Who Cleaned The Dishes?

Many years ago, when I was teaching school, a teacher came to work on Good Friday dressed as the Easter Bunny. I’ll never forget how upset one of my good friends was at the time. She explained to me that the mood of Good Friday should not be one of festivity, not just because we, as Christians, remember Jesus’ death, but because we, as Christians, are living in the present while Jesus and the disciples are living in the past while God and the unknown are living in the future. All time, she said, is occurring simultaneously. God, she said, is a God who transcends time. Jesus, she said, was suffering again while our colleague was hopping around like the Easter Bunny.

I thought about that conversation as I cleaned the kitchen tonight. I have since lost touch with both the Easter Bunny teacher and the friend who shared her mind-boggling theological view with me. I thought losing touch—how some relationships fade naturally and some are jolted to an end by hurt and betrayal. I thought about Judas and Jesus—the times they shared together, the laughter, the tears, the meals. And I thought about that last meal—the one whose remembrance I was missing because I’ve been home sick today.

I’ve spent the majority of this Maundy Thursday asleep. I woke up to eat lunch. I read a little bit. I went back to sleep. I woke up to eat supper. I took my mom to church. I cleaned the kitchen. I washed the dishes with the purple Palmolive to which the above-mentioned friend introduced me. And then I thought:

Who cleaned up after that Last Supper?

After Jesus and his disciples ate, sang a hymn, and went to the Garden of Gethsemane, there was an empty room. And in that empty room, there were some empty dishes—or at least partially empty, dirty dishes. I think of the song lyric from Les Mis, “Empty chairs at empty tables,” and I wonder what the empty chairs and empty tables looked like in that room that night [although I realize that there may not have been any chairs at all because of cultural differences]. I wonder what the room felt like after the energy, excitement, confusion, shock, sadness, and heaviness of the persons in the room walked out. And then I wonder who came behind and cleaned up what was left.

Was it a man? A woman? A child? A friend? An enemy? A stranger?

Did he/she walk into the room and feel that something special had occurred there? Did he/she walk into the room and just begin to clean?

Did he/she think about the persons who had been in the room? Did he/she have other things from Passover week on his/her mind?

I know that these questions will never be answered. I know that in the scheme of life it really doesn’t matter. Yet. Somehow. Tonight. It matters to me. The person who comes behind matters. The person who cleans up matters. The person who cleans his plate matters. The person who leaves food on her plate matters. The teacher who dresses like the Easter Bunny matters. The friend whose theology makes my brain hurt matters. The person who sticks close matters. The person who betrays matters. The person whose story is written in history matters. The person whose memory isn’t really considered matters.

I, sick and unable to attend community worship, matter.

You, reading this now, matter.

And the next time you clean up your kitchen, or someone else’s, remember that fact, okay?

PS. Because I couldn't break bread with a faith community tonight, I broke bread by myself as I cleaned...and the bread that I broke was a fresh loaf made by a dear friend. The experience was actually quite holy.

A Note of Prayer

Eternal God,
Maker of all that is and was and is to come:
Increase peace and decrease pain as your
Love pours healing balm over weary bodies, minds, and souls.
You are Mystery, yet in steadily graceful mystery we believe. Amen.

Reflections on Stainless Steel

Sometimes, I talk to the television. Other times, I yell at it. I used to do this a lot in Columbia when House Hunters came on. While I enjoyed watching the show and seeing all of the different houses, I often got really ill with the nitpicking of the people looking for the houses. The floor plan wasn’t open, the floors weren’t hardwood, the closets and/or bathrooms weren’t big enough, the kitchen appliances weren’t stainless steel. So often, I’d see the show and think, “This is such a sickening example of American entitlement.”

Even so, as of yesterday, I am a true fan of stainless steel. When the product description says “stainless,” it really means stainless. Even after years of grease build-up, stainless steel will eventually come clean. But the same isn’t true for what may look like stainless steel. Imitation products do stain and no amount of scrubbing can get them clean.

Last night, as I pondered my newfound discovery, I had two theological thoughts:

The first thought was very traditional Christian theology: Our lives in Christ are like stainless steel. Sin is the grease build-up. Jesus is the owner and handler of 409 and steel wool. When we confess our sins, we give Jesus permission to come in and scrub us clean.

The second thought was less traditional Christian theology but equally as powerful an image: We are us. Jesus is the owner of the 409 and steel wool. God in God’s fullness is stainless steel. Solid. Steady. True. The world is grease. Thoughts, emotions, lies, materialism, legalism, greed, guilt, shame, hatred, ignorance, limited knowledge, out of control arguments of morality, mind games, justification, anything that obstructs our view and/or understanding of God. It is up to us to ask Jesus to lend us the tools and help us do the hard work of keeping our view and/or understanding of God unobstructed. It is up to us to use the tools we’ve been given through and with Christ to slowly get rid of everything that is not in line with the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, and faithfulness of God.

On Children

Yesterday at church, we installed our new pastor. The entire liturgy of the service was beautiful but the part that moved me most was when the service was directed specifically to the children. To see children as an integral part of the congregation and to value their prayers for and support of the pastor as crucial for the success of the pastor’s ministry is an amazing thing.

