Sunday: Sing!

Praise the Lord!
Praise God in his sanctuary;
    praise him in his mighty heavens! 
 Praise him for his mighty deeds;
    praise him according to his excellent greatness!

 Praise him with trumpet sound;
    praise him with lute and harp! 

 Praise him with tambourine and dance;
    praise him with strings and pipe! 

 Praise him with sounding cymbals;
    praise him with loud clashing cymbals! 

 Let everything that has breath praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord!

Psalm 150, ESV

North Park University Choir, 3.10.12

Linking with Deidra's Sunday community:

Sunday: Dawn

But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn,
    which shines brighter and brighter until full day.

Proverbs 4:18, ESV

Quietly linking with Deidra in her Sunday community:

Sunday: Drink

A gift from Ethel made from wood salvaged from a local restaurant renovation. Because she loves me, and because she knows my word for this year is "drink."

Joining Deidra's Sunday Community:

Barefoot: Guest Post by Lyla Lindquist

Have you met my friend Lyla? You should. She makes me laugh. And she makes me think. I believe she understands my world in ways many others can't; the world inhabited by tall women married to Scandinavians.

One of the things I admire most about Lyla is her understanding of the Word of God, one which is deep and is rich. She retells familiar Bible stories in ways that make me slow down, think, and see things I'd never seen before. In the words of another tall Midwesterner who knows a thing or two about Scandinavians, she "puts the hay down where the goats can get it." (Garrison Keillor)

Lyla blogs at A Different Story. Do stop by, kick your shoes off, and make yourself at home there. You'll be glad you did. 

Photo by Lyla Lindquist

Socks hold great priority in my world. None of this panty hose business. Nor barefootedness. Socks, even with flip-flops. Nearly all cotton, just enough other material to help them keep a snug, secure shape. I remove them for bed, usually, and the shower, always.

This morning, I left them off briefly and slipped my tender toes into the fleece-lined slippers my son gave me for Christmas. By the time everyone was out the door and I took the stairs down to my office, my feet had grown hot. Sweaty, even.

So I stepped out of the slippers before I hit the floor at the bedside for some alone time with the Father.

The morning chill hit my damp feet, and it felt refreshing. But I had misgivings. Approaching the throne with bare feet trailing behind left me feeling exposed, and not just a little irreverent.

Is it okay, You know, to meet You with my socks and shoes off? I had to ask.

I'll admit that a part of me wished he would say no, and motion me to the dresser to retrieve them.

He did not.

So I tucked sweaty, naked feet under me and reached for my Bible. Somehow, I knew I would not be reading forward from where I'd left off, but would be flipping back a few books. I needed to see about a fellow who approached without his sandals.

::

Moses had not set off to find God that morning in the desert. He worked for his father-in-law, looking after sheep. He'd just reached the west side with his flock, down around the foot of Horeb, where it's fair to say he was minding his own business. Out of the clear blue, a bit of shrubbery burst into flame.

Curiosity drew him closer, for there was fire, but no smoke. A bush was in flames and yet it did not burn.

He stepped toward glow, and tipped back on his heels when the voice of God called to him from within the fire, telling him to slip off his sandals.

The ground where he stood -- it was holy ground.

There were reasons, cultural reasons, why removing shoes in the face of holiness was important. It marked a practice of reverence in nearly all Eastern religions, rooted at least in part in not tracking in filth on the soles of dusty footwear.

But whatever the reason, with the sandals gone, Moses stood skin to skin with God: dirty, calloused feet kissing holy ground. Nothing between, not even a strip of leather sole. Nothing to cover his hairy man-toes.

I found myself wriggling my own feet around a little, noticing myself all the more vulnerable there in His bright morning light. And I considered how He bids us enter His presence uncovered, unhidden.

How His invitation into blazing holiness is one of unprotected exposure. 

And is that how I will practice reverent worship today? Check with me a little later. For now, I'm lacing up my rubber-soled work boots.

Desperate and Deceitful

Most people who commit to memorizing Scripture begin, I imagine, with passages which are familiar to many both inside and out of the church. John 3:16 is a likely starting point. The reference shows up on signs in the end zones of professional football games and on the eye black of Denver Broncos quarterback Tim Tebow. For God so loved the world, John 3:16 reads, He gave His only begotten son . . . The verse is a succinct explanation of the gospel message, one well worth committing to memory.

