Lent 1: Mirror, Mirror?

Have you ever caught your reflection in the mirror at a bad angle, or bad lighting? Dressing room mirrors. Ewww.

It’s like being aware of your bad side when someone takes a photo, “Hold on, get my good side.” We know what it takes for us to look good. But what about when we look bad, real bad?

Remember the witch in Snow White?

“Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

What if the mirror told her, “Not you, that’s for sure.”

Ouch. One fried mirror to go!

What if Lent is like a mirror? That shows us our bad angles, along with our good ones. The real us.

It might show the “ashes” inside us, which we don’t like to dwell on. What a downer. Makes us all sad and uncomfortable. Who needs that?

Dr. Luke, who, inspired by the Holy Spirit, wrote the gospel named after him, shared an interesting story about Jesus, the grown-up.

Jesus had just been baptized in the Jordan by John the Baptist (who was a pretty unique dude), and then this happened.

Listen to the story: (from Luke 4:1-13, The Message)

Now Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the wild. For forty wilderness days and nights he was tested by the Devil. He ate nothing during those days, and when the time was up he was hungry.³ The Devil, playing on his hunger, gave the first test: “Since you’re God’s Son, command this stone to turn into a loaf of bread.”⁴ Jesus answered by quoting Deuteronomy: “It takes more than bread to really live.”^5-7 For the second test he led him up and spread out all the kingdoms of the earth on display at once. Then the Devil said, “They’re yours in all their splendor to serve your pleasure. I’m in charge of them all and can turn them over to whomever I wish. Worship me and they’re yours, the whole works.”⁸ Jesus refused, again backing his refusal with Deuteronomy: “Worship the Lord your God and only the Lord your God. Serve him with absolute single-heartedness.”^9-11 For the third test the Devil took him to Jerusalem and put him on top of the Temple. He said, “If you are God’s Son, jump. It’s written, isn’t it, that ‘he has placed you in the care of angels to protect you; they will catch you; you won’t so much as stub your toe on a stone’?”¹² “Yes,” said Jesus, “and it’s also written, ‘Don’t you dare tempt the Lord your God.’”¹³ That completed the testing. The Devil retreated temporarily, lying in wait for another opportunity.

What just happened?

Major grown up moment for Jesus. God tells everyone there, “This is my son! I’m so proud of him! Go get ’em, son!” Fills him up with the Holy Spirit, and then… sends him into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil?

Who does that?

Maybe someone that knows what their kid needs.

There’s nothing worse than thinking you have it all together, when you don’t. Like seriously don’t. When I was 18, I seriously thought I knew what it took to live on my own. Moved out of parents house, and into an apartment with my best friend. It was great–until it was time for rent.

Talk about eating crow when I called my Dad to “borrow” money.

So maybe I didn’t know it all.

Ever had to come to terms with what you saw in the mirror. Or even worse, with how others see you in the mirror? Ouch, ouch, OUCH!

Lent is not supposed to be a downer. But it sure can feel like one.

Because it gets all up in your business. It points out your weakest links.

Like hunger. Seriously, when I get hungry–I can get angry.

What if Jesus got “hangry” too?

Imagine not eating for 40 days??? And THEN, when you’re starving, the devil comes to tempt you with FOOD?

I bet Jesus was thinking, “Seriously!?”

The devil was holding up the mirror for Jesus.

The devil also tempted Jesus about his human weaknesses–hunger, power and pride.

Thing is–Jesus is God. Jesus took on humanity but humanity could not control him. So Jesus looked in the mirror and saw himself.

Yes, Jesus could’ve made bread to eat, but not because the devil told him to. That’s patience.

Yes, Jesus could’ve been the man of the hour at any moment he chose, but not because the devil told him to. That’s humility.

Yes, Jesus could’ve called angels down to save him from hitting the rocks below, but not because the devil told him to. That’s wisdom.

Jesus is God.

And if we believe that, then we each have God with us, inside of us.

• Helping us be patient when we get frustrated with our mirrors.
• Guiding us to humility when we see our mistakes in the mirror and own them.
• Leading us to new wisdom when we decide to make the changes we need to.

Reminding us of who we are, in him.

Because we all have “ashes–no surprise there!

Jesus wants to reveal our ashes so we can see them clearly, and then, with God’s help, we can work on them.

Because guess what? Just like for Jesus, the tests of life will always happen.

It’s what we do with them that matters.

Look in the mirror. What do you see?

And if the mirror could talk back to you, what would it say?

