An invitation to rummage...

I know the organized church has clarified its purpose over the past “X” number of years, saying more directly, perhaps more concisely, certainly with more urgency, that we are a people who follow Christ in mission.  We hear that.  We understand that.  And, to the degree that we are people of integrity, we grapple with that purpose regularly, trying to see where such “following” will take us today, what it will look like at this moment or that.  We think in missional language.  We awaken and eat in a missional way, much as the people of God who, on the verge of their release from captivity, ate their last meal with their coats on, their sandals laced and tied, their staffs in hand (Exodus 12:11).  The church’s rally-day theme might simply be, “Go!”

Consequently, however, introspection has become somewhat passe’.  After all, we can’t be taking a long, hard look at ourselves if we are going to be a people of action.  It’s the adjective “long” that doesn't stand up under scrutiny. Church analysts will say we have been looking at ourselves for far-too-long!  Introspection has become a barrier to mission. 

But how then can we ever be certain of our motives?  The Bible calls this aspect of our experience, “the inclination of our hearts,” an inclination, as we are reminded often, that is seen by God, even if no one else questions our choices, (Genesis 6:5; Matthew 15:19).  We are neither inclined to be good, nor can we remain invisible.  David’s plot to have what he wants at the expense of his neighbor is exposed when Nathan exclaims, “you are the man.  Thus says the Lord God…” (2 Samuel 12:7). 

The truth is that we are not inclined to be honestly introspective any more than we are inclined to be lovingly missional.  Not without God’s urging and confronting.  And not without stories – many, many stories, like beads on a string, each connecting our inner lives with our outer choices.  Abram who follows God when no one else does, and yet who passes off his wife as his sister to save himself.  But that’s not all, there’s more to his story, better choices lie ahead.  Spectacular Elijah who is hunted down and gives up and yet, who is called out of his man-cave, revived once again for mission. Gideon, Joshua, Ruth, Esther, the Marys, Peter, Nathaniel, Andrew, the Johns, Paul, Aquilla and Priscilla—those of us who read the bible know them by name and by the “ins” and “outs” of their lives. 

Contrary to modern opinion, we are not necessarily being egocentric when we share our personal experiences. One life story laid out alongside of another – it’s the biblical way. If we offer stories from our own experience to one another -- perhaps while standing in the Fellowship Room on a Sunday morning with coffee in hand or working on a service project in the community -- we are in that same, long line. But sharing openly is not so popular today among those of us who want to have our own story look more polished.  We may enjoy reality TV, but not all of us would sign up to be the focus of judgments and jokes ourselves.   

Still sharing our life stories is critical...
     if we believe that they are emblematic, 

     if we have done some introspection beforehand, 
     if God shines through in the telling.

The other day while I was sitting at a coffee shop with someone, I was caught off guard.  I had been listening to the other’s story about making a difficult decision and I had responded, “You have to listen to the voice inside of you.” 

“But, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” said the person across from me.  “You’re contradicting yourself, Pastor.  I’m doing exactly what I want to do, but you seem to think the better choice would be to do what I don’t want to do!”

Honestly, I did not have a reply ready.  I was taken aback, surprised to discover that I was so illogical.  There it was, pointed out to me as plain as day.  And yet, something in that remark didn't seem right to me. 

On the drive home, the light came on.  How was it that I can believe we each need to listen to our inner voice and yet, sometimes choose to do things that we don’t want to do?  Of course! Introspection isn't only “hearing myself think.”  It’s about taking time to sit with God and pray.  I was assuming that “inner voice” that I would hear would be God’s, not my own voice.  It’s the story of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying “Not my will, but thine be done” (Luke 22:44). It’s the central story of a loving life, a story of self-sacrifice.

I believe in opening up my life for others to rummage around in, on the chance that they might find some little truth, like discovering a treasure at someone’s yard sale.  That's very different from my setting up a sales display for them and giving them a sales pitch.  I believe spiritual decisions are “gut” decisions, not made for me by others.  Oh, the church can confirm my choices by being the external counsel of those who also live with an awareness of God, whose lives have been rescued and changed by Jesus and guided by the Holy Spirit, but my own obedience, my thankfulness – ultimately that’s between myself and the Lord Jesus.

Introspection, action, reflection, confirmation or adjustment – surely this is a healthy pattern for our lives, isn't it?  All under the direction of our Lord, all to our great mutual benefit by God's design and all to God’s Glory!

Grace and peace,

Pastor Shirley  

Nightstand

They told me she had been drifting in and out of consciousness all day so that's what I had expected, but she was out of it when I got there.  She seemed to be sleeping with her mouth slightly opened. Black elastic bands held flexible tubing firmly pressed to her blushing cheeks and stretched around her the back of her head.  She might have chosen white elastic, if she had been asked.  Women know to match elastic bands to the color of their hair from ponytail days on. 