                                        

John 11:35 is another easy entry point into the discipline of Scripture memorization. Two simple words: Jesus wept. Hiding a verse in one’s heart doesn’t get much easier than that.

Those two verses were probably among the first I memorized as a child. Another I remember vividly, and in the King James, was this:

The heart is deceitful of above all things, and desperately wicked. Who can know it? Jeremiah17:9:

I don't remember who assigned me the task of memorizing that verse from Jeremiah. It may have been the elderly neighbor who hosted an after school Bible club, or it may have been assigned as part of an AWANA club program. I do remember, as a young child, thinking it was a strange verse.

I'm honored to be spending my Valentine's Day sharing this heart story over at Healthy Spirituality, the blogging home of my friend Jean Wise. Won't you click the link above to join me over at her place?

Enter the Story

If you could be present during any of the accounts of Scripture, which would you choose and why?

Last week I asked the above question on my Facebook wall, and received a number of interesting responses:  The account of creation. Elijah’s battle with the prophets of Baal. David and Goliath. The moment Anna and Simeon first saw Jesus. The woman at the well. The transfiguration. One person responded that, though she knew it would be heart-wrenching, she would want to stand beneath the cross and witness all Christ had suffered on her behalf.

My pastor  is preaching a series on the life of David, showing how his life points to Christ. During Sunday’s sermon, he mentioned that he knew which story in Scripture he would most want to witness.

 “The road to Emmaus, without a doubt,” he said.

My pastor is a profoundly gifted preacher, skilled at opening the Scriptures in a way which reveals how all of it points to Jesus. And yet he said he longed to have that experience of walking with the disciples, and being joined by Jesus as “beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.” Luke 24:27, ESV. He wants to have his eyes opened to see more deeply how all things point to Christ.

I’ve thought long and hard this week about where I’d like to be inserted, Forrest Gump-like, as an eyewitness to an event in the biblical narrative. Mostly, I kept coming up with episodes where I’m sure I would not have wanted to be present.

The account of Noah’s ark is, perhaps, the most familiar of all Bible stories, even among many who aren’t well acquainted with Scripture. Baby nurseries and children’s storybooks often feature images of the ark, surrounded by pairs of happy animals set against the backdrop of a vibrant rainbow.

But the account of the ark isn’t really a happy story, and I’m not sure I would have wanted to be present as it was unfolding. The account of Noah and the ark is a dark one, filled with judgment and destruction and death. I don’t think I would have liked being cooped up inside a wooden boat, surrounded by two of every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. As much as I love my family, I think I might have gone a little stir-crazy not knowing for how many days we would be enjoying nothing but one another’s company. I would have missed the blue sky. And I think it must have been terrifying, being tossed about by wind and storm and sea, protected by nothing but a wooden boat and the promise of God’s word.

Of course my only other alternative would have been taking my chances outside the boat.

I wonder what it would have been like to witness Jesus perform one of his miracles. I imagine myself sitting on a hillside, waiting to hear this speaker who’s been causing such uproar throughout all of Galilee. Knowing me, I’d have grumbled and complained about the lack of concession stands and clean bathrooms. Maybe I’d have listened to what the itinerant preacher had to say; maybe I’d have been distracted by my own irritation. I wonder if I’d have been one of the ones who came just for the spectacle, begrudgingly grateful for my share of bread and fish brought in by an unlikely caterer.

Would I have followed Jesus or gone home unchanged, determined to write a letter of complaint directed toward the organizers of the day’s event?

I wondered, when I asked my question, whether or not anyone would choose to stand at the foot of the cross. I respect the one who wrote and said she would. I couldn’t. The words penned by the eyewitnesses are hard enough for me to read. And I think about Mary standing there, watching her son as He was tortured and humiliated. As a mother, I’m not sure I could have stood by watching her agony.

After Sunday’s sermon several of us gathered for a meal, and we talked about the pastor’s question. One said he would choose to be with Jesus at the wedding at Cana.

