die but to live and to, at the same time, show us how to do the same. That was the point.
And yet, even as early as the moment when Herod heard of the possibility of Jesus' existence and ordered him (and all of the other male children of that age) killed, Jesus was condemned. Actually, I think you can go back farther than that. I mean, really, think about it--born in a barn or something to parents that really sort of appear to be illegal immigrants in sort of a no-name town just outside of the hustle and bustle of the holy city. Jesus came into this world alien, poor, and condemned. So this condemnation of Pilate's, sparked on by those in majority rule, those who were trying desperately to maintain life as they knew it, is yet another step in this walk of a sadly condemned Christ.
This first Station of the Cross begins at the Praetorium, the court of law, located in the Fortress of Antonia, north of the Temple Mount. Pilate is depicted as the accuser and, yet, if it had really been left up to him, Jesus would have been flogged and sent home. But Pilate was swept into a whirlwind of political and personal agendas. Jesus was essentially a victim of the conflicts of a society in chaos as its members postured to place themselves higher and stay ahead of the game. After all, this man was expecting us to change! So as the crowd became louder and louder as they tried to get the last word, Pilate had no choice but to hand down the sentence that would change the world.
We stand in awe of Jesus. We are amazed at one who can hold so true to their convictions. And we blame Pilate and the crowd and the disciples. (I mean, really, where ARE they???) And yet, where would we be? Where would you be? Would you have put your financial security, your reputation, perhaps even your life on the line to stand up for the condemnation of the innocent, to speak out in the way God calls you to speak? DO you ever do that? I have to confess that I fall embarrassingly short of that calling. Jesus has been condemned to death and we stand not really knowing what to do next. And so we sit quietly in the warmth of our comfortable lives while the world goes on.
On this Lenten journey, let us truly walk this Way of the Cross by speaking out for the condemned, by standing up for what is right, by being Christ in the world. Let us finally kneel at the manger and worship Emmanuel, God With Us. Let us find room this time.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
How To Be a Good Citizen
17Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us.18For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears.19Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things.20But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.21He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself. 4Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.
So what does it mean to be a good citizen? I mean, we're taught that beginning when we're young, right? Well, according to Paul, it all depends on where one's citizenship lies. Essentially, he is laying out two realities--one that surrounds his hearers on this earth and the other, the other is the way to live authentically, the way to live as God calls us to live. It is a depiction of a life of holiness.
Now we need to understand here that the people of Philippi were Roman citizens who took this very seriously. Philippi was a Roman, rather than a Greek, colony. But not everyone was a citizen. “Citizenship” was not a right. It was not earned or claimed. It was something that came with birthright only. So, their power came through their rights as natural and inherited citizens. But Paul is claiming to them that they have a much more significant citizenship waiting for them. It is essentially a redefinition of their very identity. And this citizenship did not carry a distinction of either class or birthright. It was open to all. This was indeed a new citizenship and one founded on the cross. It is a relationship based on others (as opposed to the self-centered “god in one’s belly” type of life). It is a citizenship that is not inherited but is rather lived. It is based on humility and self-sacrifice, just as Jesus Christ lived. It is a holy and sacred citizenship.
The problem is that you can't really do both. We're not talking about some sort of dual citizenship here. Paul is claiming that one is either a citizen of this world or a citizen of that vision of what the world could be that God holds. But I don't think that it's a clear "either-or" choice either. (Don't you hate that? Isn't that just the way this walk of faith keeps working?) After all, part of being a "citizen" in this way of Christ is to live in THIS world. So, basically, we are not choosing to reject the world but rather to live as resident aliens in it, to live as citizens of a world yet to come in a world that is yet to change. (Hmmm! That just sort of makes your head spin, doesn't it?) Yes, we are called to live in a world that expects us to adopt its customs and speak its official language, to worship and vote in the way that the majority expects, and to live quietly and good and productive citizens. And yet, our calling as followers of Christ has nothing to do with any of that. It is about living a life that welcomes the diversity that is humanity, that speaks out for the least and the last and against the injustices that this world holds, and living not as merely productive beings but as those who are alive. And the rights of this citizenship? That's easy--it's the right to live, to be, to love, to become. It's the right to come alive and it belongs to us all.