Copyright

Breaking Bad Categories: Part 3

The Breakdown

I was reminded soon enough of what it might cost me.

I had recently read the story of Admiral Jim Stockdale, and “the Stockdale Paradox” in Collin’s book.  Admiral Jim Stockdale, a United States military officer imprisoned in the “Hanoi Hilton” POW camp during the Vietnam War demonstrated a remarkable, profound resilience in the midst of significant mental, emotional, spiritual and physical challenges. Collin’s interviewed Stockdale about his experience.

“Who didn’t make it out?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he said. “The optimists.”

“The optimists? I don’t understand,” I said, now completely confused, given what he’d said a hundred meters earlier.

“The optimists. Oh, they were the ones who said, ‘We’re going to be out by Christmas.’ And Christmas would come, and Christmas would go. Then they’d say, ‘We’re going to be out by Easter.’ And Easter would come, and Easter would go. And then Thanksgiving, and then it would be Christmas again. And they died of a broken heart.”

Another long pause, and more walking. Then he turned to me and said, “This is a very important lesson. You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end— which you can never afford to lose— with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”

Collins, Jim (2011-07-19). Good to Great: Why Some Companies Make the Leap…And Others Don’t (Kindle Locations 1506-1511). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

“This is a very important lesson. You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end— which you can never afford to lose— with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”

So this perspective somehow demonstrated what I had never done before in my life–to not do anything. To just let reality happen to me, and see it for what it was. Because what I was realizing is those categories were not my identity, they were only pieces of me, scattered haphazardly all over the map of my life.

I was facing some pretty brutal realities. The breakdown occurred when my category of “UMC pastor” broke, which had become my affirmation of “Okayness”.

That category was supposed to sustain my identity, darn it; and when it didn’t pan out, my gosh, I was confused and disoriented. I questioned everything that I had spent years investing in, and I questioned my sanity too.

It was, and in some ways, still is, a huge challenge to let go of the things that I had assigned as my identity.

For others, the means might be very different, but the breakdown of the categories will inevitably occur. I deeply believe that we are made for wholeness, so living out of categories is unsustainable.

Though I was intentionally not doing anything, I was doing some things very intentionally.

• I read as much as I could. And I got curious about myself.
  • I read from a diverse spectrum of authors. I read Brene Brown. Jim Collins. Elizabeth Gilbert. Mary Oliver. Ted Loder. Thomas Merton. Henri Nouwen. Richard Rohr.
• I spent time in community with others doing similar work.
  •  I was fortunately participating in a year long  co-hort, Courage to Lead, sponsored by the UMC, with a small group of really awesome clergy and lay leaders.
• I invited close friends into my process. 
  • I am infinitely enriched by the close friends in my life. We lean on, listen to, and lean on one another. It was a friend who insisted I see a therapist she knew; so I made the call that one morning when my preferred term, “awakening”, felt more like emotional breakdown.
• I leaned on my spiritual director, and I found a good therapist.
  • Ironically, months later, my therapist would similarly call me on my lack of emotional coping. And my spiritual director seemed downright joyful about it, declaring gently, “By gosh, I think you’re being!” My reply? “Oh! This is BEING! Greeeeeaaaat.”

Everything that I read, heard and experienced seemed to carry similar messages–there was more. Thing is, none of it felt good at all. At times, I held a tremendous sense of hope, while other times I wrestled with the ambiguity and uncertainty of it all.

Something was happening to me. But I wasn’t doing anything.

In the book Falling Upward, Richard Rohr writes:

“The further journey usually appears like a seductive invitation and a kind of promise or hope. We are summoned to it, not commanded to go, perhaps because each of us has to go on this path freely, with all the messy and raw material of our own unique lives.”

It felt horrible and great. I was living the paradox. I had complete faith that good was happening, and I completely engaged in dealing with my garbage–and there was plenty of that. Rohr is so nice with his “messy and raw material”. Hot pile of mess is how I described it.

The Paradox

Here’s the thing with becoming whole. You never really get there.

What? Then what have we been talking about for 2000 words?!?

Hold on, I’ll get there. The Paradox is that you never really get there. The paradox is the journey–the sweet discomfort, the unsure confidence, the deliberate disorder.

Here’s the definition of paradox: “a seemingly absurd or self-contradictory statement or proposition that when investigated or explained may prove to be well founded or true.”

So, categories/tags/labels are part of our culture.

Categories are neither bad nor good. They just are.

Where categories get us in trouble is when we assign our identity to categories–we are not made for categories, we are made for wholeness.

