Catching on...
As a kid who grew up spending weekends and summers at the lake, I spent long hours fishing. By “fishing,” however, I actually meant “catching,” “reeling them in,” having something to measure – a “keeper.” I knew about lures and bait. I knew about “good spots” to anchor and also how to troll with the wind. The old, blue, 3-horse Evinrude on the back of the boat spent most of its time with its prop tipped up out of the water because it was only there to bring me home. It was too noisy for fishing; those who fish move quietly.
I didn’t know then about “catch and release.” In my experience, fish weren’t released; they “got away.” In my stories, the “big ones” got away. But in truth, a lot of little ones did too.
That’s the way I probably would have understood God’s grace back then. If an adult were to have sat me down to explain God’s grace to me as a child, I would have been thinking that grace was getting away when you’re caught. When a fish gets away, it’s the fish that’s clever or lucky. Or maybe grace would have seemed like getting what you want. Another day of swimming free, in road-less waters, darting among feather-soft perch weeds where I could hide and feed.
However, one of my Sunday school teachers did explain to me that back in Jesus’ time, they used nets. I remember that because I also remember thinking to myself, ‘Well, then, no one gets a ripped jaw that way.’ (I wasn’t all that skillful with setting the hook.) Perhaps there was more to this.
I also grew up spending weekends year-round at church. Turns out that grace is better than getting what you want. It’s getting something you couldn’t even dream up and finding that it is just what you want! Grace is God’s way of making something impossible, possible. Grace is like a being a fish who learns there is a whole sunshiny, green world above water and then discovering, wonder of wonders, that you don’t have to wring oxygen out of water after all, straining out a molecule here and there just to exist. Discovering you can breathe air directly and there is so much of it!
Even back then, it would have been clear to me that this would take a miracle. That no fish would be clever enough to pull it off. Or even believe such a thing if it were taught in fish schools. The catch-and-release survivors would be sure to show up and tell their own stories, stories that made themselves look good.
Our church tradition sets forth three movements of faith: guilt, grace and gratitude. Guilt is facing reality. This is who I really am. (Guilt is not news, really, despite my objections and avoidance.) Gratitude is our motivation for following Jesus, for loving and going and speaking and lifting and serving. (Yes, gratitude -- not the expectations of others or guilt or persuasion or our generosity.) In between is grace.
Yet, sometimes the church doesn't make sense to people. After all, who wants to hear about their sins week after week? Who wants to be judged? Or who wants to be prodded continually to do more for others? “I have all I can handle to work and to make time for my family and myself. No, thanks. I don't want to get hooked on anything else. Don't want to be caught up in anything like that.” They’re right to some extent. You can’t pick up the practices of faith and assume that is the whole of it.
The truth is that neither guilt nor gratitude makes any sense without grace. They go against the current of everything we know. Can we stop squirming and trying to get away long enough to realize we are being rescued, not caught, by the hand of God? Do we know this Jesus who chooses to spend time in the boats of fisherman? Can we fully realize that his bloodied hand is covered in his own blood, not ours? Grace doesn't make any sense without the cross.
For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God (1 Corinthians 1: 18)
"Much Grace..." Pastor Shirley
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Just asking...
“Were you there when they crucified my Lord?”
Those are the opening words of an extraordinary gospel song, first sung by African American slaves, bringing to mind the death and resurrection of our Lord. But more than bringing to mind. Shaking us to the core. “Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble…”
“Were you there?” Immediately the question draws me in, inviting me to consider what I’ve witnessed. In a dark night, a falling star leaves a sparkling trail as it burns in the earth’s atmosphere and my impulse is to turn to someone near me to ask if he saw what I just saw. How much more so this one who, for a short while, has shed light into my personal darkness? This one I have come to know as “my Lord.” Crucified. Extinguished. “Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble…”
Were you close enough to hear and see for yourself “when they nailed him to the tree?” Did you hear the solid thud of the hammer on the head of the nail? Did the finality strike you too? Did it all seem to swirl around you, the sound of wailing women, the folds of his robe taken in hand by someone who thought he’d just won a bet? Does the sheer injustice of it cause you to tremble, tremble, tremble?
“Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?” Getting it done quickly. Too quickly. Promising each other that they’d return and make it right somehow. Not knowing how they would keep that daring promise. Outwitted, out numbered, out of options. Outcasts. Were you there? Did you tremble?
And, Glory, Glory, amazing sight! My Lord and my God! Were you there when he rose up? Did you hear your name? Did you reach for him? Touch his hands? Recognize him when he blessed the evening bread? Or stoked the charcoal fire on the beach until sparks flew into the dawning sky? Were you there when he asked, do you love me, do you love me, do you really love me?
Does it cause you and I to tremble?
Perhaps the most troubling word in this song is “sometimes.”
And yet, we who are the “sometimes” sort are nevertheless redeemed by an “always” God.
Oh…Sometimes that truth alone is enough to cause me to tremble!
"Much Grace..." Pastor Shirley
“Were you there when they crucified my Lord?”
Those are the opening words of an extraordinary gospel song, first sung by African American slaves, bringing to mind the death and resurrection of our Lord. But more than bringing to mind. Shaking us to the core. “Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble…”
“Were you there?” Immediately the question draws me in, inviting me to consider what I’ve witnessed. In a dark night, a falling star leaves a sparkling trail as it burns in the earth’s atmosphere and my impulse is to turn to someone near me to ask if he saw what I just saw. How much more so this one who, for a short while, has shed light into my personal darkness? This one I have come to know as “my Lord.” Crucified. Extinguished. “Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble…”
Were you close enough to hear and see for yourself “when they nailed him to the tree?” Did you hear the solid thud of the hammer on the head of the nail? Did the finality strike you too? Did it all seem to swirl around you, the sound of wailing women, the folds of his robe taken in hand by someone who thought he’d just won a bet? Does the sheer injustice of it cause you to tremble, tremble, tremble?
“Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?” Getting it done quickly. Too quickly. Promising each other that they’d return and make it right somehow. Not knowing how they would keep that daring promise. Outwitted, out numbered, out of options. Outcasts. Were you there? Did you tremble?
And, Glory, Glory, amazing sight! My Lord and my God! Were you there when he rose up? Did you hear your name? Did you reach for him? Touch his hands? Recognize him when he blessed the evening bread? Or stoked the charcoal fire on the beach until sparks flew into the dawning sky? Were you there when he asked, do you love me, do you love me, do you really love me?
Does it cause you and I to tremble?
Perhaps the most troubling word in this song is “sometimes.”
And yet, we who are the “sometimes” sort are nevertheless redeemed by an “always” God.
Oh…Sometimes that truth alone is enough to cause me to tremble!
"Much Grace..." Pastor Shirley
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Reflecting...a take off on taking off.
I don’t like to think of myself as a “Helicopter mom” – a label to describe the kind of parent who hovers above the family, overseeing every detail. That is, I don’t want to limit the influence of outsiders, which often is positive and not something to fear despite what my fears may be yelling in my ear at any particular moment. I really don’t want to obstruct someone’s natural growth toward autonomy. But I do admit to being an avid “flight tracker.” I mean that in every sense, even literally! Everyone in my family will quickly tell you, I track their air travel online. (To be completely honest, I check in when they travel by train or automobile too!) I like to know where they are and that they are OK.
In the bible that’s compatible with shepherding, I think. I hope. I wonder if shepherding carried with it the same sometimes-negative reputation for hovering that we associate with helicopters. As far as I know, all a helicopter provides that might be used as a possible warning device is a loudspeaker or radio. I’ve often repeated advice as the kids went out the door. I’ve found that while a parent might feel frustrated when ‘talking to the hand,’ there’s a different, deeper fear when 'calling out to the backs' of those you love as they race off to what seems -- to them -- to be a great adventure. I remember from pictures in Sunday school that a shepherd carried a crook to physically pull sheep back from the edge of danger. Evidently that tool hasn’t survived in good enough condition to be handed down through the generations.
What kind of spiritual guides are we? How is that done today?
