Surprised by God

 

If I understand correctly,

To be a Christian is to

Believe in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

It is to believe in the transforming power of Jesus’s love and

To try to live on earth as one day we believe we will live in heaven.

It is to seek to follow the way of the cross

That was transformed and redeemed through a life lived less in judgment of the poor, outcast, and socially unacceptable and more in welcoming grace.

One’s standing as Christian

Is not dependent on one’s perceived sinfulness

Or one’s perceived holiness.

It is not dependent on

Rich, poor

Black, white

Gay, straight

Jew, Gentile

Man, woman

Pro-life, pro-choice

Political party or anything else.

To be a Christian is to trust Christ with our lives and

To follow our understanding of the Living Word of God,

Revealed to us in Jesus Christ,

Still speaking to us through the Holy Spirit.

God is alive and active.

God is bigger than human comprehension.

So maybe those of us who claim

Christian

As our name

Should spend less time condemning and

More time accepting

That we might be surprised at

All the people God loves.

Beloved

 

My dad bangs on the wall each morning to make sure I’m awake.

Sometimes I am. Sometimes I’m not.

Sometimes I immediately get up. Sometimes I forget.

Sometimes I make it downstairs while breakfast is still cooking. Sometimes I make it downstairs after it’s done.

Sometimes dad is sitting at the table doing his morning devotionals. Sometimes he’s moving about.

Sometimes we have a morning conversation. Most of the time we do not. Because I’m really very bad at mornings!

 

Last Wednesday, as I was sleepily trying to get myself together,

Dad said, “I want to read you something from my Nouwen book. It’s quite profound.”

And so he read:

 

“One of the greatest dangers in the spiritual life is self-rejection. When we say, ‘If people really knew me, they wouldn’t love me,’ we choose the road toward darkness. Often we are made to believe that self-deprecation is a virtue, called humility. But humility is in reality the opposite of self-deprecation. It is the grateful recognition that we are precious in God’s eyes and that all we are is pure gift. To grow beyond self-rejection, we must have the courage to listen to the voice calling us God’s beloved sons and daughters, and the determination always to live our lives according to this truth.” (Henri Nouwen, Bread for the Journey)

 

Then my dad added, “We are God’s beloved children.

I think I fail to accept that sometimes.

And I think that not accepting it has caused me to make a lot mistakes and feel a lot of heartache and depression over the course of my life.”

My dad is 81.

 

I didn’t say anything in the moment because I was running late.

I was also moved with emotion.

Because I completely understood.

 

Later, though, I sent my dad a text:

 

“The sermon last Sunday was on being God’s beloved children. It’s very, very different theology than Southern Baptist theology, and it’s taken me years and years of therapy and hard work to reprogram my brain to accept that I am God’s beloved child over I am a sinner. We may be sinners, but if we believe that we ARE sin at our core, then we believe that we are bad. But if we believe that we are God’s beloved, then we believe that we are loved, regardless of sin. I’m glad that Nouwen made you think.”

 

Friends: However old you are, 18, 46, 64, 81, and anywhere in between, know this:

In the beginning, God created humankind and called humankind good.

You are good. Even though you sometimes do bad things.

You are beloved. Even though your nature holds capacity for sin.

Christ’s forgiveness is but a heart’s cry away.

The Spirit’s grace is never-ending.

God’s love extends to all.

And that all includes all of who you are.

 

Oh God: Grant us the courage to listen to the voice calling us your beloved sons and daughters, and help us find the determination to live our lives according to this truth. Amen.

Room At The Table

 

We had an unexpected guest at our table yesterday:

Annie the Cat.

Used to, when the family came, Annie would hide the whole time.

Recently, she’s become more adventurous and been more of a presence.

Yesterday, she firmly planted herself in a dining room chair and

Did not move when we all convened in the dining room for dessert.

The whole family gathered round the table,

And there was Annie,

Asleep in my seat,

Vaguely listening to family conversation,

As happy as she could be.

 

…

 

Yesterday, Christians gathered worldwide on the eve of this Christmas Day.

We celebrated the birth of baby Jesus

And talked of the joy of Christ.

I sang of Mother Mary’s labor of love,

And my dad reflected on the presence of Christ that

Is the ultimate present to humankind.

 

Meanwhile, I silently agonized over the reality that so much of Christmas is a lie.

Theologically, Jesus wasn’t born on December 25 and the wisemen didn’t appear to Jesus at the stable.

Non-theologically, we indoctrinate ourselves on songs of fictional characters

And hang our hats on a belief in a Santa Claus who doesn’t even visit the least of these.

We confuse story with reality and mesh it all together into one big, collective lie.

No wonder people have a hard time believing in God.

And no wonder people have a hard time holding to the hope of Jesus.

 

…

 

And yet.

There Annie was at the table.

A teenage mother from an unwanted pregnancy

Who found her way to our house

Where we took her in and gave her her best life.

And here we are on Christmas Day,

Remembering the birth of a real person

Born to a teenage mother through an unwanted pregnancy,

Whose story found its way to our hearts

Where we took it in and can now live our best lives…

 

Dear God: There’s a lot we don’t know. But this much is true: Jesus was real. And His life and  love can live within us and give us unexplainable hope. Jesus was real. And His life and love can compel us to make room at the table for everyone. Help us to make room for everyone. Amen.

A Lesson In Loneliness

I read a newspaper article a few weeks ago that really made an impression on me. The headline reads, “Man found three years after his death; a lesson in loneliness,” and the article shares the story of Ronald Wayne White, a diabetic Navy vet who died “unnoticed and all but forgotten.” His rent was automatically deducted from his bank account once a month. His car was parked, untouched, in the garage.