We were made to be whole in Christ, who became a human being to freely give us the means to be whole. It is up to us how we engage in the process, with God’s help, towards wholeness.

Richard Rohr writes about the second half of life being this genuine opportunity to experience this wholeness–where categories are just what they are. Neither good nor bad. But what they don’t do is identify us, rather we are identified by our humanity, our pre-wiring that finds completion in God alone.

“Grace must and will edge you forward.” He adds, “When you get your “Who am I?” question right, all the “What should I do?” questions tend to take care of themselves.”

The journey to wholeness never ends. Grace moves me, and you, forward towards the places that we are ready to engage. For me, it was time to experience and see where I was, and where I knew God desired me to be. The best part is realizing that if I had opted to stay where I was, God, in his grace, would have sustained me in his love and compassion.

Questions for Reflection:

Where are you today?

What is your current reality?

What ways do you see and experience those “roles” or “categories” in your life?Do they intersect one another at all? If so, how? If not, why not?

In what ways can you find ways to nourish your identity in Christ? To feed your soul? To begin the life-long journey to become whole?

What is it to live in a culture of categories, labels and roles? Where everyone assigns me, and you, with our likes/dislikes/and in-between?

We can live wholly aware that once upon a time, we too were enslaved to categories. We too were just surviving.  And when the time is right, we might be able to share just enough of our story.

“But they keep on doing their own kind of survival dance, because no one has told them about their sacred dance.”–Richard Rohr, Falling Upward

Breaking Bad Categories: Part 2

 

The Symptom

This article is not a five step process to achieving balance. There are no steps. What this is is an opportunity.

Consider this quote:

“Far too easily we settle for holiness rather than wholeness, conformity rather than authenticity, becoming spiritual rather than deeply human, fulfillment rather than transformation, and a journey toward perfection rather than union with God. Far too often we confuse our own spiritual self-improvement tinkerings with the much more radical agenda of the Spirit of God. The call of the Spirit — which is always gentle and therefore easily missed — is an invitation to abandon our self-improvement projects that are, in reality, little more than polishing our false self and become the unique hidden self in Christ that we have been from all eternity. The call of the Spirit is always a call to return home, to settle for no other habitation or identity than that of being in Christ and knowing the reality of Christ in us.”

Toughest People to Love: How to Understand, Lead, and Love the Difficult People in Your Life — Including Yourself by Chuck DeGroat

What might it mean then to experience spirituality, not as something that you do, but something you are?

In a culture that is thrilled to label, categorize, tell me what I want, when I want it, and how quickly I can get it, it is easy to be lulled into a sense of “okayness” about my life.  Like Collin’s statement of “settling for good enough”.  But when I listen to the question again, what might it mean for me to experience spirituality through “being”, a deeply embedded, pre-wired longing in my soul stirs me to a new awareness, for more.

There is more to life than categories. Why? Because you and I are not machines.We were not made for categories. We were made for wholeness. The roles, or categories that we live in–mother, father, spouse, friend, child–are the instrumentals in the harmony of my being, first as a human being made in the image of God.

The problem is, though we might agree in our heads (perhaps we even like the sound of it in our ears), it often doesn’t show up in our behavior.

• As a parent, we can be so consumed in our children’s lives that we don’t know how or when to let go, unknowingly enslaving ourselves, and our kids. We may rescue or enable  kids that either can’t function on their own (failure to launch syndrome), or rebel in extreme independence that is far more damaging (running away, drugs, alcohol, promiscuity).
• As a friend, my identity may be entirely in who is, or isn’t, my friend today. In a culture where social media plays it’s own part in building or destroying relationships, this need to be “liked” is precarious, at best.
• As a student, my need for affirmation may be grounded in my academic success. Also, if I write well, then I’m seen as smart or intellectual. If I make all A’s, then I’m okay. This is where perfectionism takes root with potential to grow rapidly.
• As a Christian, I may attend church on Sunday, or if I can make it. I generally consider myself being a Christian when I do those “religious” things, but sometimes I may forget–but that’s ok, Jesus loves me. I may judge others about their forgetting, or lack of religious fervor. I might look for the easy spiritual answers about God and faith–the shorter the devotion the better so I can understand it quickly.

And there probably are many of us who may be functioning in all of these roles or categories, without any of them ever intersecting.

The Real Problem

So what does this have to do with my spirituality? Everything.

I, and I venture to say many of us, are products of a cultural Silo Effect. Not only does our culture silo us, but we silo ourselves, usually based on our proficiencies, needs, and the perceptions of what we think others want/need/expect.

