The Unwrapping

"Unwrap him, and let him go." - John 11

It has been nearly 16 years since the above scripture became much more meaningful to me. I am a Christian. I have been ever since I was a teenager. However, my Christian life (my "walk" in churchy terms) left something to be desired. And then, when I was about 48 years old, my "walk" actually became a WALK.  Not a hop. 

To explain that last sentence, I refer to the story of the raising of Lazarus, from where the above scripture comes. The burial custom of the day was that when someone died (after several rituals meant to make certain the person was dead) they were wrapped like a mummy in strips of cloth with spices sprinkled between the layers... to hide the smell until the funeral was done and the person laid on a stone shelf inside a tomb, which often had a round slab of stone rolled in front of it. Jesus arrived at Lazarus' home to find Lazarus' sisters and a whole lot of other relatives, mourning outside his tomb. He had died 4 days previous, so decomposition had started to kick in. Jesus told them to roll away the stone, and after a bit of protest (but he's stinking by now!) they did as He asked. Jesus wept when He saw their misery and lack of hope. He then called out to the dead man and told Lazarus to come out of the tomb. 

Lazarus was still in the mummy-wrappings. So the only way he had of moving forward from the ledge was to take small little hops and hope he didn't fall over (because he was unable to extend his arms.) 

Freeze frame right there. Lazarus had been raised from the dead. Everyone could see that. It was a bona fide miracle! But for Lazarus, it was taking all his strength just to stand up. That is what my Christian walk was like, with wrappings others had put on me, just as others had wrapped him. Neither of us could move without risk of great harm. 

And Jesus spoke to the assembled crowd. "Unwrap him, and let him go." As they did, the putrid strips of cloth, which by now overpowered the spices his sisters had so lovingly put there, started to loosen and Lazarus could move. A little at first, then more. And more. And more. He could finally benefit from the miracle that was already his - this newness of life. 

And in my life, as I began to drop the grave-clothes of old habits and prejudices from me, I learned how to really be alive and not be hindered by the bondage that made me try to live the Christian life by my own efforts (hopping). I could walk. I could run. I could breathe a deep breath. Lazarus and I were both raised by the Master, and loosened / unwrapped to fully enjoy life. 

The process took longer for me than it did for him. I was several months getting those stinky old things off me ... and there are still times when I find a hanger-on from my old self-effort life, for which I get help to free me. Together with the lifestyle I learned during that time, I can enjoy life, as Lazarus did. I look with pity on the person I was before that time, and I revel in my new-found freedom. All that I had lost, all that I could not touch because of the grave-clothes, came back to me. 

I talk about my spiritual life occasionally on this blog because it is part of me, just like any other part or role that is mine (wife, mother, friend, counsellor, etc.) And I do so as living, walking, talking proof that there is One who delivers, and those who loosen the bonds; each serves a role. 

And me? I'm grateful. That's it, that's all.  

Happy Holy Days

The holidays have always been a mixed bag for our family. As with most people, the stresses of Christmas shopping, combined with the extra expense, the social and family obligations of visiting and extra cooking all combine to increase the background noise that can make everyday stressors seem more ... stressful. 

But those are normal. Every family feels those to one degree or another, depending on how much fun it is to do the social thing, and on how accomplished a baker one is. 

Last Christmas, we went through a lot of the motions as a family because - well, because the youngest member of our family was spending her first Christmas in Heaven. But at the same time, we didn't want our own personal tragedy rob us of experiences that we'd later regret not having. So - with minor adjustments - we still cooked, still baked, still put up a tree, still had presents and carols, and still attended the Christmas Eve service. We still had friends over for a Christmas meal. It was hard, and we had to make some adjustments because our grief was so very fresh - her accident was only about two months before Christmas - but we did it and we survived. 

The name of the game was survival. And because of the love of friends - and each other - we did survive. 

It's been a whole year of firsts. Wednesdays - the day of the week it was when the police came to our house - hurt for months. Easter: no egg hunt for the first time since she was two. Her first birthday after the accident - July 16. Wow, that was hard: she would have been 22. Thanksgiving was so overwhelming, just a couple of weeks before the first-year anniversary of her death. All I could hear in my head was what she'd said to me the previous Thanksgiving: "Don't give up on your Thanksgiving spirit, Mom. Look at me. I'm homeless, I'm living in my car, and I'm thankful for you, for Dad, for God, for my friends." 

But we survived. We even celebrated BOTH Thanksgivings - the first with a dear friend sharing our 'unexpected' turkey meal, and the second with just the three of us and a ham dinner with sweet and sour mustard sauce.

And now it's Christmas-time once more. And we wonder if we'll ever have "happy holidays" again. We have discussions about what traditions will make the cut this year - and which ones are just too stressful to keep doing. Some things we are keeping. Others we are letting go. 

The grief is always under the surface - potentially just as searingly painful as the first day. Most days it's completely submerged; other days - or should I say at other moments, usually when we least expect it - it leaps out at us from behind a door or in the face of someone walking down the street who looks like her or dresses like she did. Today there was a moment when I was listening to a children's choir perform and they started to sing, "Somewhere in my Memory" (we hear it every year when they air "Home Alone") and the lyrics that talk about happy faces, happy people and family being all together ... reminded me that we weren't all together, and I had to get out of there, tears streaming from my eyes. 

The thing that has made this holiday season a bit more bearable is concentrating on the "holi" part of "holiday". Concentrating on the real spirit behind the Christmas season (the Holy Days, Christmas being Christ-mass or celebration of Christ) has helped to ground us and make the decisions about what to do and not to do a little easier. It'll never be the same, that's sure, but it can still be good. 

And yes, there can still be happiness and joy in the season. It's tinged with sadness because the circle is broken, but that is a given. It's okay to be sad; it's okay to acknowledge how much we love her and miss her. But it's also okay to laugh, to enjoy life, to enjoy each other, and to share what we have. 

