Little Deaths and Resurrections

What is Lent all about anyway? Why do we “give things up?" What’s with the fish? Why do we throw this huge slow-down into the year, just when spring is beginning to show its little green head from the soil? Why do we always have to talk about death?

Good questions.

Questions for which I don’t have ready answers. Google can help with some of them I suppose. And this year, after a long and difficult winter, it is perhaps doubly exasperating to have a late Easter -- which drags Lent on WELL into April.

Last week’s blog by Jen is so eloquent. She is clear about what she likes about Lent. I fear I am not so clear, but lately I have been finding some resonance in the idea that life is a series of little deaths and resurrections. I am more aware of my own anyway. 

Here are some:

The death of my prejudicial ideas about people who were different than me when I went into the “big city” for college and met folks of all ethnicities, gender, sexual orientations and religions. The more I spoke with them the more I embraced the idea that we are all children of God and are all unique conduits for God’s love.

The death of my need to define myself by my job title or my annual salary when I chucked them both to start over after hitting burnout. I discovered I didn’t need the externals to define myself and found what mattered most to me was not achievable by title or money.

The death of my belief that I was invincible when my body turned against me and left me in a hospital for a week with no discernable cause. I was a little more humble and a little more careful in how I pushed myself.

There have been a few more deaths and resurrections along the way as well, along with the knowledge that there are some things that I …… perhaps need to work on killing! There are still some rough edges on the ego that could die. There is a rush to judgment that could be jettisoned. And more…

Every Lent, I feel challenged to set down and walk away from the burdens that weigh me down and to let them die at the foot of the cross.  So I embrace the Lenten journey, not so much to deny myself, but to defy my ‘self’ and resurrect more of the love of God into my daily life.

Paul S.

Jesus, Remember Me

I admit it. I am a Lent and Holy Week junkie. A lot of people embrace the quiet, watchful, yet softly joyful season of Advent. They rejoice at Christmas to finally announce “Born is the King of Israel! Christ the Savior is Born!” Easter brings the triumphant return of Lord – “He is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!” But for whatever reason, Lent and Holy Week … well, they don’t go by ignored, although I don’t imagine a lot of folks out there revel in the season of Lent like I do.

I love everything about Lent. The somberness: gathering for midweek worship in a darkened sanctuary in the quiet evening. The physical: the mark of ashes, giving up (or adding something in) for these weeks, the waving of palms, the washing of feet. (Although I do NOT love the always annoying McDonald’s fish sandwich commercials.) I probably love these things because the season of Lent goes along nicely with my winter blues. I feel as though I can embrace my melancholy and depression; it’s welcomed here. Jesus is suffering right along with me… being faced with temptations, hungering in the wilderness, and finally, the heroic finale of giving his life.

When they came to the hill and crucified Jesus along with the criminals, Jesus prayed. “Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they’re doing.” They threw dice for his clothes, taunted him, toasted him with sour wine. “So you’re King of the Jews! Save yourself!” One criminal beside Jesus cursed him. The other criminal shut him up, asking if he had no fear of God, telling him that they deserved this fate, but that Jesus did not. Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you enter your kingdom.” Jesus said, “Don’t worry, I will. Today you will join me in paradise.” (Luke 23:42-43)

This confessed thief likely did not know scripture, understand theology, had probably never recited a creed nor joined a church or been baptized. At this point, he was incapable of turning his life around. He simply asked Jesus to remember him.

Our midweek worship theme is “If I Only Had Six Weeks to Live.” Thinking about death is not fun by any stretch of the imagination. Making plans, preparing your family (given the chance), wondering what legacy you’re leaving behind. Do you wonder what you’re learning? What your mission is? If you’re leaving behind something meaningful for your loved ones?

Most of us struggle with this… constantly wondering if we’re doing the right things, saying the right things, feeling the right things. I panic at not knowing my mission, and somehow missing it. Especially being a mom, I’m pretty sure I’m screwing something up. As a child, sister, niece, friend, colleague, stranger – yep, pretty sure I’m screwing up stuff there too. I constantly wonder, after I’m gone, what exactly people will remember about me. What is my legacy? Have I done anything worthwhile? I don’t feel like I’ve done or been anything great. I’m over here, leading my humdrum life, hiding in the corner, not wanting to be noticed. Yes, I do good and wonderful things with and in my life, but I know it’s not enough. I can do better. As for the few good and wonderful things I do, I’m sure there are MORE than enough not so good things to balance it out.