We don’t know much about Jesus’ childhood, yet we know that Jesus loved and valued children. We know that Jesus talked with children, hugged them, healed them, and worked through one young boy to perform a miracle.

Children are important.

And those who raise and teach them are important, too.

-----------

Always

Don't worry, little one,
You have nothing to fear.
Just take my hand and hold on tight
And know that I am here.

When your dreams at night get creepy,
When your thoughts scare you out of sleep,
Just take my hand and hold on tight
And know your heart I'll keep.

I love you seems so simple
Yet more passionate words seem few
So take my hand and hold on tight
And feel my love for you.

Don't worry, little one,
You have nothing to fear.
Just take my hand and hold on tight
And know that I am here.

Selah

Dreams.
Passions.
Identity.

Work ethic.
Gift giving.
Word writing.

Ability to hear God.
Desire to keep Sabbath.
Attempt to balance life.
Effectiveness as a minister and friend.

All attacked.

Repeatedly.
Over and over again.

Quivering.
Tired.
Shut down.
Apathetic.

(Selah)

“Be still and know that I am God.”

And the peace of Christ,
which transcends all understanding,
will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Repeatedly.
Over and over again.

Amen.

Why I Write

I am
imperfect,
broken,
a mess.

You are too.

I am
trying,
mending,
a possibility.

You are too.

We are
Common Humanity.

In sharing,
we know
we are
Not Alone.

We are
fumbling,
ridiculous,
short-sighted.

We are
seeking,
humorous,
redeemed.

I Am Learning

I am learning that I feel more comfortable ministering to people who have requested my presence. In those situations, I am able to walk into the room knowing that I am wanted instead of questioning whether or not my presence is more of a burden than a help.

I am learning that I have come a long way in my ability to sit in silence and wait. Instead of quickly filling periods of silence, I am now able to let silence resonate and see what might come.

I am learning that even though I don’t understand prayer, I find myself praying with a genuine heart…and that when the person I’m praying with or for responds with affirmations of, “Yes, Jesus,” or “Thank you, Lord,” it empowers me to pray more boldly.

I am learning that it’s wonderful to be able to walk away from a situation knowing that I don’t have to carry it alone.

I am learning that problems don't always resolve quickly.

I am learning that to some people the minister really does represent the presence of God and that ministry is a very humbling place to be.

I am learning that maybe things don’t go wrong--maybe things just go differently than we plan.

I am learning that respecting cultures and boundaries is sometimes very tricky. Sometimes my genuine expressions of presence, care, concern, admiration, and thanksgiving unintentionally cross the receivers’ boundaries of acceptable behavior. How, then, am I to be myself while being respectful of others’ unspoken boundaries?

I am learning that waking up each day and being able to get myself out of bed to get dressed and start my day truly is a gift. There are so many people who must depend on caregivers to fill all or part of their needs. To be able use the bathroom by myself, eat my own food, shop for my own groceries and clothes (as much as I don’t like the latter), take my own medicine, cut on and off the television and change the channels as I desire, type on this computer using both of my hands…those things are gifts…and I must not take them for granted.
I am learning that a wonderful thing about not having a full-time job is the ability and freedom to help friends and family members with my presence when they need it.

I am learning that sometimes all I can do is show up with my comfy shoes on and see what happens.

I am learning that with as much as has been lost, there is still so much more.

I am learning that life really is a blessing and that to embrace it in its fullness is the deepest act of worship that I can present to God.

What about you? What are you learning these days?

Moments

During one of the darkest periods of my life, I wrestled myself to sleep each night. I tossed and turned to the point of exhaustion, knowing that God’s design for God’s children was not to be paralyzed by guilt, shame, and/or sadness.

In those moments, I often imagined Jesus walking into my bedroom, standing beside my bed with a look of deep love on his face as I struggled with my demons. Many times, I looked at him with tears pouring down my face and said, “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

In those moments, Jesus simply stood there. Full of love. Unwavering. Sometimes crying with me. Sometimes pouring compassion over me as I cried. Never judging me. Always letting me know that I wasn’t alone.

In these moments when I’m given the privilege to serve as chaplain, this is the image of who I want to be…this image and the image of Jesus laughing.

In these days of humble honor, I desire to be a chaplain who demonstrates a less-anxious presence. I desire to work with an energy level that feels alive, safe, warm, and welcoming, and I desire not to absorb the stress of the situations in which I find myself but to be fully present in them—feeling the emotions in the room but not getting stuck in them.

Last night, as I stood beside a friend’s daughter at Duke, I wept. The room wept with me. We wept for a body much too young to be shutting down. I wept for her newborn baby also struggling to survive. I wept because of the mysterious virus that is attacking their livers and for the uncertainty that their families and loved ones face. I stood there full of love for this young woman I barely know. Yet I know her mom. My love unwavering. Pouring compassion through my tears. Not judging. Praying for miraculous healing. Praying for Emily’s dreams to be filled with the certainty that she is not alone.

Will you join me in praying for Emily and Aiden—for God to do a supernatural work in their lives? Will you join me in praying for Diana and Oliver—for God to give them peace and strength as they spread their time between daughter and grandson, desperately clinging to life?

Will you imagine your own image of Jesus looking upon you (and others) with love? And will you celebrate these moments that you have been given to do the work God has called you to do?