And that's how we have decided to spend the next couple of weeks or so.

Awkward!

Okay - this is a rant.  Just sayin'.

I was just reading a fellow-blogger's post at "Daughter of Abba" and it really made me think.  She was talking about how she loves God but hates church.  I'm glad someone was honest enough to say how many of us church-goers feel.

My hat goes off to her.  (Among other things) she calls church members, pastors, and other people in leadership on:
 - favoritism
- hypocrisy
- elitism / cliques
- judgmental attitudes
- guilt trips
- exclusion

And she's right.  Church people are notorious for all of those things and more.  It's why the world looks at things like whassisname's prediction about the Rapture taking place on May 21, 2011 and (when that prediction failed) the world still going to end on October 21, 2011 ... and they laugh their heads off.  I don't blame them.  I would too, if it weren't so tragic.  Okay - so I laughed - for a while. 


The truth is, I always feel so awkward at church, and frankly, I've been embarrassed to admit to the people I work with that I go at all.  

I love God, and yet His people drive me nuts! ... majoring on minors, going off on this tangent or that one (okay, so I do that too), boycotting this or that, protesting something else, and all the while judging those who don't line up with their perfect version of how life should be lived.  (I think everyone knows how I feel about that word "should.")  Most of the time I feel like the rest of the cookie dough that gets tossed aside after someone cuts out the cookies.  I don't fit, and sometimes I feel discarded.  Judged.  Minimized.

I hate it when church people / leaders try to "legislate" friendliness, "dictate" love, "order" people to pray for each other - when these things naturally would flow out of intimate relationship with God.  I abhor the mistaken idea that WE have to do something first, before God will do His work.  Great way to take the credit and pat ourselves on the back for twisting His arm, manipulating Him. How ludicrous is that?  Friggit - God already took the initiative on everything by starting the ball rolling with Jesus - and He gets the glory for everything because even the faith and the strength to do what He wants comes from Him. He said He was the vine and we were the branches. So I don't move until and unless He says so.  Period.  It wastes far less energy that way... and if it means that others judge me for not doing enough - fine.  I live my life for an Audience of One.

Thank you, Daughter of Abba.  Thank you for your honesty.  

Should I disappear

I'm not saying it will or won't happen at 6 p.m.  tonight as predicted.  It could - I suppose.

Whether it will happen then or not is not my call to make, nor anyone's.  But what has come to be known as "the Rapture" is an important part of Christian belief.  It is 'the blessed hope' - and for some, it is all about 'the judgment seat of Christ' for believers...the time when their rewards (or lack of them) will be revealed.

In any case, much has been said of late regarding the most recent foretelling of the date and time of Jesus' return for the church - the 'great Body-Snatch.'  There's been a lot of buzz on both sides of the debate... while the world looks on with rather bemused and cynical smiles as some Christians just get all worked up - some to "get ready" and others to judge the ones getting ready by selling their possessions and quitting their jobs (for being so gullible) and perhaps even judging the ones making the prediction for using it to line their pockets the last few months.  My issue is with the kind of "yeah right" mentality these kinds of things engender in the world at large.  "Whoa-yeah.  Like THAT's ever going to happen."

Well, I didn't say it was going to happen.  Jesus did.  He just didn't say when - and as a matter of fact, He said that not even HE knew.  Once His Dad makes the decision that it's time - ya think that Jesus would be the FIRST to know!  Just sayin'.  

And should I disappear at some point in time ... along with hundreds of millions (I won't say billions) of other people ... it will be a total surprise to those who predict things to stir up the pot or for whatever other reason they might do it.  The way I prefer to live (instead of being scared and 'getting ready' for that occurrence) is to keep on getting to know Him better.  Allowing Him to be intimately acquainted with my innermost being.  So whether He comes or not in my lifetime - I'm looking forward to meeting Him in person.

His Story

It's the most powerful story in the world.  

It's changed more people's lives, done more to shape the thinking of countless generations than any one story could.

This past weekend, our church did its best to tell His Story in all its simplicity - no apologies, no excuses.  The reaction from all who have given feedback has been phenomenal. Account after account crop up of people's lives being profoundly affected just from this one simple - incredible - compelling story.

It's amazing.  

You see, we told His Story.  And then we told how His Story changed our own stories.  And it has - in many different ways.  

It's so easy to become blasé in the church.  Yeah, Jesus died for our sins and rose from the dead on the 3rd day.  Ho hum.

But put yourself in the story, fellow believer.  When that happens - when the reality of the sacrifice at the cross and the realization of the resurrection bursts upon your consciousness - the excitement of those moments can devastate your decorum and you might not be able to keep yourself from celebrating!!

Comments I've heard from this production from those who attended range from awe at the singing to "NOW I understand what it's all about!!" from a boy not yet a teen.  

Those who participated in the play were encouraged to identify with their character.  This revolutionized the cast's perceptions, no matter what part they played - from Jesus to Judas and everyone in between.  I watched someone to whom tears did not come easily, break down and weep in grief on stage during the burial scene, and be so affected that she was in tears even after the scene was over.  It is so indicative of how potent and arresting His Story is even after nearly 20 centuries, because He let His Story unfold - painful as it was physically and spiritually for Him - so that we could become part of it.

Such magnanimous, unconditional love still astounds me.

Meditation

Three long spikes
holding flesh to wood
suspending 
divinity
for humanity -

Two rough beams
splintered and spike-marked
from countless
executions -
what's one more rebel?

One hung there
undeservedly -
forgiveness
through sacrifice -
death expiates... 

©2011-04-22 J.G. Gillis

Upside Down

Yesterday, I spent several hours in the company of two very different and distinct groups of people who have only one thing in common...they have found that a relationship with God is the only way to true happiness.  Each has an important role to play in my spiritual life.