The article reads:

“It’s disheartening that society has reached such a threshold of disconnection that (Ronald) could have no friend, no coworker, no acquaintance to even check to see if he was alive or dead…

This case reminds us that there are thousands of people among us who are in severe states of loneliness and isolation…The reality is that loneliness profoundly grips many of us…

White’s case drives home the importance of making real life connections. There should be people in our lives who can and will reach out to at least check on our well-being or at least notice when something might seem odd.

We’re more connected through social media than ever before. Experts point out that we’re processing so much information…that we’re losing our ability to think and feel. It’s hurting our personal connections and making us more distant and lonely. And the loneliness can negatively affect our health…

Let’s vow to actually pick up the phone to talk to or actually go visit someone we know instead of spending so much time on social media. Let’s make eye contact and be mindful of other people. Let’s do things with other people, be it attending religious services or going to a ball game. We need to take better care of ourselves and our neighbors.”

Friends: Let’s be loneliness fighters. No one deserves to live, or die, or feel alone.

I Don't Know About You, But I Think We Should Show Them

My pastor said something on Sunday that made me think of an image of Jesus that I hadn’t considered in a long time:

Jesus, on the cross—beaten, bloody, and bruised;
Me, kneeling beneath the cross—looking into Jesus’ eyes.
Jesus, on the cross—beckoning me to join him;
Me, climbing up the cross—looking into the eyes of love.
Jesus, on the cross—arms open wide;
Me, embracing Jesus—his broken body folding into mine.

I wrote a song inspired by this image when I was in college. I opened my computer today to see if I’d typed up the song, but I hadn’t. In the process of looking, though, I found another song that I hadn’t considered in a long time. I wrote this song after being introduced not to moving images of Jesus’ compassion but to sad images of a wounded child. Little did I know that that introduction to childhood trauma would be only the first of countless stories that would come to break my heart over the years.

I updated that song today…and the poem that follows means more now than ever.

No child should have to:
know all she knows,
see all she sees,
hurt all she hurts,
be all she is.

No child should have to:
face life alone,
doubt her next meal will come,
feel she’s not good enough,
believe who is she is, is wrong.

No child should have to:
joke to hide all the pain inside,
think she's weak if she cries,
fear the touch of another’s hand,
hear words that wound and damn.

But so many do.

Just look into eyes: shame.
Just listen to voices: humiliation.
Just look at shoulders: heartache.

If only they knew and believed in who they are.

If only they knew they are loved as they are:
Beautifully broken, resilient children of God,
Created and able to grow by the creativity of God,
Redeemed and made new by the grace of God…

Midmorning Daydream

Yesterday, the first prayer of my day was
for a friend with whom I haven't spoken in quite some time.
I had dreamed about her the night before.

Today, the first prayer of my day was
"May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, oh Lord, my strength and redeemer."
I have no idea what I dreamed last night.
Which is weird.
I usually dream in active, vivid color.

Right now, the prayer of my heart continues to be the prayer of my morning as I
Daydream of a time when all of my students
(and my friend)
(and all persons everywhere)
will know they are (or can be) safely loved and that
(at least in my eyes) there is redemption and grace.

How Did I Get Here?

Have you ever stopped and wondered: how did I get here?

I found myself wondering that all afternoon as I walked around North Greenville University with the Vice President of Denominational Relations last Thursday. I’ve wondered it before as I’ve talked with National WMU staff members and presidents, spoken with denominational heads, met with presidents of universities, laughed with missionaries, worked with state WMU staffs, and driven all over both North and South Carolina to meet with pastors and lay persons who desire to serve God with their lives and to know God more. Sometimes I feel a little out of place in my own life…

Thursday was the first day of school for many of my teacher friends from home. A few years ago, it would have been my first day with students as well…and I probably would have spent the day helping kindergarten students know how to hold a lunch tray and walk in line and do those other school tasks that we quickly take for granted. Eventually, I would have started teaching classes—assigning seats so that I could remember names—and teaching kids about music—stretching their hearts and minds.

Despite the challenges of working in the public schools, I loved my job. I loved the kids. And I loved the colleagues that I worked with. I loved watching my students grow from kindergarten to 5th grade and I loved having students run up to me in Wal-mart and give me a hug. It’s as if I were a celebrity…and it was kind of neat…especially since I truly loved my students and believed the best about them—even when no one else did.

After eight years in one school, working side by side with my art teacher who became one of my dearest friends—we were like two peas in a pod—where one went, the other went—so much so that some teachers never learned to tell us part—it was hard to leave what I had finally accepted as my mission field. It was hard to leave the public schools that I believe are the foundation to our future—the place where I believe those who follow in the way of God’s love can impact countless lives through the light and freedom that our lives can exhibit. We may not be able to openly share our faith, but we can live with a sense of integrity and respect that opens dialogue and demonstrates a peace that this world can not offer.

Yet…God called me away from the diversity of the public schools and into the not-so-diverse land of Presidents and Vice Presidents and Executive Directors and Pastors that sometimes makes me look around and question how did I get here? Do I even belong?

And then the quiet answer comes that…yes I do belong. I do have a place. I do have a call. I do have a purpose. I can hold my own with the Vice President of NGU (who, by the way, is SUPER nice and welcoming).

And then I smile in wonder and realize just how blessed I am. And I say a little prayer of thanksgiving for all of the people who have brought me here—especially my family and teacher friends today—and then I sit down and write (and find a bug at the bottom of my afternoon cup of coffee.)