Bridge the Gap…

The other day I wandered into the woods of a local park.

The combination of a coffee drink in one hand (a prerequisite in the Northwest) and a sunny day in April (a rarity in the Northwest) brought me and my two boys to a muddy little creek tucked behind a set of tennis courts in the very same park I had played in as a little boy.

The creek – which created a border between the park and a local neighborhood – was muddy and cold, but that was no deterrent for two ambitious and adventurous little boys.

We followed the creek bed for a bit until arriving at a u-shaped bend, where the creek had left the park boundary and cut back into park territory, creating an island just far enough away that we could not jump over to it.

And, as though someone had been in that exact spot before, and had had the same exact thought as we did, a bridge had been created. It was not a pretty bridge – a bunch of sticks thrown haphazardly across the creek – but it allowed passage between both sides. 

To read the rest, click here.

 

Edward Scissorhands and Me: Cultivating an on-line pastoral presence

I was 21 when I was handed my first hedge trimmer. As a seminary student I was often confined to a square study carrel in an even squarer library that smelled of cloth and dust. Every day I climbed the stairs, passed through overgrown arborvitaes, and entered the gaping maw of the bibliophile’s heaven.

Afraid of becoming a permanent fixture of the library, of blending into the wallpaper, I sought whatever means I could to escape esoteric theologians and overly loquacious authors. Offered an opportunity to work with the grounds department as a part-time work-study student, I eagerly agreed.

Keep reading here.

 

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Is Jesus a River or a Wall?

Over the past few days I have been posting various status updates on Facebook in order to flesh out some ideas of who Jesus is and who Jesus is not. Statements like the following were only met with approval: 

“Things Jesus never said: Make sure your theology is correct before you follow me.”

“Things Jesus did not say: If you are to really follow me, just continue to meet with you friends and study the Bible. That is all you need to do.”

But today I wrote one that received more comments than likes. This is what I wrote:

“Jesus never said: You are wrong!”

Most people who know me know that I do believe the Bible mandates a certain ethic/morality and that to follow Jesus means a life set apart, a life of holiness. I believe that when Jesus said one must die to self that he actually meant it. 

But I also realized that a chord of dissonance was struck in that post. And my question is this, “Why do we feel the need to be right?” What is it within us, and I ask this honestly, that so strongly desires to be right? 

I like to win arguments with people. I like to have my idea chosen, and I like when I am stated as the expert. I like when my friends quote me. And I think this is unhealthy about myself.

I’ve been meditating on Mark 11 this month, in preparation for preaching in chapel in a few weeks. This passage details Jesus’ arrival into Jerusalem, often called the Triumphal Entry.

Perhaps you know the story – the people lay out their coats, wave palm branches and shout out, “Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”

And it is their full expectation that Jesus is coming into town to overthrow the current political regime. They see before them a warrior, a fighter, a man who will finally save them from the oppression they have experienced under Roman rule.

And we also know the end of the story. Jesus is brutally killed. He does not fight back, but allows his captors to end his life. Yet death does not prevail, and three days later Jesus rises from the dead. Amen!

But here is the thing – while Jesus was parading through these people praising his coming kingdom, they were proclaiming something that was not true about him. Their perceptions of who he was were wrong. 

Yet he did not correct them.

What?!? He knew what they were proclaiming, and he did not correct them. He did not tell them they were wrong. He did not stop the parade, stand on top of his donkey, and proclaim, “No! Do you not see who I really am? I have told you all these things, and yet you do not get it!”

Instead, he allows them to praise him in their false perceptions of who he is.

This has been challenging for me to ponder. What are your thoughts? 

A Prayer for My Heart…and Yours?

I needed this word today, which came from a dear friend. Let’s all pray it together:

“Lord, I have not lived like a contemplative. The first essential is missing. I only say I trust you. My actions prove that the one I trust is myself—and that I am still afraid of you. Take my life into your hands, at last, and do whatever you want with it. I give myself to your love and mean to keep on giving myself to your love—rejecting neither the hard things nor the pleasant things you have arranged for me. It is enough for me that you have glory. Everything you have planned is good. It is all love. The way you have laid open before me is an easy way, compared with the hard way of my own will which leads back to Egypt, and to bricks without straw.

If you allow people to praise me, I shall worry even less, but be glad. If you send me work I shall embrace it with joy and it will be rest to me, because it is your will. And if you send me rest, I will rest in you. Only save me from myself. Save me from my own, private, poisonous urge to change everything, to act without reason, to move for movement’s sake, to unsettle everything you have ordained. Let me rest in your will and be silent. Then the light of your joy will warm my life. Its fire will burn in my heart and shine for your glory. This is what I live for. Amen, amen.”

(Merton, The Sign of Jonas, pp. 76-77)

 

A Holy Spirit Ambush

Yesterday I experienced what I’m choosing to call a Holy Spirit ambush. It’s nothing that was overly dramatic – in fact, in was in small episode that came to life from the spoken words of a 2nd grader.

I get the privilege of serving every so often in a first and second grade classroom for Sunday school at Newberg Friends Church. I really like working with grade school aged children. They are joyful, fun-loving and have short-attention spans. (What was it I was just now doing?)

This is great, because if something is not working, you just stop doing it and move onto something else – and they just think its normal. Talk about grace!

We were having one of those moments in class this past Sunday. I was fumbling around with an activity where they were sitting and answering questions I was asking. No matter which question I asked, the only two answers I got were Jesus and Prince Caspian.

And so, since we had been talking about what it means to be a disciple of Jesus, I had them get up and begin a game of follow the leader. I spent time appointing each different student as the leader and giving them time to lead the actions of others.