As I talked to my best friend (my husband) about this, he directed me to a Youtube video last night called "Reverse Thinking"  -  a 2 and a half minute video that I believe is well worth watching if for no other reason than it makes a person think.  Its premise is simple. The way we look at life (as Obi Wan Kenobi said in "the Empire Strikes Back", many of the truths we cling to) really depend(s) upon our own point of view.  And a paradigm shift in our point of view really can change the way we look at life.  I thought the video was freaky.


It can be found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jgFU5Ak88-k

Here it is below - hoping the code will work (grin) - and if it doesn't ... just click on the link above :

Motes and Beams

It's one of my favorite scenes from the Visual Bible's Gospel of Matthew (starring Bruce Marchiano as Jesus).  It's the sermon on the mount and Jesus is teaching, "Why do you gaze at the speck in your brother's eye, when (and here He leans over and picks up a long pole and puts it beside His eye ... everywhere He turns, he swings the pole back and forth as the audience chuckles) there is a plank in your own eye?  Hypocrite - first remove the plank from your own eye and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye!"  His audience immediately got the point.  

I was remembering this scene this morning as I contemplated how a Christian could confront another (if such a thing is possible) about something in his or her life WITHOUT the latter accusing the former of being judgmental.  A very ticklish situation.  One I've come to realize - in my recovery - that I can't navigate.

Nor do I need to try.  I know that it can be frustrating to see another - especially another believer - jump up  and down on his or her self-destruct button.  If anything is said it needs to be in love and with a lot of what is known as "I-messaging."  But I have learned this: the person needs to be ready to receive that kind of rebuke, or it will do as much good as running hot water into a sink to wash dishes ... with no stopper in the drain.  A lot of wasted effort for nothing, in other words.  People will do what they want because they've already convinced themselves that it's good for them, that it's not that bad - and people resist change.  ALL people in their natural state ... resist change.  An agent of change is going to automatically incur the wrath of the one he or she is trying to change.  

It took me a long time to understand that I was powerless over other people and that in trying to change or fix them, I was really taking on the role that must be played by only one person; that person is God.  Since He is faultless, only He can reach into the  heart of someone and not condemn them but restore them to wholeness.  Nothing I can say or do can effect that kind of change in someone.  Only He can.  It's His thing.

As I meditated this morning on the mote and the beam (an analogy for a defect of character in someone's life) - I'm reminded that having something - large or small - in your eye is a PAINFUL thing.  And having it removed is even MORE painful!  There has to be a lot of trust - and hopefully anesthetic - involved.  And there is one thing common to every single removal of something from the eye.

Tears.

When God removes a defect of character from me, it is never painless.  There are lots of tears involved.  But the tears are necessary to wash all the residual crud out, and to help in the  healing process.  And there's another reason the tears are necessary.  They are so that I can see clearly again.  The pain literally blinds me - and when I let Him do His work in me, I can see clearly.  If someone else suffers from that same thing, I know what it feels like, I know how important it is to have removed, and I know who to go to in order to have the job done right.  The One who taught about motes and beams.  Getting the beam out of my own life also helps me not to judge another who has a speck in his;  it motivates me to act and speak in compassion and love.  That goes a very long way toward healing both in me and in the life of someone else on whom I have that kind of compassion - the same compassion and tenderness I would hope that another would give to me - the kind that Jesus showed to me.

There's an old Gaither song that comes to me right now ... and I thought that I would share its lyrics with you because they so powerfully illustrates this process of healing.

He washed my eyes with tears that I might see
The broken heart I had was good for me;
He tore it all apart and looked inside -
He found it full of fear and foolish pride.
He swept away the things that made me blind
And then I saw the clouds were silver lined;
And now I understand 'twas best for me
He washed my eyes with tears that I might see.

He washed my eyes with tears that I might see
The glory of Himself revealed to me;
I did not know that He had wounded hands - 
I saw the blood He spilt upon the sands.
I saw the marks of shame and wept and cried;
He was my substitute!  for me He died;
And now I'm glad He came so tenderly
And washed my eyes with tears that I might see.

Turning the Page

I remember when I was a kid my mother would never let me turn the calendar page before the first of the month.

Not even the night before. She was kind of obsessed about it.

Her fear stemmed from superstition that someone might die if the page were turned because "fate" would decide that tomorrow was taken for granted.

I just loved the idea of a new start - a fresh month with uncharted territory in it.

So now, I turn the page ... the night before, just before bedtime.  And nothing bad happens - and in the morning I can glance up during my busy morning routine and know just what day it is, what I have planned that week, and there's the little thrill of the brand new page.  Funny how that happens.

And the month I really love to put behind me is February.  For me it is the longest month of the year even though on the calendar it is the shortest.  Yet it happens in my least favorite time of year - the dead of winter.

I saw something a few days ago that gave me some hope that things would change, that spring was on its way.  

Icicles.

All winter long the snow has been piled high on everything and just the other day, I noticed that icicles had formed on the eave of our roof.  It meant that some of the snow had melted under all that white, and dripped to the edge of the roof.  As it hit the cold air it froze and formed ... bit by little bit ... icicles all along the edge of the roof. 

Then, just this past Sunday morning, I happened to spy a maple tree in our evergreen hedge, with the tiniest swelling on the tip of each little branch.  It's starting to bud. 


My heart leaped inside!

Only another month before I get to hear the mourning doves, see the geese fly back, and look for the first pussy-willows to emerge in the little garden spot outside where I work. 

It will be a while before I see my favorite spring flower - but who knows? maybe during that time I will also see that first crocus on someone's property ... not ours of course because we are up on a hill and pretty much out in the open - so the winter winds howl longer and harder here than they do in the more sheltered areas of the city.  But our turn will come.  

Spring always comes.