At any given moment in my day, I can do all the things I need to as a Mom, a writer, a friend, a pastor, a sister, without ever considering where I am in all of that.  Under the guise of “multi-tasking”, I had found identity in doing.

Despite the gentle prodding of my spiritual director, who for two years gracefully and lovingly reminded me to be, I was determined to make it all work, by doing everything right. It was all working according to plan.

Until January 2015. One of my categories that I had kept so in order, and all ready, was flung off the table of my life.

Though I couldn’t deny God’s presence in the middle of the storm, everything I had worked for, sweated for, in many ways, bled for, was for now being filed under “F” for “FAILURE–sure, they had said, “Try again.” I had heard, “You failure.”

Basically, one of my big categories (the agenda to be a United Methodist Pastor) was essentially breaking down both in my reality, and stranger even, in my own heart. What I could not figure out in the midst of all of this was how clearly I had experienced God’s presence that day.

This was not just a normal run of the mill failure; this seemed different. I was able to sense (I call it grace) that God was doing something to me. And I could choose to go along with it, or not. It was all by invitation, not demand.

So in effect, I just let go, and fell smack dab in the middle of a spiritual awakening/crisis/breakdown (you pick the word).

The only thing I did do was decide to not write the paperwork required for ordination in the UMC. Granted, I was just hitting pause, but for me, this was a huge step. The UMC is chock full of great people, doing amazing ministry. I just was beginning something else.

Richard Rohr wrote, “Often it takes outer authority to send us on the path toward our own inner authority.”  I guess I was taking the opportunity given, and not doing anything seemed to be the best way to begin, whatever it was I was beginning.

Three Kings & a Baby

The story is famous.

But, those Kings, did they really show up the same night of Jesus’ birth?
Why only three of them? Or was there really more?
Who were they?
Where did they travel from?

And, they were traveling from afar, according to the infamous hymn–so that must take a really long time to travel thousands of miles, on camels (or on foot, ouch!). So  when they saw the star, it might take some time to get there, right?

Let’s read the story of their arrival, according to the Gospel of Matthew 2:1-12:

2 In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men^[a] from the East came to Jerusalem, ² asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising,^[b] and have come to pay him homage.” ³ When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; ⁴ and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah^[c] was to be born.⁵ They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

⁶ ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
    are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
    who is to shepherd^[d] my people Israel.’”

⁷ Then Herod secretly called for the wise men^[e] and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. ⁸ Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” ⁹ When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising,^[f] until it stopped over the place where the child was.¹⁰ When they saw that the star had stopped,^[g] they were overwhelmed with joy. ¹¹ On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. ¹² And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

Let’s first consider all the players involved.

Imagine some intriguing people, with perhaps large entourages, showing up in Jerusalem, asking about the location of a newborn “king of the Jews”, and a star that had led the way.

Well, it indeed got attention–the not good kind. Just enough to lead the fearful to King Herod himself, who was very interested, for obvious reasons. But Matthew’s overt critique of Jerusalem unilaterally puts the Jews and Jerusalem in with King Herod and Rome.  Yikes?

Herod connects the Magi’s quest to the Christ. So knowing who the Magi seek, Herod needs now the whereabouts of this Christ, asking his priest buddies those details on the obviously well-known prophesy.

So the delicately imagined Nativity becomes so much more.

Long before Jesus, the man, ever utters “the kingdom of God is at hand”, Jesus, the infant, has turned upside down several man-made kingdoms. And he hasn’t even said a word yet.

So this story of the Magi tells of a Savior that had come, for the entire world. Not just the kings. Not just the astronomers. Not just the shepherds.  And not just the Jews.

He came, for the entire world, to see him, to hear his voice, feel his healing touch, and to be made whole again.

But first they came to see him. And give him gifts.

Have you seen him?

Breaking Bad Categories

Everything seems to be labeled, categorized, tagged, itemized, grouped, classified.

Twitter. Instagram. Finally FB has gotten on board.

I can’t even get onto the internet without Google trying to categorize what I might be searching for. In fact, my feed on Twitter and FB is filled with sponsored ads that telling me what I want.

Categories in themselves are not bad or good. They just are.

But what our culture tends to create is what I call the silo effect, which is an idea all about dividing to conquer. Some institutions have systems, programs, teams which are often “siloed” to create efficiency and function. To some degree, this is helpful.

For example, if I know that Joe is the best at graphic design, then I’ll make sure to include him in on our graphics planning. Win, win!