Right at this very moment, my son is is in a CRJ 200 poised for lift-off on a runway in Minneapolis. Poised is a poetic word that probably doesn't fit this particular experience at all! I actually think he may be gripping the armrests. That’s what I do. And hopefully he’s reminding himself to breathe, the way a personal trainer reminds everyone to breathe when doing a strenuous number of crunches or lats. Ultimately in life, we each self-monitor by remembering and applying what we’ve heard when the moment is right. That’s how it is to be interdependent, to have personal responsibility while at the same time to be guided by an all-seeing God. We remember, we trust, we go forward, and we breathe a prayer.
There are so many dangerous places in this world for a son or daughter to be. Danger rains down on Israel and the Gaza strip; it sweeps across Iraqi sands and makes the borders of Pakistan, India and Afghanistan collide and shudder. Danger that is more subtle or secretive is still danger. Abandoned alleys or wide-open city parks can be deceptive. Any door slammed shut drums a warning. We who live in safer places often don't realize what danger we are in. Sometimes even our own thoughts are dangerous.
The good news, however, is a discovery that, perhaps, we can only make out there -- that our Lord, our Good Shepherd, climbs aboard for the ride of our lives, whether smooth or turbulent. His mother knew my concerns. "And a sword will pierce your own soul too" (Luke 2.35b) she was told and that was very true. Still, he faced danger and he survived death and he will accompany us all the way.
My son has lifted off. I stop holding my breath when I remind myself he's not alone. This is our bold claim: that everywhere God's grace and peace form spectacular, billowing clouds beneath and around us.
"Much Grace..." Pastor Shirley
I don’t like to think of myself as a “Helicopter mom” – a label to describe the kind of parent who hovers above the family, overseeing every detail. That is, I don’t want to limit the influence of outsiders, which often is positive and not something to fear despite what my fears may be yelling in my ear at any particular moment. I really don’t want to obstruct someone’s natural growth toward autonomy. But I do admit to being an avid “flight tracker.” I mean that in every sense, even literally! Everyone in my family will quickly tell you, I track their air travel online. (To be completely honest, I check in when they travel by train or automobile too!) I like to know where they are and that they are OK.
In the bible that’s compatible with shepherding, I think. I hope. I wonder if shepherding carried with it the same sometimes-negative reputation for hovering that we associate with helicopters. As far as I know, all a helicopter provides that might be used as a possible warning device is a loudspeaker or radio. I’ve often repeated advice as the kids went out the door. I’ve found that while a parent might feel frustrated when ‘talking to the hand,’ there’s a different, deeper fear when 'calling out to the backs' of those you love as they race off to what seems -- to them -- to be a great adventure. I remember from pictures in Sunday school that a shepherd carried a crook to physically pull sheep back from the edge of danger. Evidently that tool hasn’t survived in good enough condition to be handed down through the generations.
What kind of spiritual guides are we? How is that done today?
Right at this very moment, my son is is in a CRJ 200 poised for lift-off on a runway in Minneapolis. Poised is a poetic word that probably doesn't fit this particular experience at all! I actually think he may be gripping the armrests. That’s what I do. And hopefully he’s reminding himself to breathe, the way a personal trainer reminds everyone to breathe when doing a strenuous number of crunches or lats. Ultimately in life, we each self-monitor by remembering and applying what we’ve heard when the moment is right. That’s how it is to be interdependent, to have personal responsibility while at the same time to be guided by an all-seeing God. We remember, we trust, we go forward, and we breathe a prayer.
There are so many dangerous places in this world for a son or daughter to be. Danger rains down on Israel and the Gaza strip; it sweeps across Iraqi sands and makes the borders of Pakistan, India and Afghanistan collide and shudder. Danger that is more subtle or secretive is still danger. Abandoned alleys or wide-open city parks can be deceptive. Any door slammed shut drums a warning. We who live in safer places often don't realize what danger we are in. Sometimes even our own thoughts are dangerous.
The good news, however, is a discovery that, perhaps, we can only make out there -- that our Lord, our Good Shepherd, climbs aboard for the ride of our lives, whether smooth or turbulent. His mother knew my concerns. "And a sword will pierce your own soul too" (Luke 2.35b) she was told and that was very true. Still, he faced danger and he survived death and he will accompany us all the way.
My son has lifted off. I stop holding my breath when I remind myself he's not alone. This is our bold claim: that everywhere God's grace and peace form spectacular, billowing clouds beneath and around us.
"Much Grace..." Pastor Shirley
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