Turning pages, on the calendar, in the seasons, or in life - brings hope - hope that things will be better if they've been rotten, hope that things will be marvelous if they've been good.  

I guess I celebrated an anniversary of sorts yesterday.  Two years ago, I started on the journey that has begun to rid me of all the things that have bound me for so many years, bound me in slavery to the great god "Should" and its evil side-kick "shouldn't."  Such wounds from the past that I can't begin to describe how they scarred, marred me.  God enters into those dead places and brings hope where there was despair, sunshine and birdsong where it was only bleakness and silence.  

Which I guess is another reason why I turned the calendar page yesterday.   
Happy March!  

Setting Boundaries

I've been struggling the last few days to write.  I knew something was bothering me but I couldn't put my finger on it. And last night I couldn't sleep past 5 am. So I prayed about it and realized that I was feeling hemmed in, that there were personal boundaries which were being crossed and I felt that I had little say in what was happening.

So I had to practice some recovery skills and look after myself by setting a boundary, even if only in my own mind and spirit. 

I'm a Christian.  There, I've said it.  I'm a conservative, evangelical, traditional Christian and I'm allowed to believe what I believe without being labeled intolerant, delusional, arrogant or any of those other things associated with the stereotype  most folks have of religious people.

I'm not religious; I just happen to believe the Bible is true.  Every word.  

Because I believe every word, it makes me more accepting, not less - for Jesus Himself hung around those people who were considered the "low-lifes" of His day: prostitutes, alcoholics, tax-collectors, and (yes, even in His day) zealots.  Yet (although He had a great deal to say about hypocrites) He didn't turn away those in the religious community who were seeking the truth either.  

Because I believe every word, I have a definite problem with the idea that the church should espouse the world's value system and accomplish its ends using the world's methods such as promotions, benefit concerts, contests where someone wins a prize for bringing the most people to church, or even the idea that we should get organized and write our members of parliament about some "great moral injustice" or other.  

The founders of the church never tried to effect political or social change.  They just lived and told the message that set them free inside.  They knew that their world was just going to get worse and worse; this was a given.  Their job wasn't to change the world.  It was to be a light in the darkness, shining and pointing the way to the Master.

When a person humbly and honestly asks the God of the universe to reveal Himself in a personal way, He will do so in a way that is tailor-made to the individual who asks.  Some people might start with a concept of Him that is far removed from what He's really like.  I don't really think He cares about that.  What He cares about is bringing that person ... and this might take years ... into a relationship with Him.  Once He does, He never gives up on it.  A change begins on the inside which takes over more and more of the person's character, and manifests from the inside out.

The more intimately that person gets to know Him, the more the God who reveals Himself to him or her will resemble the One who walked in Galilee nearly 2000 years ago. I'm convinced of this.  

Firing God

I read a story of a person who was searching for God.  This person had an image of God that was of this oppressive, cosmic sadist who got his jollies out of torturing human beings, who was going to crush him into the ground if he stepped out of line, and who never wanted him to ever have fun or enjoy himself because feeling good was sinful.

Another man spoke to him privately.  "Is this the person you think of when you think of God?"  The seeker  nodded.  "Then you need to fire your god," said the old-timer.  "The God I know loves me, cares about my well-being, likes it when I laugh, and loves nothing better than spending time with me!"  To which the seeker said, "Well if I fire my god, what will I do?  he's the only one I know."

"That's okay," the old-timer said.  "You can use mine until you find one of your own."

Sounds sacrilegious doesn't it....  I thought so when I first read it.

And that got me to thinking - perhaps it's not.  Anything that takes our eyes off the God of the universe is, according to the canon of scripture, an idol. 

Have we made an idol of the rules-based, hell-fire-and-brimstone God? 

Ever since God created us in His image, we seem to be creating Him in ours.  If our experience of the first authority figures in our lives is one of abuse of authority, rigidity, coldness, and/or punishment, then naturally our internal picture of God might very well be that.  It's the picture that for centuries has been touted by the church - in order to keep its members in line.

But anyone in an intimate relationship with God will tell you that He's not like that.  He's more like the God that the old-timer described.  And turning our backs on the rigid sadistic old codger who scares the daylights out of us, isn't losing our faith ... it's coming to faith.

Little wonder that with so may examples of the stereotypical fellow who shoves his fingers into our faces and tells us we're going to Hay-ull if we're not perfect (why is it that it's not just hell, it's Hay-ull) ... people stay away from God in droves.  We know we're not perfect. 

God does too. 

One of the most compelling statements ever stated in the last hundred years in the church is this one forgotten sentence, "God has no grandchildren."  It's usually used to tell people that just because you grew up in the church, it doesn't make you a Christian any more than hanging out in a garage makes you a jeep. 

But there's more to it than that.  It also means that every person has to discover who God is and enter into a relationship with Him, for him/herself.  God invites such curiosity.  Honest questions are welcome.  It's okay to have doubts; doubts are just honest questions about things you don't know anything about because you've never experienced it. 

God is all about people experiencing Him.

If Jesus were as negative and nasty as some people are, people we've seen on TV who say they represent Him, I really don't think that the disciples would have felt like they had to shoo the children away from Him.  (Looks like the disciples didn't "get" Him either, by the way.)

So maybe we need to take a good look at that approachable type of deity, and ask God to show us what He's really like.  He will do that if we ask Him honestly with as few prejudices as possible. His goal is to be found by us... to enter into relationship, friendship with us.  And He'll work around our preconceived notions and hangups, putting them to rest as He walks through that journey of discovery right beside us.

What have we got to lose.... by casting down our old notions of who God is and asking Him to reveal Himself to us?

Longer

Love songs have been written since music was invented.  

The church is full of love songs.  Promises we make to God, affirmations of devotion to Him, great intentions all.

Take one song that many people love.  The lyrics go (in part), "Jesus, lover of my soul, Jesus, I won't ever let You go, .... though my world may fall I'll never let You go..."  