But as a Child of God, I am perfect. Jesus knows my imperfections and chooses to look the other way; grace is freely given, not earned. Even in the darkest days of Lent and melancholy, when I’m not sure I’ll make it through, Jesus does notice me. He comforts me, even when he’s the one I’m mourning. I am that criminal beside him. Jesus will remember me.

If you’re questioning whether or not Jesus will remember you when that time comes, fear not. Jesus knows you. All of you. Every freckle on your face, every thought you have, every deed you do.  He knows your legacy, and your loved ones will too (even if you never figured it out for yourself!). “Don’t worry, I will remember you,” Jesus says. He will welcome you with open arms in paradise.

Amen.

~Jen

The Gift of Vulnerability and Following…

The softly lit room sheltered the gentle chatter of folks lounging around the dinner table, as others sat nearby on a scattering of small benches, waiting. I found myself in this room quietly sitting on a wooden bench, facing this man whose eyes gently gazed back at me. A white towel rested on his knee as he placed an earthen bowl of water on the ground between us. I sat there, still, and somewhat puzzled by my resistance. Why did I so resist removing my sandals? This quiet man only wished to wash my feet. Yet I just sat there glancing down at the sewn straps which shielded my skin, as he patiently waited. In the next moment the call of a bell broke through my trance, beckoning me to open my eyes and join our Sunday church forum group. This out-of-time scene had emerged in my mind during our group prayer meditation. Yet it stayed with me as I drove home and on afterwards.

Why had I been so resistant to baring my feet? And why this scene at the beginning of Lent? Could it have been the simple notion of not wanting to bare my imperfections? (On a minor scale, I often walk barefoot around the house, in and out, in warmer weather.) In my meditative vision, the eyes gazing back at me had been those of the man from Nazareth. Surely he knew me well. Tossing around the possibility of this idea as my reason became futile.

During these 40 days of Lent, I tend to journey between Jesus’ day trips with the disciples through town and country, and his time spent in the desert. And now I pondered; what if this year I took off those sandals to follow Jesus footsteps more closely? What if my resistance had been about entering into the unknown? This questioning thought has left me with an awe….. and a little fear. Yet I cannot do otherwise.
  
Sometimes it seems our ‘giving things up’ for Lent is almost like making a New Year’s resolution. We give something up for 40 days... and then what? While our intentions are good… we are still in control. Several Sundays ago at English Lutheran, we had the chance to listen to author Brene Brown talk about the power and gift of being vulnerable. Not always an easy place to live into.

Yet within this place of unknowing, where we may not be in control, we are gifted with the journey of opening ourselves into the mystery of God’s grace and gifts. We are invited to explore a depth within our spirits we may not have imagined. It is a lifelong exploration so worth the venture even with all our possible trepidations.

St. John of the Cross writes about the journey into one’s interior… into the whole of our being, with all our beauty and imperfections, through all our loves and sufferings. It is here that we come face to face with our vulnerability, where we gain the courage and/or calling to take off our sandals, and where we face once again the awesome mystery of God’s loving grace. St. John writes, “When you regarded me, your eyes imprinted your grace in me. In this you loved me again, and thus my eyes merited to also love what you see in me. Let us go forth together, to see ourselves in Your beauty.”

And so I leave you here with this song and prayers for your Lenten journey.

Shalom,
Susan

On this Memorial Day......'Good Morning'

In Remembrance

This Memorial Day, we remember and honor with heartfelt gratitude each and every man and woman in Service, here and abroad, past and present. Still we know at the same time many people are living midst losses and tragedy caused by natural disasters and human hands. In this resourceful country, we have so much to be thankful for. Still, we also bare the wounds of towns destroyed by tornadoes, lives senselessly lost or taken, unemployment, and struggling families. 

Yet it is in the midst of these paradoxes that God, our Creator, speaks to us saying, 'Come to Me, just as You are and I will help make you whole.  Come together….Join hands……Come together in peace, as you work, as you pray.  Hear your heart beat…...Strengthen your faith…..Learn…. and Listen. I am with you and I will help make you whole.'  