And I knew. That’s where I would want to be; sitting across the table from Jesus, drinking the miraculously good wine, the best which was kept for last.

And that’s where I want to be; where there are no more storms or darkness or night. I look forward to raising a glass in celebration that God has always kept His promise, bringing me safely home. I want to know that Jesus didn’t leave me sulking and stubborn and sitting on a hillside; but drew me irresistibly to follow after Him. I want to party with Jesus; breaking bread with the One who was broken for me, and knowing nothing will ever again break this mother’s heart.

How about you? If you could be present during any of the accounts of Scripture, which would you choose and why?

Linking with Michelle @ Graceful:

And with Jen and the sisterhood @ Finding Heaven:

Sunday: Eat

And he said to me, “Son of man, eat whatever you find here. Eat this scroll, and go, speak to the house of Israel.” So I opened my mouth, and he gave me this scroll to eat. And he said to me, “Son of man, feed your belly with this scroll that I give you and fill your stomach with it.” Then I ate it, and it was in my mouth as sweet as honey. 

Ezekiel 3:1-3, ESV

Joining two quiet weekend communities:

Sandra:

And Deidra:

Living the Benediction

Church services, when I was a child, seemed to have a hard time winding down to an end. Often I’d try to steal a glance at the clock at the rear of the sanctuary, knowing the pastor had preached well beyond the noon hour.  A lengthy altar call usually followed the sermon.  We’d stand and sing through all the verses of Just as I Am, only to start over again from the beginning as though my pastor was signaling his determination to outlast the very last recalcitrant sinner still clinging to his pew.

Now and then I’d catch my mother’s nervous glance, and I could tell she was thinking about the pot roast she’d left simmering at home. I often just wished someone would hurry up and get saved just so we could go home and eat. I could never tell how my pastor decided enough was enough, but eventually he’d call us to sing one of the verses as the last. He’d offer a prayer, release us, and send us on our way.

A time of coffee and fellowship follows the service at the church I now attend. Before dismissing us to our Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee, however, my pastor raises his arms and invites us to receive the benediction. Often he recites this one found at the end of the book of Hebrews:

Now may the God of peace who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the eternal covenant,  equip you with everything good that you may do his will, working in us that which is pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen. Hebrews 13: 20, 21 ESV

Benediction. The word means blessing, and it’s used quite often in Scripture. Patriarchs of the Old Testament pronounced blessings on their firstborn children, and something real happened when they did so. A transaction occurred. A son received real rights and privileges; he was assured of his inheritance.

Brothers formed lifelong resentments toward one another based on who did, or did not, receive his father’s blessing. Twins brothers struggled to beat one another out of their mother’s womb, wrestling to grab hold of their inheritance. Brothers threatened violence toward one another. In one case, there was some unpleasantness involving deception and bowls of soup.

The patriarchs of the Old Testament were mere men. They were not magicians who could speak words of blessing and cause them to happen. Of their own, they possessed no more power to bless their children than did a squirrel. These men did what God told them to do; they laid hands on their sons and spoke over them the words He told them to say. In doing so they conveyed something which had substance, something real.

When my pastor invites me to receive the benediction, something real happens. He’s not just reciting ceremonial words to signal the end of the worship service before dismissing me to my coffee. He is asking me to lift my eyes and receive my inheritance. He is reminding me of God’s promises and, in prayer on my behalf, is reminding God of the promises He’s made to me.

• He prays that God will equip me with everything good.
• He prays that God will enable me to do His will
• He asks God to do the work in me that will please Him.

Notice what does not happen in a benediction. My pastor does not raise his arms and say, “Okay, now that I’ve given you a pep talk from God’s word, I want you to go out this week and try really, really hard to do what I just said.”

He invites me to receive God’s blessing. He reminds me that God is at work in me, growing me up to do things that are pleasing to Him. He reminds me of what is already true about me.

When I get up each morning, I don’t stop and ask myself whether or not I’m going to behave throughout the day like a gray-haired middle-aged woman. That’s just who I am. Granted, on any given day I may behave like a twelve-year old; but my behavior doesn’t change what is true about me.