So, what is the pathway to that citizenship? It is this...this Way that we're on, this Way that makes us come alive. So in this Season of Lent, come alive! What does it mean to live in this world as a citizen of a world to come?
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Intersection
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| The Way of the Cross Pieter Brueghel the Younger (1603) Koninklijk Museum Voor Schone Kunsten (Belgium) |
28“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.29Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.30For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
In this Season of Lent, we are called to deepen our own walk with Christ. This means moving beyond what Christ does for us. Oh, don't get me wrong. Christ does everything for us. But our relationship with Christ does not stop at that. God is more than some sort of divine vending machine. We are called to do more than worship the God who gives us everything; we are called to enter the Way of Christ itself, the Way of the Cross. It means experiencing all of Christ--the birth, the ministry, the life, the Passion, the crucifixion, the death, the Resurrection--on the deepest and most profound level. It means moving from being an observer to being a participant with Christ. It also means entering our own humanity at the deepest level. It means becoming real. Sadhu Sundar Singh says that “if we do not bear the cross of the Master, we will have to bear the cross of the world, with all of its earthly goods. Which cross have you taken up? Pause and consider.
Over the last few years, I have become more and more drawn into the Stations of the Cross, that 4th century devotional tool that helped pilgrims flocking to the Holy Land from all parts of the world to walk in the Way of Christ. It has become more than a way of prayer. It is real, full of the depth and breadth of human experience and emotion, full of the power to move one beyond oneself, full of Christ. These Stations, also called the "Way of the Cross", the "Way of Sorrows", the "Sorrowful Way", and the "Via Dolorosa", are a pilgrimage not just to the historical places of Jesus (because, truth be known, the places marked as stations in the streets of Jerusalem are really just good guesses) but to the Way to which we are called.
In this walk of faith, we are clear that we are called to worship and revere God, our Creator, the very Spirit that runs beneath us and at the same time courses through our veins. This is the God who is there just ahead of us, calling us forward, calling us home. This is our very source of gravity, that straight and perfect plumb-line that connects us to the Holy and the Sacred. And yet, in science, relative strength is measured not just with the vertical pull of gravitational force, but with the horizontal relationship to that force itself. And true horizontality, the strongest point, occurs at the intersection with the vertical. This Way that we walk with Christ, this horizontal side-by-side with Jesus gives meaning to our worship and reverence and draws it strength at that point.
So in the midst of our Lenten journey, remember that it is more than becoming a better person, more than developing a deeper relationship with God. It is about worshipping and walking, walking and worshipping. It is about entering the way of Christ. So in the midst of these writings, let us walk this Way of the Cross.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Monday, February 18, 2013
Brick by Brick
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| Building a Cathedral at Annecy, France Edmund Blampied Early 20th century |
After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” 2But Abram said, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?”3And Abram said, “You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.”4But the word of the Lord came to him, “This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.”5He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.”6And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness. 7Then he said to him, “I am the Lord who brought you from Ur of the Chaldeans, to give you this land to possess.”8But he said, “O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?”9He said to him, “Bring me a heifer three years old, a female goat three years old, a ram three years old, a turtledove, and a young pigeon.”10He brought him all these and cut them in two, laying each half over against the other; but he did not cut the birds in two.11And when birds of prey came down on the carcasses, Abram drove them away. 12As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him.
17When the sun had gone down and it was dark, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces.18On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram, saying, “To your descendants I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates,
We often read this story with Abram as the hero, trusting and faithful to God, who follows God's call and believes God's promises. After all, Abram would become the patriarch of three worldwide religions. But even Abram was not perfect. Yes, the truth is, Abram was more like us than we care to admit. He told himself that he trusted God, that God had made a great promise of descendants to him. And he had waited and waited and nothing had happened. So, he took care of it. After all, he was old, Sarai was old. Time was slipping away. Something had to be done. But, in Abram’s defense, remember what “barrenness” meant in that time. An absence of children was not just a discontinuation of one’s line or one's name. It was death. There would be no one to care for you, no one to work with you to provide. Barrenness or infertility was looked upon as failure. It meant that God had not blessed you or provided for you.
