Maundy Meanderings

On my way into work this glorious Maundy Thursday morning, I passed a van with a bumper sticker that said “Waiting for the Lord to come back again.”  My Super Pastor Cape wanted to unfurl, and in a safe, but dramatic move with my Prius, swing out in front of him bringing the van to a surprising halt, whereupon I would jump out, go up to the driver’s window, and gently (of course) explain that if he opened his eyes, he would see that the Lord is alive and well, every nanosecond at present. He need wait no longer. 

The Lord is a block away at The Little Pantry That Could.  He is at the street corner with everyone stopping to buy The Contributor from the fella that parks himself at the corner by the Shell station, where his dog gets occasional treats as well.  He is with the struggling but faithful congregation on Charlotte Avenue, and even the big struggling faithful ones on West End Avenue.  He is in every hospital room for blocks and blocks, and in every waiting room as family and friends gather with breath prayers spoken and unspoken.  He's at the Jack In The Box drive-thru window with the woman who just paid for the meal for the family behind her.  He is with those who are trying to be patient; He’s with those who are facing the imminent deaths of loved ones; He’s with our celebrations and our tragedies and everything in between. He is with every life, every death, every resurrection.

Yeah, yeah, I know the intent of the bumper sticker message, but I hope, hope, HOPE that the driver knows Christ is alive and well and working hard in us, through us, and in spite of us until The Kingdom is experienced throughout the world.  That’s what Easter is about for me.  It’s about remembering the sacrifice on my behalf; it’s about maintaining courage through the tough days; it’s about knowing that Sunday IS coming, and never giving up.  The question for me isn’t “How long, O Lord?” but “How can I help bring about Your Kingdom in the corner You’ve given me?”

Okay, I’ll put my cape away for another day.  Christ was, is and will be.  Now and until the end of time.   He doesn't need me stopping traffic to continue loving His creation.

Thank you, God, for another Glorious Easter, and for the co-creating service in between.

Grace and joy,

Julie

You. Yes, You....and Me too.

Sometimes, we need to be reminded that we are worthy, just as we are.

Right now.  Yes, I mean it.  Right now.

I have often placed my worth upon what I do, how I look, who likes me, yatta, yatta, yatta.  You know the words and phrases.  I'll bet some of them sound like Brene Brown's list, which she calls "worthiness prerequisites:"

I'll be worthy when I lose twenty pounds.
I'll be worthy if I get pregnant.
I'll be worthy if I get/stay sober.
I'll be worthy if everyone thinks I'm a good parent.
I'll be worthy when I can make a living selling my art.
I'll be worthy if I can hold my marriage together.
I'll be worthy when I make partner.
I'll be worthy when my parents finally approve.
I'll be worthy if he calls back and asks me out.
I'll be worthy when I can do it all and look like I'm not even trying.

God tells us that we need to throw those "ifs and whens" out the window.   In God's radical way, God loves us right now, in this moment, and there's nothing you can do about it.  You can't gain it, and you can't lose it.  God's love is out of your control.  God loves you.  Can we grow?  Yes.  Can we change? Yes.  Can we backslide? Yes.  But it doesn't change how God feels about you, right now.  And in the next second, or the next hour, or the next week or next year even.  God's love is steadfast.  You can test it, stretch it, deny it, turn your back on it, but God's love for you doesn't change.

There's no "doing what it takes to be needed or to fit in."  We already belong to this God who loves us in action, not just a warm, fuzzy feeling.  We are important to God's creation and to the Kingdom God is striving for in our world.

So take a deep, cleansing breath, inhaling pure love.  Then smile and/or wink at the next person you see.  They need to be reminded that they are worthy too, just as they are.

Grace and joy,
Julie

A Bell, a G-Dog, and God

I just met Rob Bell, and my heart is aflutter!

At the risk of sounding like a groupie, I’m in love—with this authentic, funny, poke fun with and get to the heart of a matter Real Person.

I’ve watched most of his Nooma short films, which always bring a fresh breeze belonging to the Holy Spirit.  I have every book, and for once I was too shy to ask for a signed book autograph.  I’m holding out for a second gathering of like minds for that opportunity.

It’s so important, he reminded us pastors today, to listen.  To listen without an agenda.  Even though we get paid to have an agenda—and are even evaluated on our agendas.  But life in The Spirit rarely has an agenda.