But what if Joe is disconnected from the bigger picture of vision/mission/purpose? How well will his graphics reflect those things?

Whereas, if Joe is brought into the conversation of mission and purpose, even only initially, then intuitively his graphics would better align with the big picture?

Consider this definition of the verb, “silo”:

“A mind-set present in some companies when certain departments or sectors do not wish to share information with others in the same company. This type of mentality will reduce the efficiency of the overall operation, reduce morale, and may contribute to the demise of a productive company culture.” from: http://www.businessdictionary.com/definition/silo-mentality.html#ixzz3w0vYoWsg

Consider phone companies.

So let’s say Phone Company Z is categorized as a “landline” (you need a wire for the phone to work, yes.) provider, what would you say their life term going to be like?

Seen a public phone lately? Seen someone use a public phone lately? How many of you still have a “landline” at home? (Not counting your grandmother or old Uncle Tom)

If Phone Company Z, back in 1990, put all their eggs into one category of communication, where would they be today?

Jim Collins does a fantastic job at addressing how companies like this one might take a step toward greatness. But it would take facing some rather brutal truths, first.

That’s fine for institutions, right? But what makes institutions successful are the people, and this is Collin’s greater truth of going from good to great.

“Few people attain great lives, in large part because it is just so easy to settle for a good life.”–Jim Collins

If Phone Company Z, in 1990, saw their profits doing well, employees, the board, and the shareholders seemed happy, why change anything?

Let’s rephrase that sentence a bit for context.

If Heather, in 2016, saw her life doing well, and her husband and kids, boss, friends, seemed happy (enough), why change anything?

Where’s the problem here?

The thing is that question really has nothing to do with me at all, rather it is me being defined in categories: wife, mom, pastor, employee, friend, mentor, etc.

Again, categories are not bad nor good. We all function within categories. But what often confuses us is that in the midst of all of those categories, we sometimes lose the core of who we are. If I’m not a mom, dad, scientist, writer, pastor, child–then who am I?

But what does that have to do with spirituality?

In one word-everything. (To be continued…)

There’s something about Rumbling…

“It’s always helpful to remember that when perfectionism is driving, shame is riding shotgun.”
― Brené Brown, Rising Strong

So every once in a while– okay nah– about a dozen times a week, I am so very aware of how important this quote is.

I am a recovering perfectionist.

Last year, someone, who I really think was trying to help me, shared with me that my supposed perfectionism was not consistent in my imperfect product.  As if my imperfect product indicated I wasn’t a perfectionist.

Mmmkay. ( I had to move on from that not so helpful comment, because I really do think this person thought they were being helpful.)

Thing is, for me, perfectionism is nothing about me doing perfect (though I know people who are really OCD about their work being perfect); instead it’s how I want people to see me.  (Thus when people want to review my work or judge it , I really desire them to see me as perfect. Big difference. The work might be complete junk, but I still desire to be seen as perfect. Yeah, it’s pretty crazy. Trust me, I know. Read Anatomy of Peace–the “need to be seen box” is key.)

Brene Brown’s Rising Strong undid me on what she calls the “Rumble”.

Let me just say what an awful place the Rumble is.

“The opposite of recognizing that we’re feeling something is denying our emotions. The opposite of being curious is disengaging. When we deny our stories and disengage from tough emotions, they don’t go away; instead, they own us, they define us. Our job is not to deny the story, but to defy the ending—to rise strong, recognize our story, and rumble with the truth until we get to a place where we think, Yes. This is what happened. This is my truth. And I will choose how this story ends.”
― Brené Brown, Rising Strong

On paper, it sounds great. Until it happens. Then I’m faced with a very real physical response–my stomache gets queasy, and I tense up immediately. When it happens, I know it, and it goes like this.

(Some situation happens–it could be ANYthing). I’m reacting to the situation. It is a physical one. I want it to go away. So I’m making up stories like crazy to make the discomfort leave; BUT I recognize I’m making up stories like crazy so I lean into the uncomfortable emotions more to understand why I’m making up a story. And I go round and round and round, until I get to the taproot of my emotional storm.

I take deep breathes. I hold on for dear life. And oh my goodness, the Rumble just feels horrible.

You see, the made-up story satisfies my brain–releasing calming endorphines. Even if the made-up story is a bad one, my brain is still content. It’s like a weird cycle of mayhem.

Brown says of the made-up story, “What do we call a story that’s based on limited real data and imagined data and blended into a coherent, emotionally satisfying version of reality? A conspiracy theory.”