I like the sentiment. But ... I know how fickle and how weak I am.  If my eternal destiny depends on my ability to hold onto God, then quite frankly ... I am sunk.  I'm well aware of my limitations.  And so is God.  A re-write I've been known to sing is, "Jesus, Lover of my soul, Jesus, You won't ever let me go.... though my world may fall You'll never let me go."  That is truth based on His promise, "Look, I am with you always, even to the end of the age."  I can get behind that, because His is the only love that is steadfast.  

I love to read the chapters in the Old Testament book of Isaiah (especially chapters 40 through to 55), written to people who were living lives that were an affront to everything God was; yet, He extended His love to them.  The drawing to the right (above) depicts one of my favorite affirmations of His love.  "See! I will not forget you.  I have carved you on the palm of My hand." Since before the world began, and since God is timeless, exists outside of time so that He is in all places at all times all at once, and knowing how awfully I would treat Him, He loves me.


The little song I've included below, written and sung by Dan Fogelberg, speaks to me when sometimes even Christian songs can't.  I hope it touches you as well.  Have a wonderful time with Him.

Light my Candle

One of the things we do every Christmas Eve as a family is go to the Christmas Eve service at our church.  It's a candlelight service.  Every person over the age of about 10 is given a candle ... unlit ... with a cardboard ring under it to catch the wax.

At the end of the service, a single candle which has been burning throughout the carol sing, is used to light the candles of the people on the end of each pew.  That person lights the next person's candle, and so on.

Our kids love to go to this.  They sing the carols with gusto and their favorite part is the candle-lighting part... the pastor says a few words of inspiration and then we all sing "Silent Night" as someone plays the piano or a guitar.  After that, our family goes out looking at Christmas lights in the city, and after that, we all traipse home and sing Christmas carols around the tree, and we have hot chocolate and maybe watch Christmas specials until it's time to go to bed.

I love watching the flame on a candle. Even when I was a child, I'd watch the single tongue of fire piercing the darkness when the power would go out in the evening during a winter storm.  I'd lose myself in its subtle variances of colour and strength, watch how it danced and in so doing, invited the shadows to dance with it.  It drew me, like some indescribable force telling me that it represented purity, passion, power. Calling me to something more, to something higher.  Still does.


I remember a candlelight service I attended once many years ago in a little country church.  There might have been about fifty people there, maybe less.  Everyone had their candles, unlit.  The pastor asked us to move with our candles to the outside of the room and make a circle all around the edge of the sanctuary.  Once we were in place, he had someone turn off the lights, revealing only one candle burning at the front of the church. Then he lit the first person's candle on either side of him, and we lit each other's candles until everyone's was burning. 

The pastor started by saying, "I'm not going to speak very many words tonight.  All I will say is that God has given each one of us who believes in Jesus a light inside.  He has reached into the darkness in each of us ... and lit our candles.  Now, since these candles we've just lit tonight represent that light in each of us, and God in our lives, I would like you to try a little experiment with me to see what happens."  

We all looked at him quizzically. 

"Please take your candles, and keeping them upright, slowly lower them down as low as you can get them without bending or squatting."  We did.  The light level in the room diminished significantly. "What just happened?" he said, and we told him it got darker. He nodded.  "Now, just as slowly, I want you to lift them up again, and keep going until they are as high as you can get them."  We did, and we saw the light grow in the room until it was twice as bright as when they were in front of us at chest level.  

"I think you get the point of my sermon," he said softly.


We did.
 

Breaking Out

I spent most of the daylight hours of yesterday dodging the efforts of someone else to control my opinions, my social life, and my child-rearing philosophy.  The whole time, I felt a great amount of resentment building up in me.  This person looked at my writing, criticized my choice of illustration, and then complained that I hadn't shared something I'd written with her when I wrote it over 8 years ago ... all in the same day.  The longer she was around, the more angry I got.  She and I had not even spoken, prior to this summer, for over thirteen years.  The person she knew then is not the person I am now, but she still thinks of me as being that way. Even though she knows it's not true.

I needed some perspective.  So I went somewhere last night where I knew I would be accepted for who I was, where people embrace change for the better, and where I don't have to be on my guard.  Funny thing  -  but it wasn't church.  Oops, I digress.  In that place, I found the serenity I was looking for, and I found it in that very self-same acceptance and love.  I felt the chains of the day snap and break off me.

One of the things criticized was my choice of alias for this blog (Lazarus). I had thought it was pretty self-evident until this person questioned it yesterday.  It took me some time to realize that the reason for this is the same reason that folks who are alcoholic and don't know they are, have a real hard time with folks who claim to be alcoholics and in recovery.

For the record, I think you know that the Lazarus I mean is not the poor beggar begging at the rich man's gate.  The one I mean is the one Jesus raised from the dead, His friend who lived in Bethany, close to Jerusalem, the brother of Mary and Martha.  By way of illustration (since all the photos of mummies were of people with arms outstretched, a totally unrealistic image since the arms are bound close to the body), the best I could come up with was the idea of bursting forth, being let out of prison, ... ahh yes, chains.  Breaking chains.

What's coming to me as I write is that I felt stress, and distress, yesterday because I felt like I had to prove something, that I had to show this person that I had changed, that I'm not the same person as I once was.  Yet I found myself behaving in exactly the same way as I always had with her - putting on masks so that I would not be in confrontation with her.  Wow.  As angry as I was with her, I was twice as angry with myself for not staying true to who I had become.  And it also explains to me why I was so obsessed with explaining my choice of alias to her.  I am coming to understand that trying to do that is like expecting someone to get the point of a movie when all they have seen is the last five minutes of it. 

My wanting to justify myself to her made me realize that my relationship with her was not healthy - at least for me - because it was based on an imbalance of power; whether it was intentional or not on her part is immaterial.  