But, God clarifies the promise a little bit more. This is not the heir that God had been talking about. The heir shall be a biological child of Abraham and Sarah rather than a surrogate birth. Well, I’m sure you can see Abraham rolling his eyes a bit. Are you kidding me? Because, you see, I’m really, really old. My wife is really, really old. This is just not normal. This is not even rational. This is nuts!
Well, we know how the story turns out. God, once again, in spite of Abram, comes through. The truth is, that's pretty much what God does. We can plan and prepare and even force things to happen but when it's all said and done, things will happen in God's time. The truth is, hard as it may be for us to admit, the fruits of trust and faith do not come to harvest when we think they should. Did you read the last line of the passage? Abram did not get the promise of land. The land was to go to his descendants. He was not called to deliver the world; rather, he was called to be a small part of a long line of the faithful that God would call. The realization of God’s promise was not immediate gratification. (I mean, did you think that you were the only one to which God was making promises?)
Maybe that’s our whole problem. Maybe we want to see the fruits of our faith now, in our lifetime. Maybe faith is about realizing that we are part of a deep and abiding relationship between God and humanity as the holy and the sacred sort of dribbles into our world little by little. Our part is important but it is, oh, so much bigger than us. In fact, it’s really not even rational the way we think it should be. Maybe that’s what makes it faith. Faith does not teach us to believe; it teaches us to wait with expectant hope that when the time comes, the clouds will part and the light will break through. In the meantime, we are called to keep building cathedrals, brick by brick, knowing that it doesn't matter whether or not we see them completed but only that we had faith enough to imagine it to be.
So, on this Lenten journey, let go of needing to see the result and instead do your part to make it be.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Subtraction
23Then he said to them all, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.24For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.
So, out in that wilderness, Jesus was doing more than just being tempted. The wilderness is not something that is done TO us. It is a place you enter, a place you experience, a place in which you change. But change is hard. It is not something that happens by just piling on more stuff. A couple of years ago, I had my bathroom remodeled. Well, intellectually I knew that in order to build something new, you had to first tear out the old. But it was still disconcerting. At the end of the contractor's first day of work, I walked into the house and saw all of my things covered in plastic. That in and of itself was strange. But then there was the bathroom. There were no lights (because the electricity has been disconnected and partially ripped out) but all I saw was an empty room walled no longer by tile and paint but by raw wood. And there, there where the toilet had been, was a big gaping hole. All of the fixtures (yes I mean ALL of the fixtures) were piled in my yard. I had this sinking feeling. "What have I done?"
Our faith journey is no different. We do not go through our lives collecting more and more knowledge about God or more and more spiritual disciplines. Try as we might, we cannot continue to take on increased faith and hope to cram it into our already-busy lives and our already-over-taxed bodies and our already-full minds. Our faith journey, just like everything else in life, does not work like that. Early 14th century German theologian and mystic Meister Eckhart said that "God is not attained by a process of addition to anything in the soul, but by a process of subtraction." Our faith journey must involve letting go of those things to which we hold so tight, of creating room for God to fill us.
The Season of Lent has traditionally been one in which many people are compelled to give up something. Most think that by creating that want, one will be reminded to think of God. I suppose that works. If you think of God every time you want chocolate, go for it. Other people spend Lent adding something to their life, perhaps something that they know that they need to be including in their faith journey anyway. So while both of these ways of journeying through Lent are good, I'm not sure that either is enough. (Shoot! You mean I gave up chocolate and it's not even enough???) No, seriously, subtraction and addition are good things but they are both necessary. As Meister Eckhart reminds us, our faith journey is first an act of subtraction, shedding those things that pull us away, that distract us, that get in the way of who we are. They are the temptations that we so want to hold onto for comfort, for security, for power, for control. Let go. That's what the Scripture says. Let go of what you think your life is. Create room. And then God will have room to add the things that give you life--trust, strength, faith.
This Lenten journey is not just one of giving up. It is a season of ordering, or remodeling one's life, tearing away the things that you thought you needed so that God can create something new. But it's more than a season. Each Lenten journey is a part of our whole journey. So rather than it being a temporary way station, this experience of subtraction is part of the Way itself. Lent is just a time to teach us that.
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
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