They told me her breaths would be sporadic so that's what I expected, but she was breathing steadily.  The oxygen pump alongside the bed had her beat for strength and volume, but not for rhythm. Two ways of breathing: one human, the other mechanical, I thought. I slipped off my coat, draped it over a chair by the door and took the nearer one.  It was late in the evening, after dark, after dinner, after other visitors to this nursing facility had left for cheerier homes.  But I was here, as quiet and available as the nightstand. 

A black bible, a gray book of liturgy, my reading glasses, my praying hands all in my lap, I sit.  Breath passes, in and out, both taking the palate-softened airway and using the cannula delivery. 

I read the liturgy; I am present; I read the scripture; I bow to pray.  And then, in the middle of the prayer, a surge of sweet music!  Evidently a radio on the nightstand had been tuned to a classical channel with the volume turned down so that it was inaudible over the other sounds in the room.  Unexpectedly, at that moment, the piece rose to full crescendo.  

I come here like that, I think.  I come to this bedside breathing on my own while assisted by mechanical words, repeated in predictable patterns.  The things I always say.  The things I always hear others say when they try to comfort or advise me.  And, although I petition and wait, I’m still surprised as the music begins to crescendo.  It’s so very beautiful.   

Help me be aware of more than myself and what’s mechanical here.  I sometimes strain to hear the music, Lord. Swell.    

Pastor Shirley

Re-gifting

Exodus 2:1-10

She gave him away twice.  

When she, a Levite woman, birthed, then washed and swaddled her son, no doubt like all loving mothers, she held him close to kiss him, to cradle and hush him.  However, her softly sung lullabies were not only designed to lull him to sleep in order to get some rest herself.  By cruel necessity, they were also devised to keep him as quiet as if he had not yet arrived.  Thus, she bought some time, but her next step would be more costly.  

During those first three months, she formed a plan.  She would give him away.  She would release him to the river, along the shoreline where the basket-ark hopefully would rock among the reeds and the calm lapping of sing-song waves. This is how she, this Levite woman, gave her child back to God, from whence he came.  Wiping pasty-pitch from her hands, she released him to larger waters, waters both fearful and baptismal.  For right there, on the water’s edge, the exchange is made:  short-term safety relinquished for what would be life-giving. 

A mother bargains.  (See also, Hannah, Naomi, the Widow at Zarephath, the Canaanite Woman who comes to Jesus…) Miriam would watch.  Miriam, well-disposed to be a watcher, could read the way the wind was blowing, anticipated her next move and was ready.  Through Miriam, God gave this little crying child back to his mother, for a time, with wages.  Wages?  The Lord evidently smiles at irony. 

But, like all good mothers, she would give him away again.  “When the child grew older, she took him to Pharaoh’s daughter and he became her son” (Exodus 2:10).  Pharaoh’s daughter, the other woman, is not a demon.  She had immediately recognized the boy as a Hebrew and, like Miriam, she knew the political winds.  Who knows what she guessed?  Now here on her doorstep, she says, “I drew him from the water.” ( I?  At times we gulp a mouthful of credit when we should only nibble.)  In this moment, Pharaoh’s daughter names the boy Moses as if he were her own, and yet, at the same time, gives him a name so indelible he can never completely wash away where he came from.

This is how his mother came to give him away twice.  I wonder, did she stand there until the door closed?  Did she cry as she retraced her steps?  Did she choose hope and try to imagine the life he would have?  I have no doubt that she prayed.

You might think the second time was harder, but I suspect it wasn’t.  It was inevitable.  We all know we will give our children away to the world one day and that it will hurt.  God’s words to young mother Mary are exceptional because Jesus has a unique purpose, but, in some ways, she shares a mother’s experience:  “And Simeon blessed them and said to Mary His mother, ‘Behold, this Child is appointed for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and for a sign to be opposed— and a sword will pierce even your own soul—to the end that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed’” (Luke 2: 34-35).  She learns this the first time she releases him to God in the temple.  She will be blessed through this Son who is given. We will all be blessed through this Son who is given.  And she learns that being favored isn't the same as being pain-free.  

So, beloved, not for our own ease do we hush the child’s noisy self-centeredness, but for the child’s good, and with an eye toward future obligations and opportunities.   As we scold and wipe away and stand things upright, that awareness can inspire and challenge us.   Like a Levite woman, whose descendants would become a family of priests, we too can ponder realities and make our choices, trusting the One whose Will the winds and waves obey.  Her Hebrew name - Jochebed - carries the meaning of both the weight and the glory of God.  Would that we would carry both as well.  

Balance it all with Much Grace, 

Pastor Shirley