I was in full control mode. I was caught in a made-up story and I needed a way out fast. So I dug in. And got curious.

• I sought external perspective first from a trusted source.  I listened.

• I asked for support from a trusted source. I received care.

• I then asked myself some questions, “Are you making up a story?” “What’s the story?” “Why are you making one up?” “Has this happened before?” “Is there a pattern?” “Is this person/or situation really the problem?” “Are you tired/hungry/irritable?”

It took a little while to settle down. But I did. And I got to the bottom of it.

The situation had made me feel like I was not meeting the expectations of important people to me; something that really mattered to me. And those important people might see me be less than my perception of what they  want me to be. To sum it up–I wasn’t enough.

And that, right there, is the real story–the shame story. I fear failing people that are important to me, in a major, paralysis kind of way.

Growing up, I think I was trained to make up stories to escape reality. I just would imagine myself anywhere else–doing amazing things, with amazing people, who thought I was awesome. And dang, those stories sure felt nice.

Now, thanks to Brene, I know why.

So when perfectionism (my own special kind) hits, I read this quote.

“When perfectionism is driving, shame is riding shot-gun.”

There’s something about the Rumble though that gets at the real shame driving all that emotion, defensiveness, anxiety and fear.

The Rumble invites me to get curious, rather than self-condemning; to be kind, no guilt-trips here; to simply ask for what I need, without demanding.

And it leads to something really amazing. A lot like this picture really. A really good place.

Advent Awakening? Or is it the Force?

Seriously, today, my mind was blown.

Don’t worry, I won’t give anything away but today I was transported back in time. The anticipated Star Wars Part VII was all I hoped, and more.

I remember sitting in movie theaters, excited beyond belief to see the “new” Star Wars movie. My personal favorite? “Return of the Jedi”. Hans Solo, Leia, Chewy, and the beloved droids, C3PO and R2D2. Droids are just cute; they’re like sci-fi pets. 🙂 Only better.

I had kept my expectations low because after all what could beat “Return of the Jedi” memories?

The thing that struck me the most was how these movies truly hold my attention and my imagination. I feel a natural high of thrill and joy.

I am already anticipating the next movie; aren’t you?

And I wonder if this is just a smidgen of what it might feel like to anticipate Christmas–every year–it’s coming. (Minus the car commercials–seriously WHO gets a new car for Christmas? ).

Advent is perhaps meant to be just like the anticipation of Star Wars.

Then sitting in the theater, waiting with popcorn and drink, the opening scene. The Star Wars logo. The Stars. The words streaming across the screen and that amazing soundtrack. I was so excited I could burst. I was on a grand adventure and it was glorious. It was here. Star Wars is happening!!! The audience clapped and laughed together at different parts.

And probably, not one of us wanted it to end.

Maybe that’s what Christmas is meant to be like.

Afterwards, at home, the kids and my son’s girlfriend help wrap my presents, all in secret.

I “soften” the butter for the sugar cookie mix too long in the microwave and splatter it on the floor; they all laugh. Hubby almost slips on it and I realize, with his nudge, it just needs a good mop.

I mix the sugar cookie dough and refrigerate it; refrigerate sugar cookie dough always rolls better.

I talk with hubby about tonight’s plans and what we’d like to do.

Hubby goes to take a nap. Kids escape to the loft to watch a movie. I sit down to write out what I’m feeling.

It is this remarkable thing about life.

Today, blew my mind, on every level.

From the joy ride of Star Wars, to the frustrations of hyper teenagers, to spilling butter on the floor, to mopping the floors. There is something to this leaning into the moment, the discomforts and the good feelings. No self-sabotage here. Just being present and soaking it all up.

The joy is almost painful and the sweetness almost too sweet. This is what it might mean to be alive, I think.

And now I keep saying to myself–be here. Right now. In the moment.

I cannot wait until Christmas. But for now, I’m right here, waiting for Christmas. Join me?

It’s almost here. Christmas is almost here.

So are you ready? It’s so easy with all the hustle and bustle of the holidays to forget the whole reason WHY we do this, right?

This week I sat at one of the mannnnnyyyy Holiday school events and silently began to feel a bit resentful. Yes, a pastor? Resentful? Yup. Then something happened.

I knew something was up with me, and it was not good.  So I paid attention to why I was so resentful. Maybe I just didn’t want to be here; I was not feeling very merry. But my daughter was singing; this was her moment!

“This is what it means to be kind, Heather!”  Practice makes perfect, right?