God seems once again to be “touching me” with a two-by-four . . . you know that knocked over feeling.  Rob Bell cuts to the chase before you even know you’re on a journey.  It’s the same hair-standing-up-on-the-back-of-my-neck feeling I had when I read Father Gregory Boyle’s book, Tattoos on the Heart.  I am a changed person, with a new outlook, or perhaps a deeper, more authentic outlook, when folks cross my path.  I will warn you, Tattoos on the Heart is not reading for the faint-of-heart.  The language is rough, but then, so is the area of Los Angeles where Father G, or G-Dog, serves.  It’s the heart of Gangland America, actually Global Gangland, and the honest to God struggles God’s children have trying to find a new normal other than the life around them.   

Truth be told, it’s a struggle we all have at one point, or maybe all points at some time or another, short or long stretches. 

“I’m not worthy to be loved.”

Father G authentically listens and works hard to hold up a mirror of compassion, to remind all of us, ALL of us, that in God’s eyes, we are more than worthy.  We are beloved.  

Not as the world says, but as God creates, sees and says.

Rob Bell reminded us, yeah even us pastors, that our not worthy-ness suspicions aren’t true.  Even the Demi Moore’s of the world are worthy and beloved (see a recent People magazine cover for her confession).

Our task, as disciples, is to find creative ways to help those the world considers the least, the last and the lost, to believe that about themselves.  With compassion.  With calmness.  With creativity.  With comfort.  With cleverness.

I have no idea what God has in store for me in a few months, but for the first time in a long time, I’m jazzed about what God must have in mind for me.  And for you.

Thanks, Rob.  Thanks, Father G.  Thanks, Stephen.  Thanks, Sarah.  Thanks, God.  I’m listening.

Grace and joy,

Julie

When A Bummer May Be Perfect!

Last week I was imperfect.  I still am.  Whew!  I may also be a little behind (no comments from the peanut gallery please), but two masterful pieces of inspiration and devotion crossed my desk this week that I want to share with you this week and next.

I'm going to lift with love a piece written by Sheila Walsh and re-posted in Ann Voskamp's blog, as I was touched to learn about Bummer Lambs.  Have you heard of them?  Sheila, singer and author, is part of the team of Women of Faith, conferences held nationwide spreading the hope, encouragement and joy of the gospel.  She's fabulous, funny and poignant in person (I've been blessed to see her twice).  Here's her lambs' piece:

I am very fond of sheep.

I grew up on the west coast of Scotland with sheep all around me, field after field of white wool and incessant crying when things seemed a little off.

I spent the first ten years of my life trying to get close enough to hug one but they’re not big on hugging. Even if I crept up quietly behind one it was as if they had a sixth sense and saw me coming. I now know that sheep have a field of vision of around 300 degrees so they had an in-built heads up on annoying Scottish children.

Interestingly enough they have poor depth perception. For this reason, sheep will avoid shadows or harsh contrasts between light and dark. They will move towards the light.

They head into the wind and towards the light. I try to remember that most days.

Of all the lessons I have learned from these defenseless, gentle animals, the most profound is the most painful.

Every now and then, a ewe will give birth to a lamb and immediately reject it. Sometimes the lamb is rejected because they are one of twins and the mother doesn’t have enough milk or she is old and frankly quite tired of the whole business. They call those lambs, bummer lambs. Unless the shepherd intervenes, that lamb will die.

So the shepherd will take that little lost one into his home and hand feed it from a bottle and keep it warm by the fire. He will wrap it up warm and hold it close enough to hear a heart beat. When the lamb is strong the shepherd will place it back in the field with the rest of the flock.

“Off you go now. You. can. do. this. I’m right here.”

The most beautiful sight to see is when the shepherd approaches his flock in the morning and calls them out, “Sheep, sheep, sheep!”

The first to run to him are the bummer lambs because they know his voice.

It’s not that they are more loved — it’s just that they believe it.

I am so grateful that Christ calls Himself the Good Shepherd.

“He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.

After he has gathered his own flock, he walks ahead of them,

and they follow him because they know his voice.”  John 10:3-4 (NLT)

In the most painful place in my life, hospitalized with severe clinical depression, I too learned the most profound lesson, we are loved because we are His – not because we can do tricks like seeing people approaching from behind!

Until the day I see Jesus face to face — I will be a bummer lamb.

It’s no longer the bad news; it’s the best news in the world because it’s not that Jesus loves his bummer lambs more –

it’s just that they actually dare to believe it.

From one bummer lamb and ragamuffin to another,

Grace and joy,

Julie 

PS--Next week, I'll share gems from Fr. Gregory Boyle, affectionately called the Gandhi of the Gangs, on the power of boundless compassion.