I don’t know how your church service typically ends. Perhaps you sing all the verses to Just as I Am multiple times. Perhaps it ends with a simple prayer. But. If your service concludes with a prayer of benediction, I encourage you to stop and listen to the words. Lift your eyes and receive God’s blessing. Then, after you’ve received your Styrofoam cup full of coffee, go in peace to live what is true about you.

Grab hold of your blessing. Live the benediction.

Linking with Michelle @ Graceful:

And with Jen and the sisterhood:

When We Disappoint

When my daughter was a baby she napped in a crib in her upstairs bedroom, painted pink and stenciled with bunnies. One day, after she had woken from her nap, I picked up my sweet baby girl and started carrying her down the stairs. And then I slipped and fell.

I was in pain, the seeing-stars-I’m-afraid-to-move-and-find-out-I’ve-broken-something kind of pain. While I was trying to figure out how badly I’d battered and bruised myself, my daughter cried out in pain of her own. She had a rash on her chin, received from having been dragged down the carpeted stairs. Her eyes bore a look of utter betrayal as if asking me, “How could you do this to me, my own mother?”

The pain I felt paled in comparison to the ache of knowing I’d caused harm to my daughter. It wasn’t intentional, but I felt responsible nonetheless.  I had failed my child, the one who looked to me for security, protection, and love.

My pastor has been preaching a series of sermons on the life of David. Last week he highlighted an episode in which David failed to protect his family. While on the run from King Saul, David took his family and hid out in Ziklag in the land of the Philistines. He even assisted the Philistines by participating in their raids against the Amalekites, Girzites, and other desert tribes. Saul didn’t pursue David while he lived among the Philistines, and he and his family remained there in relative safety for over a year.

Some of the Philistine commanders grew nervous, however, about taking David into battle with them. David was an Israelite, an enemy of the Philistines, and the commanders questioned his loyalty. David was dismissed from the ranks of marauding Philistines and sent home to Ziklag. Upon arriving home, he learned that the Amalekites had raided the village and carried all its wives and children into captivity.

While David was off doing battle with the Philistines, he left his family unprotected and open to harm.

Then David and the people who were with him raised their voices and wept until they had no more strength to weep. I Samuel 30:4, ESV

I’ve wept too; in the knowledge that my actions have caused harm to those I love. I’d like to say that dragging my daughter down the stairs was my one and only act of disappointment, but that’s not true. I’ve made careless decisions, some of which were outright self-centered and sinful. I’ve responded in frustration and anger rather than in love.

Leaning on conventional parenting wisdom I repeatedly grounded one child and generally made life miserable in an ongoing battle over schoolwork. The problem with leaning on conventional wisdom, however, was that it blinded me from seeking God’s wisdom and recognizing my child’s learning disability. That thing God said about not leaning on one’s own understanding? Turns out God intends those words for parents. Turns out, he intends them for me.

Nobody around here is getting nominated for mother-of-the-year any time soon.

I wounded my child with angry words, through my lack of patience and understanding. I grieve my actions and have wept bitterly. I am tempted to curl up into a ball and declare my utter worthlessness as a parent. But that’s not what David did:

. . . David strengthened himself in the LORD his God. I Samuel 30:6, ESV

God doesn’t cast aside those who fail, those who disappoint. The Lord met David in his sorrow and strengthened him. My pastor directed us to these words, written by David in Psalm 25:

Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
   according to your steadfast love remember me,
   for the sake of your goodness, O LORD!

Good and upright is the LORD;
   therefore he instructs sinners in the way.
 He leads the humble in what is right,
   and teaches the humble his way.

Psalm 25:7-9, ESV

This account of David ends well; he gets his family back. My daughter’s chin healed, and I doubt she even remembers the day I dragged her down the stairs. But not all stories end well, at least not on this side of eternity. My actions may cause wounds which run deep, resulting in scars that last a lifetime. Who knows whether David’s wives and children were haunted by recurring nightmares after being captured by ancient marauding tribes? Scripture is silent on this point, and I believe it’s wise not to speculate when scripture is silent.

But this passage offers hope. It reminds me that God is the one who rescues and delivers from all harm, even the harm caused by my carelessness and sin. So I ask his forgiveness and pray for healing. I need passages like this to remind me that God doesn’t give up on me, even when I’m undone by my failures. He forgives and strengthens the mother who cries bitter tears.