I was just about to end the time and then ask them some questions about how the game paralleled a life of following Jesus, but it turns out what needed to be taught was going to be taught through one of the 7 year-old followers.

As one of the kids was leading, he got stuck behind one of the other adults so that a portion of the line could not see him, and therefore could not follow. A few of the kids just stopped moving at all, waiting for the leader to reappear.

But he didn’t. He stayed hidden behind the adult, and those who could not see began to get a little impatient.

The conversation which came from this is what has glued itself to my heart. It went like this:

Girl: Why are you guys not following the leader?

Boy: Because we can’t see what he is doing! 

Girl: That’s ok – just follow me – I can see him and I’ll show you what to do.

A simple spoken word, a profound truth for what it often means to be a follower of Jesus.

Because sometimes my view of Jesus is skewed or blocked. Sometimes I can’t see him because I’m stuck in self-pity, or I’m blinded by my own pride, or someone else’s actions or words are blocking me.

And when this happens, I have a choice:

Either I stop moving, assuming that at some point it will get better.

Or I listen to the voices around me, those encouraging me to just follow them because at this moment they can see Jesus.

My life as a follower of Jesus is not just about me. It is also about us, and how we point each other towards Christ. This is something that I (and many others!) think the early Quakers were right on about – and something we need today in the life of the American church, perhaps more than anything else.

Sometimes we will be those who are blocked, and sometimes we will be those who need to bring others along to a place where even if they can’t see Jesus, they are not left out in the darkness.

I’d encourage you to listen to this sermon by Gregg Koskela. It actually happened after this little God sighting in Sunday School – see what I mean by a Holy Spirit ambush?

 

 

That Dude in the Wool Sweater

My deepest fears were realized this week, early one morning as I was out for a nice, brisk run.

Lost in thought as the soles of my technically designed running shoes bounced quietly off of the frost-laden sidewalk, I was jarred back into reality by the loud pounding of clumsy feet.

If you are a runner, you probably take pride in your smooth gait, your quiet footstrike and your effortless-looking glide.

But this dude had none of that.

And to make matters worse, he was running faster than I was.

And to make matters even more worse, he was dressed in the most garish running outfit I have ever seen: a patterned wool sweater, a wool hat, ankle-baring cargo pants and shoes most likely purchased at Payless Shoe Source. It was like he’d rummaged through a long-forgotten clothes-drive bin and picked out anything that looked warm.

And he was running faster than me.

Me of the dri-fit shirt, the running tights (don’t judge!), the specially sewn running socks, and well-placed reflectors that made oncoming cars think they were caught in the tractor beam of a low-flying UFO.

And he was running faster than me.

My first thought came rather quickly and easily – he was late for class, for a meeting, for something important. Or he wanted to be first in line when the library opened.

But he kept running.

So then I told myself he was just out for a short run, perhaps a quarter mile or so – you know, to get his blood pumping for his morning study session in the library which he would be the first to enter once the doors opened.

But, he kept running.

That dude in the wool sweater was running faster than me.

Then my mind flashed back to the New York Marathon – and those last few miles that felt longer than I-84 in the middle of Wyoming – and me, dying on the inside and dying on the outside, struggling to put one foot in front of the other, being passed by 80 year old ladies, 250 pound dudes and 16 year old kids who in their angst-y teenage bravado decided to enter the race that day.

Right then and there I knew that running was about more than looking like a runner. It was about putting in the time to make it to the finish line, to finish your goal, to accomplish something difficult. And even if you did all those things, you still might get passed by a man with a cane, shorts that barely covered his underwear and a mouthful of $20,000 dentures.

That dude in the wool sweater made all these thoughts flash through my mind, made me remember what was so clear that November morning on the streets of the Big Apple – that thing I vowed I would never forget.

But until that dude in the sweater came prancing by, I had forgotten.

So here it is, in hopes you’ll help me remember.

Whatever my task in life, whatever my hopes, whatever I might be dreaming about, the way I look will not get me there.

I might appear to you to be spiritually grounded, but perhaps I just know the lingo. I might seem like I have it all together, like the problems of the world just roll off my back, but maybe I’m just good at knowing in which dark corner of my soul they need to be hid.

So when I’m dressed in my running gear, when I’m holding my Bible, when I’ve got a scowl on my face, when I’m standing in front of you as someone who must have something to say, when I’m praying out loud, when I’m sitting down in worship while everyone is standing with hands held high – don’t be fooled.

I might just be a dude in a wool sweater…or might be the guy who’s dressed for the occasion but is getting passed.

I can’t tell anything just by looking. What I want to know is, what does the inside of my cup look like?

That’s what matters. That’s where Jesus looks. And when that is clean, then the outside will take care of itself.

And who knows – maybe next time you’ll see me running in a patterned wool sweater…

Wisdom Calls – an advent poem

Listen my children;

I speak to you about principalities,

dominions and powers.

My children,

You will learn much about companies,

corporate mergers, and consultancies

(a commercial, please, with toothy smile)

and how these powers buy and sell, buy and sell;

the whole world is their market,

but have the children eaten?

oh, have the children eaten?

My children,

you will learn much about governments,

and nations, and military powers

(trumpets, please, and flags unfurled);

the soldiers march, one two three four, on two

three four,

playing war games everywhere;

but why are parents crying?

oh, why are parents crying?

My children,

you will learn much about extravaganza,

festive pomp, floor shows, and awards

(flowers, please, and television stars);

the actors follow cue and script, cue and script;

not truth, but image and effect;

so, why are poets beaten?

oh, why are poets beaten?

 

– Arthur Roberts, 1985