This Memorial Day weekend, as you honor all who have and do serve the freedoms we so enjoy, you are encouraged to spend some time with the God of Mercy, the One who walks with you and I, 365 days a year, who lives in the midst of victories and tragedies……who calls to us saying, 'Come to Me, and I will help make you whole.'  

You’re encouraged to read and reflect on the words of this beloved poem, below, by Maya Angelou. Aside from her being one of my favorite artists, she has witnessed meeting God time and again within the paradoxes of her own life. 

Today, as I give thanks for all who have and do put their lives on the line for ‘just freedom and safety’, I pray that the wounds within our own country and around the globe will be healed by our coming together, in peace, in faith, with compassionate hands, in the heart of the merciful God who lives in the midst of our very presence. And with true Hope, I say to you, 'Good Morning.'  

Shalom, Susan

On The Pulse Of The Morning

by Maya Angelou.

A Rock, a River, a Tree
Hosts to species long since departed, marked the mastodon.

The dinosaur, who left dry tokens of their sojourn here
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than the angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness, have lain too long face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spilling words armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out to us today, You may stand upon me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world, a River sings a beautiful song,
It says, come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country, delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside, if you will study war no more.

Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs the Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the Rock were one before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow

And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.

The River sang and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to the singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew. the African, the Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek, the Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher, the privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They all hear the speaking of the Tree.

They hear the first and last of every Tree speak to humankind today.
Come to me, here, beside the River. Plant yourself beside the River.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on traveler, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of other seekers -- desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede, the German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.                                                                                                                     

Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am that Tree planted by the River, which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours -- your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need for this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon This Day breaking for you.

Give birth again to the Dream.

Women, children, men, Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most Private need.
Sculpt it into the image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts.

Each new hour holds new chances for new beginnings.

Do not be wedded forever to fear, yoked eternally to brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine dayYou may have the courage

To look up and out and upon me, the Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, and into your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

Generous Lives, Generous Love

Our Synod’s theme these past two years has been and is ‘Generous Lives, Generous Love”. This simply worded statement covers a lot of ground, on many levels, and can lead to many questions, which it does. The most obvious one asks ‘Does what we give depend on what we have?” Many Christians might say “No, we give because it is the right thing to do”.

While I am often in awe of what people give of their time and treasures; and respectfully admire folks who seek to do “the right thing”, I believe there is more to the concept of ‘generous lives and love’ than doing the right thing. In my reflections, four traits or gifts come to mind: perspective, gratitude, humbleness, and grace …four traits which are separate, yet intertwined. 

In the Gospel stories, when Jesus accepted the Pharisee Simon’s invite to dine at his house, Simon never expected an uninvited guest, a poor woman with little financial or communal means, to daringly approach Jesus and wash or anoint his feet…..nor would he ever think Jesus would respond by accepting her presence. I suspect this ‘low cast’ woman knew she would be scorned by others. As a woman with sins and of no means, she would not have been seen as living a ‘generous life’.  What then would prompt her to so boldly (in the midst of her possible fears and shame) give so generously? 

I am drawn to this story; to her perspective, humility, and faith as she ventured to act in response to her gratitude for healing and renewed life in Jesus. This bold, spontaneous act did not count the cost of probable rejection or recognition from her community. She just gave generously out of love.

As this woman gave so freely; so begs the question. “What does it mean to live a Generous Life?”  Is it as simple as being mindful and grateful for ‘life itself’….for God’s love and creation every day. This is no cliché. Today, in the midst of our progressive busy lives, where technology enables us to move about with little time for reflection, my experience has been many people often regret not taking the time each day to be mindfully thankful.     

The poor, peasant woman, who approached Jesus before his sacrifice on the Cross, seemed to know about being thankful, and about God’s forgiveness. Her expression of thanksgiving understood God’s grace and generous love. 

How then do you and I define generous love amongst ourselves?  Do we love and/or give from ourselves or through God’s generousity?  One of the most challenging lessons I’ve learned about giving came about by allowing another person to walk alongside me. I will say straight out that writing about this is humbling.  Much of my life had been lived independently, thankful to God for my life, yet caught up in relying on myself.  Sound at all familiar to you? 

Several years ago, following a car accident, a respected pastor recruited someone to walk alongside me during my recovery. Admittedly, I was not a happy camper about this, and in the beginning resisted receiving outside help. Yet, as I allowed another to freely give to me, I learned about being humble, and about giving by receiving as I experienced God's Spirit in our encounters. In my healing, I learned a deeper sense of life within God’s community, and how the Holy Spirit works when we get out of our own way. 

