Broken Gardens

This morning on Facebook, I asked the question: If you could go back in time to be with Jesus on this Thursday of Holy Week, would you rather be with him when he washed feet, served "the last supper," sang a hymn before going to the garden, or prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane?

While I don’t usually publically answer my own questions—I always answer them in my head as I type them—I want to answer this one aloud.

Even though I think that having Jesus wash my feet would have made me cry and thus washed, also, my face; that sharing the Seder meal with Jesus for the last time would have been lovely and powerful and symbolic; that hearing Jesus’ singing voice would have been super-duper neat; and that if I were given an opportunity to witness any of those events then I certainly wouldn’t turn it down…if I had to choose, then I would choose to be with Jesus while he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane—not because I want to be a disciple hero and stay awake when the others go to sleep—but because I find his struggle in the garden so raw and real and passionate that it is one of the beautiful, gut-wrenching images of my life.

Earlier this morning, I received an e-mail from a dear friend. She shared with me a bit about her family and how they have influenced her life. I’d heard a bit of her story once before. We’d watched a film together on a retreat and the film hooked something deep inside her and made her weep. I vividly recall those tears and I vividly remembering my respect for her strengthening tenfold. In that moment of raw brokenness, I saw a depth of humanity that I’d not seen in her before. And when that happens to me, my respect and care for a person sky-rockets because I know just how genuine they are. I know that they feel their emotions and aren’t afraid of the ups and downs of life’s journey…and those ups and downs can be so frequent and so extreme.

Jesus was the son of God. It’s easy for us to focus on his divinity and forget his humanity. It’s easy to forget that Jesus got tired and hungry and weary and angry and needed both time with friends and time alone. It’s easy to forget that Jesus once wore diapers and had to be potty trained (or something like that). It’s easy to forget that Jesus laughed and hummed and followed customs and used manners. But Jesus was fully divine AND fully divine. And Jesus actually seemed to like his life in this world.

In Matthew 26, we read that Jesus prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.” I don’t know about you, but I hear anguish in that prayer. I hear Jesus not wanting to be arrested, beaten, and hung on a cross. I hear Jesus not wanting to leave his disciples and friends and mother. I hear it even more in John 17 when Jesus prays for his disciples…and for us. I hear this struggle…and this deep, deep love.

Just as I already respected my friend before she wept that night, I already respected Jesus and his life without this plea of anguish. But this plea—this prayer—this hope against hope—this moment of desperation—this raw cry of brokenness that ends with ultimate surrender…it makes my respect for Christ so much deeper because it helps me see the honest courage with which he faced his human life’s journey. It helps me know that I can face my journey with that same honest courage, too.

To see Jesus tired and spent. To watch him cry a weary cry. To see him surrounded by signs of life in the garden. To hear his voice praying aloud to God…that is where I would want to meet him…fully divine…fully human…and fully the man I adore.

On This Tuesday of Holy Week

I’ve quietly been pondering Holy Week today. It’s been the underlying thought of my hours…Christ’s journey to the cross…how one week could move so quickly from shouts of praise to shouts of hate. Without meaning for them to do so, my thoughts came into view as I opened a window to my soul while writing an e-mail yesterday. I want to share part of that message now because it’s part of my own journey to the cross:

…I like to stay informed on what's in culture and try to find points of redemption and truth wherever I can. Sometimes this reality drives me crazy because the two sides of every issue are always fighting so hard against one another.

I think that the issue of bullying is tough. Much of the really good material on bullying has been produced by groups that Southern Baptists don’t often associate with. I've wanted to use some of the material simply because it's good material--it has nothing to do with controversial issues the surface but everything to do with respecting differences and treating people with dignity and respect--but I haven't been able to use it because of associations that some would question and hold in contempt. While we, as Christians, don’t want to get labeled as bullies, we often do...and I think it's because of the tension between right/wrong, good/bad, being in this world but not of it, speaking truth while respecting differences, sharing faith and following Christ and knowing when to leave things to God...

It's sometimes hard to know how to be true to one belief system while not damning others and standing in a judgmental place of condemnation in the process (which I don't think Jesus wanted)--especially when issues of life/death, heaven/hell, saved/unsaved come into the picture--and especially when things are extreme and polarized...with violence running rampant and individualism/consumerism/feel-goodism/entitlementism (yes I realize I'm making up words) being the norm of the day.

I think maybe this is why I try to stay informed on what's out there...to try to find common ground and weed out God's truth and grace in the middle. In counseling the other day, my counselor really upset me. She said some really hard, really difficult things and I left her office very angry and very hurt. After many years of work learning not to absolutely hate myself and think myself a horrible, terrible individual by virtue of just being alive (we're all depraved sinners, right?—isn’t that what we’re taught?—that we’re worthy of nothing save for Christ?—that we’re really horrible people without Christ’s blood?), I didn't shut down, turn the pain inward, or allow it come outward in a self-harming way. Instead, I simply prayed, "God, help me to hear what it is you want me to hear in this. Help me to hear your truth, your words, and to take from this session and these feelings what you alone would have me to take." Over the past few days, I've let her words pass through my mind and sit on my heart occasionally, praying for God's wisdom and discernment each time it’s happened, and I've been able to weed out the anger and ickiness and lies and land in a place of relative peace--even though what I had to name and accept was not easy or what I'd originally believed.

I write all of that because...well...I don't know really. Maybe because every day is this journey in seeing where God is working and what God is teaching...even when it's different than what I expect--which is a lot. It's taking in all of the information and expectations and stereotypes and negativity that are thrown my way and trying to find points of goodness and redemption and love...which is where I believe Jesus was going on his journey through life that led to the cross.

Isn't That The Point

I just overheard this conversation:

"I'm going to dye eggs on Friday. Are you?"

"No. I gave that up for Lent."

"You gave up dying eggs for Lent?"

(Chuckling) "I gave up that and diet and exercise. I gave up a lot of things...No. I'm sure glad we Baptists don't practice Lent. If we did, then I'd have to give up something that really means a lot to me."

Umm. Isn't that the point? Didn't Jesus "give up" something that he really liked during this Lenten season? Didn't he "give up" or lose his life for taking a stand against practices that were unfair, unjust, and un-life-giving?

I, for one, am NOT glad that we Baptists don't practice Lent, because I, for one, think that we sometimes take the richness of our faith heritage for granted and do only that which is easy for today.

Don't Let Me Miss You

"It's a busy Holy Week - I'm just praying that I won't somehow miss Jesus this week, in the midst of all the busyness."

I just read that sentence in an e-mail from the pastor at my church.

Her next sentence said: "I know you know what I mean!"

I do.

In fact, I've missed Jesus this entire lenten season if I'm truthful.

Work has been busy. I've traveled all over the state speaking about my job and missions. I've met hundreds of people. I've written thousands of words. I've muttered countless, "Dear God"'s. But I've missed Jesus. I've missed his life. His miracles. His work. I've missed this man upon whose name I have built my life.

I'm in my office with the door closed today. I long for silence. I long to meet this Jesus during the hardest week of his life. I long to sit with him like he has sat with me during so many of my dark nights.

I don't want to miss you, God The Redeemer. Don't let me miss you. Today, I am right here...