I know that such relationships either need to be radically changed ... or discontinued.  The temptation for abuse in such an association between two people is astronomical.  In other words, if I want to continue on in my recovery ... I don't need to be in a relationship with someone else that will undermine that recovery. I need to be with people who will encourage and not condemn, accept and not judge.

That way I can become who I am becoming, and break free of the chains of addiction to conforming myself to what other people think, and/or to the temptation to try to make them think what I want them to think.  That's a trap I thought I had been freed from.  Yesterday I walked right back into it.

So now I am walking right back out.  I have to; it's a matter of survival.  I can't allow myself to get back into that hamster's wheel of self-defeating behaviors.  

Two of the promises of CoDA (Codependents Anonymous) come to me as I think about this. They follow one after another, and go like this, "I learn to see myself as equal to others.  My new and renewed relationships are all with equal partners.  I am capable of developing and maintaining healthy and loving relationships.  The need to control and manipulate others will disappear as I learn to trust those that are trustworthy."  Hm.  Trust those that are trustworthy - there's a mouthful!!  Wouldn't a lot of problems in this world be solved if we could be in relationships with people as equal partners, and we only trusted those people who were trustworthy?  

My natural tendency is to be in unhealthy relationships, and so I cherish those relationships that I have where I KNOW neither party is - OR FEELS - superior to the other.  But I know that this is not by anything I have done, but simply by the kindness of God toward me even though I don't deserve it.  To paraphrase something I think of often, "What I really have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of my spiritual condition."  That spiritual condition is maintained by daily connection with God, and that alone.  I can't fake it or manufacture it on my own.  It's a gift - and I'm so grateful for that.

No Greater Love

The children led in worship this morning at church. They were an inspiration to most if not all who were there, for they didn't "perform"... they worshiped.  As they did, a theme emerged: the death and resurrection of Jesus so that we might live.

That sounds so basic, so very "yeah, so tell me something I DON'T know..."  But that's just it, isn't it?  Haven't we become blasé about the cross, about the great love of God?  haven't we become so used to it that we take it for granted? that we've forgotten the fiery hell from which He saved us?

Do we even really believe that He loves us?

I don't know about you but I have a hard time sometimes believing it.  My life experiences and my own woundedness get in the way and all of a sudden His love seems the farthest thing from my consciousness.  That's why when I saw the movie "Matthew" based on the gospel of Matthew (the photos are from that movie starring Bruce Marchiano as Jesus) the two words that come to me uppermost are love - and joy.

Can we not believe that Jesus joyed in the healing miracles He performed? that He didn't get a kick out of seeing someone with leprosy be able to touch members of his own family again for the first time in years? Of course He did!  Love oozed from Him because He was walking daily with the Father - by the power of the Holy Spirit - just as He said we would be able to do after He went back to the Father.

And when He died on a Roman cross, put there by His own people, can we not believe that the love and compassion He showed there on that day was just as much for us as it was for those who had beaten Him, ripped out His beard, and drove the nails in His body?

One of my favorite scenes in the movie is when Jesus heals the leper who believes that Jesus CAN heal him - but WILL He??  See the love.... in the clip below.

 

One old alcoholic lady, sober for years through the AA program (which in itself is a blueprint for a relationship with God) said this:  "I know not whether God in His mercy will open the gates of Heaven for me.  All I know is that He opened the gates of hell for me ... and let me out."

What if we could get a glimpse of just how much He loves us?  What if we could dare to believe that and let it sink deep into our spirits?  One thing is sure: we would never need to TRY to talk to people about our faith.  We couldn't help ourselves... not because we felt we should - but because (and only because) we are so grateful that He loves us.  

Blown Away

I love to watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. There's something amazing to me about how someone can be in such a desperate situation and then they get something they never expected and could barely dream about. The first thing that happens after the family is safely away on vacation is that what is old has to come down. And come down it does. It seems they're always finding new ways to bring down the old house.

The old house represents stress, limitations, worry, fear, anger, and a whole host of other nasty things that the family experiences. In the following clip, those emotions are demolished in a moment of time and leave room for the above house to be built.
 
There's something though, about this type of show that sort of bothers me. I could never really put my finger on it until just recently, and then it all became clear as I heard our pastor talk about what Jesus did for us while we were still in our darkness, when we were still rejecting Him.

What about the person who ISN'T taking in handicapped kids and adopting them, but is just working faithfully to pay the bills for the spouse and kids he/she has? What about the one who ISN'T fund-raising for Multiple Sclerosis or the Heart Foundation, or who DOESN'T have terminal cancer and up to their eyeballs in medical debt, or who ISN'T making a huge impact on their community in some way, but just slogs away, day after day, dealing with all kinds of insults and ingratitude even from people in their families, and keeps on because it's the right thing to do? It appears that the TV show only has the budget to help those who "deserve" the help. I know that ABC only has so much money and that they are looking for a good story. It's good television. And I do like the show for a lot more reasons than just the family getting a new home.

What I'm trying to do is use this as a springboard to talk about something even more important than a nice home.

The Bible tells us that we might hesitate to die for a righteous man, and that some of us would even dare to die for a good man. But Jesus went way above and beyond.

He died for us when we were still spitting in His face.

In His great love, He did it anyway, without regard to how we would take it, whether we would accept it, or whether we even deserved it. He knew we didn't deserve it.

And yet the Great Carpenter offers a new life, a totally radical makeover - complete with demolition, design, construction ... and a final Reveal that's out of this world.

That's Extreme.

Beyond the Walls

The picture at the right is a model built of the Temple that stood in Jerusalem in Jesus' day - the one that King Herod built. It's difficult to fathom how huge this place was. Those little pebble-like things at the left of the picture - those are houses.

The Temple was like a city unto itself. All kinds of activity went on in there, all to do with the business of worship, sacrifice, and alms-giving.