Honored to have this post included in the December, 2011, round up of featured posts at The High Calling, selected by David Rupert at Red Letter Believers.

Linking with Michelle @ Graceful:

And with Jen and the sisterhood:

Well Pleased With the Beloved

He sat next to me during worship, the young man who had been born in a remote island village on the other side of the globe. There, he hadn’t escaped the notice of the God who sees, the One who brought him into my home where he grew in my heart. In our home he learned to play music, first sitting on the piano bench at age four, and picking out notes from the hymns he’d heard in morning worship services.

We visited a church near Chicago, this young man and I, and the pastor spoke on these words:

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And when he came up out of the water, immediately he saw the heavens being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.” Mark 1:9-11, ESV

The pastor spoke to the longing we have, each of us, to hear those same words. We want to know we are beloved. We long to hear from those whom we love that, with us, they are well pleased. We want to be affirmed, to know that we are good at something; that our lives matter. These are natural desires and good ones. These are words we would expect to hear in a world where God’s shalom reigns, where His image bearers live in harmony.

But we don’t live in a world of shalom. Relationships, even loving ones, are broken; and we broken people disappoint and hurt one another. Parents and children, husbands and wives don’t always love well. We are more prone to express our displeasure than tell our loved ones, “With you I am well pleased.” Our voices sound strange notes. Dissonant chords echo in our homes.

The words, said the preacher, which God the Father spoke to His beloved Son are the same ones He speaks to all who belong to Him:

You are my beloved. With you I am well pleased.

Today. This minute. Not later, after you’ve cleaned up your act. Right now. You are my beloved child. I am well pleased with you. And when we are able, said the pastor, to grab ahold of how deeply God loves us, how well pleased He is with us, everything begins to change.

We walked forward together, the young man and I, and received the bread and the wine; the broken body and spilled blood of the beloved Son. Musicians played Holy, Holy, Holy in an arrangement which sounded like it could have been written by Vince Guaraldi; the man who composed the music for the Charlie Brown specials, the music my young man has been playing most of his life.

And, in the eating of the bread and the drinking of the wine, I tasted shalom; and sensed the dissonant chords resolving.

Linking with Michelle:

And with Jen and the sisterhood:

A Harvest of Words

Yesterday I needed to vacuum my house and pack for an upcoming writer’s retreat in Texas. Instead, I engaged in a heroic effort toward avoiding responsibility by looking back over some old sermon notes. At least if I’m going to behave irresponsibly, I ought to do it in a responsible-looking manner, right?

I came across these words from my pastor, preached in the context of a sermon series on parables:

• When waiting on God’s promises, we need to think in agricultural terms, not technological ones.
• Seeds do not work quickly.
• We need to be patient, humble, and submissive to God’s powerful ways while always believing.
• Don’t judge the progress of the kingdom by appearance. Don’t conclude that it is pointless.

Several of my blog world friends have featured posts and pictures related to the season of harvest, here and here. In this season, so much of creation seems to echo and amplify those things God would have us see in the pages of his Holy Word.

At a time in my life, and perhaps in yours, while waiting for the fulfillment of God’s promises, I find great comfort seeing the world about me bearing witness to the words of the Promise maker.

As I mentioned, I will be away for a few days on a writing retreat. While I’m gone, please take the opportunity to introduce yourselves to several new voices I’ve discovered in blog world:

Patsy and Megan @ Sunday Women: Mother and daughter blogging about what it’s like to be married to the pastor

Sharon @ TheMoon is a Liar: Thoughts from a friend who is building her family and the kingdom through adopting, including many with special needs

Debbie @Faith, Art, and Farming: Beautiful art, Wendell Berry quotes, reflections on life with ADHD. What more could you want?

By the way, I did get around to vacuuming.  I can now leave for the retreat with clear conscience, knowing the beloved Swede will be surrounded by clean carpets.

Assuming I get my packing done.

(I'm not really sure what the rules are for citing works of others in a blog post, but thought I ought to at least link to my pastor's sermons so I can give him credit for his fine words above)