Being ‘humble’ and recognizing ‘God’s grace and generosity’ is a good thing….it is what enables and empowers us to live generous lives and love generously, within whatever community we encounter.  I pray your days are colored with seeing God's generosity in your life and that your giving comes from this very same Grace.

Generous Love in Christ

Shalom,

Susan  

Easter....A Resurrected Life

This Easter, here at English and in places of Worship around the world, we sang, prayed and worshiped: Jesus is Risen, He is Risen Indeed, Alleluia!

As we experience the afterwards of our Worship, it is my hope, and perhaps yours too; that the Resurrected Christ breathes life in each of us long after this day turns into night......that the words we heard and prayed, and the chords we sang resonate in our hearts and in our spirits.

I was reflecting earlier today on a song I heard some time ago sung by musician David Phelps. It struck a chord in me and has come to mind several time lately. The words to ‘No More Night” speak of our living in a new world with Christ where all is well; where there is no more pain or sorrow….no more war or discord. In reflection, one might infer the imagery portrayed as signs of heaven or of Christ’s return.  

Still, I like to think of this song in the present, where you and I are alive in Christ; resurrected in how we live our faith throughout our life journey.  As if our being forgiven makes a difference in how we live and walk in the heart of God’s Grace.  

I know myself this is not always an easy walk to take. I know what it means to fall and get up again, to be betrayed or feel hurt and still forgive, because I too have been forgiven. Yet the peace and joy that does surpass all understanding…..even in the midst of loss, natural disasters and pain…is so worth the commitment. 

I find it hard to journey into and through Holy Week, culminating with our celebration of the Easter Vigil and/or Resurrection, and not come face to face with the deep abiding depth of God’s love for you and me.

I encourage you to listen to these two music pieces, as they speak of God's love for us, and of what it means to walk in faith as forgiven people alive in God’s Grace.

No More Night

I Then Shall Live

May the Resurrected Life and Love God gave and gives to you and me, live within and through us, day by day. Jesus is Risen, He is Risen Indeed, Alleluia! 

Shalom, 

Susan

Terrible Beauty

Whenever I question whether the Spirit can work in anyone, I need only be reminded of Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, the 17^th century painter. What we know of his life comes primarily from police records (violent altercations, weapons offenses, and likely murder) yet he painted some of the most profoundly moving images of the life of Christ.

This painting, the Deposition (circa 1600) is typical of Caravaggio’s style. There is a heightened realism, almost theatrical quality to his paintings. Surrounded by shadow (tenebroso), the characters are illuminated almost as if by a flash of lightning or a spotlight creating the dramatic effect of capturing a specific moment of time.  Caravaggio’s work is also palpable – you can almost feel the weight of the body on the bearers; you feel as though the body is being lowered into a space that is directly between the characters in the painting and the viewer, and the people are not some idealized characters but people with all their flaws and disfigurements exposed.  There are no haloes, no pristine robes. We are invited in to participate in the terrible beauty of the story.

Most people respond to Caravaggio’s work viscerally. There is an “Ewww” factor when you see dirt on the feet, the hand touching the wound in the side of Jesus. Even in Caravaggio’s time there was the all-to-human propensity to sanitize the violence and the brutality out of the Passion Story.

The painting had the same effect on Caravaggio’s audience in the same way many people responded to the violent, brutal images in the movie “ The Passion of the Christ”. We turn away from the horrifying images because we want to deny that we are capable of that. We lie to ourselves and say “That was a long time ago and we are more civilized now” ignoring the images on the nightly news (which frequently sanitizes itself).

We emerge from our own tenebroso, captured by the light of the truth of Good Friday in which we all are participants in brutal acts against God and the children of God. We lash out with words that cut and scar as deeply as any whip would; we betray, deny, pass judgment on and sleep through times of need as well as the disciples, Judas, Peter or Pilate ever did. Each Good Friday confronts us with our flaws and disfigurements and challenges us to do better.  We are challenged to see the Spirit at work in the unlikeliest of places and people, to face our own complicity in the tension of the world, our communities and even our own workplaces.

Lord, paint on our hearts the message of Good Friday, in all its terrible beauty.

Amen.

Paul S.