Outside, there were hundreds if not thousands of people whose lives were not in the least impacted by what went on inside, even though the presence and impressiveness of the Temple itself was a continual reminder of the rituals taking place within its walls. Yet the people outside were not practically impacted. Most of them believed that the state religion had little to do with their every-day lives and that it was fine in its place, as long as people didn't get carried away with it. (Hm, that sounds familiar.) Deep in their hearts, however, they'd been disillusioned by religion, hurt by its representatives, and therefore decided that God had abandoned them. They felt ostracized, judged, rejected. Among these were prostitutes, tradesmen, fishermen, farmers, tax-collectors, bakers, and many more.

Jesus did go to the Temple. But He himself said that not one stone of it would rest upon another. His prophecy came true some 45 years later, in 70 AD when Titus came in and razed Jerusalem to the ground.

He wasn't about the building or what went on in there.

Jesus spent the vast majority of His ministry outside the walls of the Temple - bringing help and hope to those who were in desperate need of someone to care, to show them what God was really like, and to meet them at their point of need, whatever that was. The vast majority of the people who followed Jesus around the countryside were the disenfranchised of the nation, the ones the Pharisees and Sadducees (whom Jesus called hypocrites because they put on masks of piety) looked down upon. The religious elite would never dream of sullying their reputations by hanging out with people who used foul language or went to the publican's house (that was the local bar - where do you think we got the word "pub" from?)

Jesus sought them out; He was constantly on the lookout for people who were hungry for a relationship with God. Like Zaccheus. Jesus loved people (still does) the way they were (and are). His message? God loves you so much that He is willing to give His very best so that you can be in a relationship with Him. You want to know what God is like? Look at Me, and you won't need to look any further. I and My Father are One.

Strong words. He backed them up with strong actions - and an unconditional love that drew in such people as Matthew, a tax-collector (a Roman sympathizer who profited from the occupation of Israel), Simon (a Zealot who was anti-Rome to the core), James and John (the tag-team brothers who were known as "Sons of Thunder"), Andrew and Peter (big, burly fishermen whose language was no doubt crude and unsophisticated), Mary Magdalene (a demon-possessed prostitute who, after Jesus delivered her from her demons, became one of His most devoted followers), Zaccheus (another tax-collector), Nicodemus (a member of the ruling council of Pharisees, whose religion was patently unsatisfying and who knew that Jesus held the key to a fulfilled life), and hundreds more of varied backgrounds and different occupations.

And Jesus did all of this, impacted this many people, outside the walls of established ritual, religion, and rules. He challenged the established thinking of the day and told instead of a Father who loved even when deserted, who forgave freely, and who continually longed for relationship with us.

Sometimes I wonder when we're inside the walls of the church building enjoying the service and reveling in the presence of God, what relevance this has to the people outside if it doesn't translate into us being the salt and light that Jesus talked about, that Jesus was when He was here.

Let's be honest. The deepest wounds we have received have been at the hands or lips of church members - haven't they? People outside the walls of the church know that. That's why they don't usually come to church or even want anything to do with God "if that's what Christianity is like." If they don't want to be stabbed in the back, they'll take their chances out there, where they're on their guard at least.

I knew one fellow once who was relatively new to spirituality, fresh into a brand-new relationship with God, who honestly believed that those calling themselves Christians would actually be like the Jesus they preached. His own relationship with God had transformed his life, set him on a healthy path, and restored his self-respect. He eventually got a job working in a (supposedly) evangelical fundamentalist church - it paid his bills and he was grateful to be working for people who he thought would not shaft him. But a couple of the leaders in the church found out about his previous life, perhaps felt threatened by the fact that he didn't worship at their church, and made his work atmosphere into a living hell. They judged him, did things deliberately to try to make him lose his temper and go back to his old way of living, and they generally attempted to manipulate the situation so that he would lose his job. They were more concerned (to use the temple analogy) with sweeping up inside of the walls, making sure that their little empires were protected, than they were about loving and accepting people who were made in God's image.

My friend became so disillusioned that he had to take stress leave and be on medication to control the panic and the depression into which he slid. The horrible actions of God's representatives made him question his faith and turned him away from, rather than attracted him to, the church. It took him a long time to heal from that - and it was totally uncalled for.

This happens all too frequently. We can deplore the actions of these leaders. But are we any different? How often do we go outside our comfort zone? Someone comes into the church - or even into our circle of influence outside the church - and (let's say) they look like a gang member. Tattoos all over, including the face, a nose ring, a do-rag - and smelling of body odor. Hm? Isn't the first thought to show this guy the door? I think of this example because just recently, someone showed up in an evening service somewhere who looked just like that. This girl who had been in the morning service brought him to the evening one.

Here's the thing. Nobody showed him the door. Nobody reached for his wallet or her purse to protect it from getting stolen. The girl who brought him, let him sit with her, right in the front.

Because the people attending that service saw him as a real person with real needs and real value, that night he gave his heart to Jesus.

Is he still going to have tattoos on his face? yes. Is he still going to have the nose ring and the do-rag? probably. Does it matter? Absolutely not!

Is he going to meet Christian people who will judge him by how he looks? Let's be real here - of course he will. Is it right? Certainly NOT! But lookit - this guy can reach more people for Jesus BECAUSE he has the body art, the piercings, the trappings of his old life. He understands the mentality of the culture he has just been saved from. Who better to reach the people in that culture than someone like him? I can't imagine some person in a 3-piece suit who won't even SAY the word "tattoo" - being able to reach that guy's friends... can you?? Wouldn't that guy in the suit do far more to damage the message of Jesus to them than the guy with the tattoos would?

God has a calling for each and every person who has made Jesus the King of their lives - a calling that is as different as each person is from another. Our life experiences are completely different and there are some people to whom we cannot relate. I can't reach the same people you can; you can't reach the same people I can. But each of us is called. Not to park our butts on a pew once, twice, even five times a week. We're called to go "beyond the walls."