I felt a gentle nudge from God–just be where you are.

But it’s so hard–I had so much to do.

I chose to be present, which I sensed would save me that night.

I let it all go, leaned into the discomfort of owning my resentment, and my daughter began to sing “Silver Bells” with her friends.

I love that song. “City street lights…”

I smiled. Then I noticed that I was breathing. Sweet salvation. I was right where I needed to be.

Thanks, again, God.

Advent 3: Waiting well?

The service was over and a line of folks waited patiently to thank me. It still surprises me that folks take the time to thank me for preaching. Like any preacher, I get nervous and I go to my neutral sometimes (theater training and all–“fake it till you make it” does NOT work well in preaching!). But each time I get a little bit better.

So there I was shaking hands and smiling. I was content to just receive their words. Then a sweet woman gently whispered to me, “Your sermon sounded like it could be in a book. You should compile your sermons into a book.”

I was thrown off. Preparing a sermon, I consider every angle–historical, contextual, linguistic, and then I dive into wrestling out, with God’s help, a way to make it applicable and relevant to today.

I never once thought this sermon book-worthy. And then I heard the whisper again–that voice that stays with me, “See, you are a writer and you don’t even see it. So I’ll just keep reminding you.”

Anyway, I thought it through and resolved to post the sermon here. Maybe it is book-worthy, but I’ll start with the blog.

Enjoy,

Heather

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How well do we wait? I mean, really, to just wait for whatever it is we’re waiting for.

• A phone call from the doctor about an ambiguous test result.
• A text from your teenager, 15 minutes after curfew.
• An email reply from the boss about a sticky issue with a co-worker.
• A conversation with your spouse after getting a note that says “we need to talk tonight.”

How well do we wait?

The answer surprises me because we might know better, given this is Advent. This is like the Piez de la resistance of “waiting”.

But if we get gut-level honest with ourselves—we don’t like waiting. We get anxious, nervous, wrestling with emotion, and probably just trying to keep busy.

For there seems much to be anxious about.

The world out there—news headlines of terrorism and shootings—and then there’s our inner being “in here” where struggles live—relationships, illness, pain, grief, jobs worries, and on and on…

Because there seems much to be anxious about, right?

Yet this is Advent. Calling us to Hope. Pursue peace.

Wait well?

Because when the faith-filled fires of hope and peace aren’t as easy to keep lit as they once were. When “out there” begins to invade “in here”, we want answers. Answers to help us heal—to re-fill us—to find perspective, to re-gain balance, to wait well.

And then we arrive at Advent 3—where even the PINK COLOR of the candle seems astonishing, perhaps ridiculous.

PINK, of all colors. Imagine PINK frontals, Fr. Rob all decked out in PINK. It is this ridiculous PINK that seems to want to sweet-talk us into living with joy.

Living with JOY? Waiting with JOY? What could it be like to wait with JOY?

The waiting ITSELF seems to produce anxiety! I just want someone to come and fix it for me, tell me, “What should I do?!”

Maybe that’s not the problem.

It is our struggle with sin. This thing in us that drives us to worry, to anxiety, to fretting, to desperately wanting a fix. Even judgment, or blaming, hiding my own flaws, because maybe, just maybe, I like my sin.

And the crowds came to old, weird, John out of self-interest.

John sees them, he knows them and he tells them so without judgment, without THIS *fingerpointing*. And so, the momentum of the moment transforms—the tone of the scene changes.

And the crowd asks—what should we do?

Be kind. Share with each other.

The tax collectors—the loan sharks of the day—ask, “what should WE do?”.

Be kind. Don’t steal from others.

The soldiers—the paid mercenaries—ask, “What should we do?”

Be kind. Don’t bully others.

What about us, today? What question would we have for John?

We might ask. “What do we do to live through this? (to survive this?)”  Head down, eyes closed, lead us out of the darkness to a safe place.

And John’s begs us to consider, “how might we live in this?” Head up, eyes open, the tougher task of waiting in the darkness, in the pain, in the struggle, in the frustration.

To be kind is to be present to be with people—wherever they are, wherever we are.

I sat with a friend, whose marriage was in the throes of bitter division. And I was just listening, neither trying to fix nor make her feel happier; it was hard, but I simply was with her, in her pain. And somehow just my being there, to her, meant everything.

Or even when 12 year old, very talkative daughter wants to tell the same story about a friend at school—for the 200^th time that day—and I know the ending by heart. Practicing kindness—being with her, in her story. Because, to her, that story means everything.