We've been rescued from so very much! We forget that!! We isolate and insulate ourselves from the people "out there" because they have (so we think) nothing in common with us. Their speech is littered with um, colorful metaphors. They listen to different music than we do. Their lifestyles, centered around pleasure, are those which we don't share. They do different things to unwind after a hard day's work. This kind of thing is outside our comfort zone. We pat ourselves on the back and tell ourselves that we're coming apart from them and being separate. Our friendships are all with fellow-Christians and we can't seem to relate to the people around us who don't believe in Jesus.

But we do have something in common. We all need Jesus - them and us. Every moment, everywhere, in every situation. The life Jesus died to freely give us isn't to be kept in this one little compartment called "church." Once we "get" this - loving and reaching the people next door, or the people at work, or at school, or ... wherever God tells us to go (and it has to be God, because the guilt trips we hear sometimes over the pulpit won't cut it) ... becomes so much easier because we know there's no difference. We all need mercy. We all need grace. Jesus is the answer ... for everyone.

There is no "us." There is no "them."

If we are silent, if we stay in comfort and ease inside the walls, God will find another way to reach them - but we will have missed out on receiving something very special as we could have watched God transform their lives from up close. How much better to participate in His plan and know the joy of being there when the Light comes on for someone we care about!

If we already go beyond the Walls and reach people ... and we are tempted to congratulate ourselves for that, I quote Don Fransisco here (from the ballad of Baalam, about 1978 or so) -
"God's the one who makes the choice of the instrument He's usin' -
We don't know the reasons or the plans behind His choosin'.
So when the Lord starts a-usin' you, don't you pay it any mind -
He coulda used the dog next door if He'd-a been so inclined."

The Box-Breaker

This is something I wrote a few years back. I ran across it when I checked my email archives a few moments ago.


The Box-Breaker

She knew who she was. Mary, the prostitute.

Perhaps the one thing in her life that she held dear was that alabaster box. White, creamy, smooth. The box itself was worth as much, if not more than, its contents. Spikenard was a spicy sweet fragrance, a reminder of better days and nobler ways.

But the box had stayed with her for years. She treasured it.
It might have been the one reminder she had of something that was pure and decent, lovely and fragrant, about her life.
Everything else was putrid, like the droppings from camels and donkeys on the road.

She knew what she was.

But He'd touched her with His eyes. He'd reached her heart.
She knew she could never be the same again.
She knew she had to deeply repent - and that He must know it. She didn't care who else knew.

Braving disapproval from the inner circle, from the religious elite, she came, pushing past the confused servants who tried to keep her out.

One glimpse of Him gave her the courage she needed.

She does not remember how she crossed the floor to reach Him. But suddenly she found herself beside Him. The breathless realization of who He was, of who she was, gripped her heart.

She knew Who He was.

She could do nothing but sink to her knees, crumpling in tears. The box - her treasure - was forgotten.

Nothing mattered except Him.

She could see His bare feet, still dirty with the dust and dung of the road to the Pharisee's house - still clinging to His feet it showed Simon's lack of respect, his unwillingness to honour the Master.

Her heart broke.

One of her tears fell on one of His feet. In its wake it left a trail of cleanliness. "If only I could take this dishonour for Him!" she thought, and the tears flowed more and more freely.
She began to kiss His feet, the tears running down her nose, dripping off her lips, her chin. . . onto the dirt of the roadway. The droppings of her life.
This was the way, she thought. She had no basin. Tears were in abundance.
The dust and foul-smelling refuse loosened from His feet with the salty moisture.
She could taste it mingling with her kisses.

She didn't care.

She could not ask for a towel. She had no authority in this house.
But she did have something to wipe His feet with.
Her crowning glory. She reached toward the cloth turban on her head where all women kept their hair, tightly wrapped in respectability.

And she unwrapped it, letting her hair fall down past her shoulders.

She leaned close, wiping off the stench of the roadway with her beautiful tresses, taking His dishonour as her own, carefully digging between His toes, gently scrubbing up to His ankles, dying more and more to her feminine pride as she continued her repentance.

Finally when His feet were clear of the filthy residue, and her hair was full of it instead, she remembered the box beside her.

She smashed it. Pieces got all over the floor, creaminess oozed on her hands, His feet, the tips of her strands of hair.

Her face was dirty, streaked with tears, and still more spilled out as she poured the precious spikenard onto Him, rubbing the ointment into His feet, between the toes where once there had been the opposite.

The fragrance filled the room.

She was doing what she had originally come to do, lavishing her only - now her only remaining - treasure on Him. Her pride, her decorum was gone. This was the only thing left to relinquish to Him.

Only ... He was well worth it.

Her throat felt swollen, sobs heaving her body in spasms as she continued. Everything was gone. She could smell death - her death.

She heard His voice. He was talking to His host, and she barely recognized that He was talking about her.

She knew her place. The lowest place.
She knew His place. The highest place.
She was not looking for thanks.

Her heart was broken for her sin, and for His dishonour. She wanted to honour Him and even though she was not worthy, nobody else would do it. It didn't seem right.

So she humbly kept it up.

He turned toward her after He finished rebuking His respectable host.
He spoke into her spirit. "Your sins are forgiven," He said.

Mercy.

It was the one thing she had only begun to dare to hope for, the one thing her desperation drove her to His feet for. . . and He knew.

He knew who, what she was.

And He changed who she was by the words He spoke. "... forgiven," the word echoed in her innermost part, where no one had been allowed to go, and lit a blazing fire in a once-dead hearth.

Immediately she knew too.
She was transformed.

She knew...
He saw her as clean and fragrant as His own feet now were.
And days, months, years, centuries later, He remembers her.

And He smiles.

- - November 10/01