Kindness may seems naïve and simplistic, but it’s just hard. We are weary and overwhelmed and tired.

“Being KIND requires a lot of me! Can’t I just get the five step process to fix this? What DO I do?”

John sees us, knows us and tells us by pulling out, not a sword, but a brightly lit PINK candle. Be kind.

Kindness is not warm fuzzies, fake smiles and a friendly “hi there” at the church potluck.

Kindness is seeing a viper (fill in the name of the difficult person in your life) and loving them anyway.

Kindness is sharing our stuff with people.

Kindness is being careful how we speak to people.

Kindness is letting someone else go first.

Kindness is seeing people as people, with dreams, fears, hopes and hurts. Kindness is being with people in their stories.

John’s practice of kindness is a blinking neon sign that points to the answer. Jesus Christ.

Maya Angelou wrote, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

SO this Advent, seek joy in hardship.

Wait–here and now—in the tension of our sin, in the struggle of anxiety and worry, in a broken, desperate world, then pick up that PINK CANDLE and light it.

Light it trusting that the journey of Advent is not over—that we are heading toward the biggest, brightest candle of all—the Christ candle.

For the answer has been, is now and always will be Christ. The source of hope, peace and, yes, joy.

Amen.

It’s Advent. Where’s the hope?

 

Yesterday, I sat down with some students for a meeting. It was a regular day with not so regular students. They were in a mood.  Each had their way of coping with their stressors. Some were grumpy, some were silly, some just couldn’t focus. Each however are precious to God. And I could sense the increased tension of their lives; these are teenagers who are stressed out. Parents, friends, school, pressure, homework, jobs, college, “who am I?”–the full gamut of concerns.

And I tried to get them focused on a short Scripture reading before starting our “business” meeting. They struggled to listen, to pay attention.

They were overwhelmed.

I had had a full day. Oh so busy. People needing to talk. Tasks to complete. I had no time to consider the news or FB or Instagram. I didn’t know about the shooting; the next shooting in a long line of recent shootings.

I fear that somewhere along the way, just like those stressed teenagers, we as a culture might begin to cope with this too. To simply stop paying attention, to become so overwhelmed with it all that we shut down.

That somehow this darkness might become just another part of our reality. Like someone saying out loud, “Well, shootings happen. Deal.”

The reading I had unsuccessfully read with the students was Isaiah 9:1-7.  It is a familiar reading. Used just about every year in Christmas church services, school programs, plays, TV shows (Charlie Brown!) and movies. “Unto us a child is born”, we say, hear and pray.

“For a child has been born for us,
    a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
    and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
⁷ His authority shall grow continually,
    and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
    He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
    from this time onward and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.”

Eugene Peterson’s paraphase of verse 7 is “His ruling authority will grow, and there’ll be no limits to the wholeness he brings.”  

No limits to the wholeness. This declaration promises a set to rights all the issues revealed of this world. People were walking in darkness, in anguish, fear, war and tyrants threatening, abuse and injustice multiplying and reproducing. They needed to hear about hope. As do we.

Pay attention to Isaiah 10:1-3, the verses following the ones above: (from The Message):

The Master sent a message against Jacob.
    It landed right on Israel’s doorstep.
All the people soon heard the message,
    Ephraim and the citizens of Samaria.
But they were a proud and arrogant bunch.
    They dismissed the message, saying,
“Things aren’t that bad.
    We can handle anything that comes.
If our buildings are knocked down,
    we’ll rebuild them bigger and finer.
If our forests are cut down,
    we’ll replant them with finer trees.”

Look at that phrase–“Things aren’t that bad.”

Well, you know what, maybe things are bad.

Shootings are bad.

Injustice, killing of innocents, anger, revenge, gossip, judgment. All bad. And something deep inside of us knows it. But sometimes, we hide from the awful reality maybe because we feel helpless to stop it.

We cope by convincing ourselves that we can make it all stop. Stop the violence. Stop the shootings, injustice, pain, terror by “doing this” or “doing that”. “We can fix this!” Or we point fingers. We blame.

When perhaps what is needed is something we already have. “For unto us…”

Perhaps we are being asked to recognize our inability to fix such brokenness and look to the one who came to make us whole.

That child was born. Into the darkness he was born–in the middle of the night. His entrance announced to random, ordinary people, just like you and I. No crowds cheering. No banners waving. Quietly entering into a broken world he so deeply longs to heal.

Then about thirty years later, he came, announcing, “The Kingdom of God is here.”

Here? The Kingdom of God is here?