Saturday in the Tomb

It's a beautiful Saturday here in Nashville.  The sun is shining, even though there is a little nip in the air.  It's a perfect day for opening the windows to air out the house; take the dog to Radnor Lake; start cooking goodies for tomorrow's Easter feast.

But it's Saturday. If you've ever grieved over the loss of a loved one, it doesn't matter if the birds are singing on a perfect day, and people are whizzing down the highway with their windows open or tops down, smiling away.  Don't they know?  Don't they know that someone important and beloved has died?

I can stand in line with most of you in the "loss queue."  Grandparent, parent, child, friend, spouse, pet.  A big chunk of our hearts falls right out of our souls, and we know life is never going to be the same again.  The question looms again.  Why is the world going on like nothing's happened?  Don't they know that the whole world should be stopping and crying with us?

Yesterday was Good Friday, and we at West End UMC gathered in dark clothes, somber faces, and not a few tears as we recalled the death of our innocent, undeserving Lord.  The Choral Ensemble sang, our liturgists read words and scripture, candles were snuffed out one by one, the Bible was removed from its sacred place and taken away I know not where.  And then the most dreadful thing of all--the cross, draped in black, was carried out past us all, not lifted up but horizontal, and we all just sat there.  Something deep inside me said "Stand, stand to honor your Lord."  But I just sat there, with my head down.

There are those, I would fathom, who will shake their heads and say it's all drama, pure emotionalism, contrived for the moment deemed Good Friday.  I beg to differ.  In the parking lot after the service, I cried with one of the most loving couples I know as they shared an evil happening in their world, affecting their undeserving, beloved children.  I passed an elderly gentleman, hawking The Contributor, and as I handed over the bit of cash from my purse, I wondered how far that would really go to help his situation.  I changed clothes and drove over to the Humane Society to help a church member, despite a recent life-changing surgery with her chores, knowing full well that even with a bright clean bandana around their necks, a treat from a pocket and a big hug with a human reminder that God loves them and how handsome/pretty they were, many wouldn't be rescued from their abandonment.  When I got home and loved on my own puppy, a newscaster announced that a baby at Vanderbilt had died from the abuse received at the hands of her parents.  My Lord was dying again and again, all day long.

It's Saturday.  The entombment of Christ is all around us.  Frankly, the Good Friday days of crucifixion and the silence of Saturday appear to have the power to crush us all.  It's time for a good, deep, heart-wrenching cry.  The pain does have a gift for us, even though we cannot see in in the darkness of the Saturday tomb.  Don't gloss over the pain, but hold on.  Hold on tight.  We first have to become aware; awareness leads to empathy; and empathy is where God can break through the hard-hearted stones of everyday oblivion to transform us, then our neighbors, and ultimately the world.

Because tomorrow's Sunday.  Our task today, however, is just getting through Saturday.  We can do it.  Hold on tight, even with a box of tissues in your hand.

Grace and joy,
Julie

Confessions from a Book-a-holic

Hello.  My name is Julie.  And I’m a book-a-holic.

I really, really am.  It’s hard if not near impossible for me to keep from scanning a bargain in a bookstore, or clicking on Amazon for their latest recommendations, or being tempted by the many publishers who are aware of my addiction and fill my email box every day.  Three new ‘fixes’ arrived yesterday, and yes, I am reading all three at the same time.  They are all so good (usually at least one in a bunch is a dud) that I couldn’t make up my mind this time which one to stick with.  Don’t bother giving me advice about getting a library card and just borrowing books.  I’m way too far into my addiction to give books back, unless I give them TO someone. 

I do have a new favorite from my trio, however, and if I could wave my magic wand (and I will, once it is out of the shop….parts are on back order, they tell me), I would have every small group and every congregational member read Margot Starbuck’s Small Things with Great Love: Adventures in Loving Your Neighbor.  The title sounds dorky, yes.  Way too simple for our sophisticated West End crowd, especially for their pastor of Christian Formation, who has a masters degree with honors from a very prestigious university.  I’m not even sure why I ordered it, except that the forward was written by Tony Campolo, whom I have a secret crush on, and that even though I find myself in the “God-business,” I want to find something exciting to do that’s out of my comfort box—besides becoming another Mother Teresa.  At this point in my life, I just want to bring a smile to a face and be able to fit it into an already people-laden lifestyle. 

Margot delivers.  She is so HUMAN!  She resonates with those of us who lead hectic lives, and yet hear Jesus saying to the rich young ruler, “Go home, sell all you have and give to the poor.”  He leaves, sad.  And we hear the story, sadly.  Most of us aren’t rich, young, or rulers.  We need to be responsible citizens, making a decent living, doing the right thing. Paying our bills, raising our children, caring for our elderly--but even non-Christians do those things.  We hear, we believe, and we want to do, but we don’t quite know WHAT to do. Margot, in a non-preachy, fully forgiving, grace-filled and humorous way, shares stories of small things we all can do with great love, which will indeed change the world.

As Tracey Bianchi, pastor, activist and author of Green Mama says, “I highly recommend this book to anyone who ever comes in contact with another human being.”  I’m not sure it gets any better than this, my friends.  At least that’s the view from my desk, this Maundy Thursday afternoon.

Grace and joy,

Julie

Melting Walls

Melting Walls

Peter Cooper has written a beautiful tribute to bluegrass icon Earl Scruggs in the Thursday morning edition of The Tennessean.  In it, he quotes Marty Stuart as describing Earl as ”a man who melted walls, and he did it without saying three words.” 

Here’s a fellow who had an unprecedented talent with the banjo and played for 84 years of his 88.  While his fingers smoked on those strings, that’s not what melted the walls.  According to the reporter, Earl had a knack for simply going and playing his fabulous banjo—with lots of different artists of many genres.  He’d just go and play.  Long haired, short haired, similar and very different, popular or highly controversial, he’d just go and play.  The banjo!  With the likes of Joan Baez and Elton John, for instance.  I realized how much I may tend to place people in a box, simply because it sounds so refreshingly uncommon.  He’d just show up and play, with no agenda but doing what he was meant to do, the best he could, and as open-minded as he could be.  He shared without being judgmental, and it made a difference.  Even though he was criticized and condemned by some of his peers for crossing “boundaries.”

I have no idea what Earl’s religious persuasion was.  I’m sure I could google it, but it doesn’t really matter.  Sounds to me like he lived out Ephesians 2:10.  “For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.  Earl used his talent, persevered, and melted walls of difference.  How cool is that?  What a loving, accepting testimony.

Rest in peace, Earl.  We thank God for God’s gift to us, through your music and your witness.  May we all be wall-melters.

Grace and joy,

Julie

So What?

I imagine that we’ve all asked that question sometime during our lives, either out loud or in the innermost recesses of our hearts. 

So what?

You can fill in the blanks.  I tried writing some out for you, but they tended to sound pretty judgmental, and reflected my own critical thinking.  I don’t need to impose that onto you!  I’ll bet (if I were a betting woman) you’re your own best critic, too.

The basis of “so what” thinking is asking the basic question, “What’s the purpose and meaning?”  By the time I arrive at asking “so what,” I’m typically at a point where I’m questioning “what’s the use?”  Oh dear.

I love the season of Lent because it is a “set apart” time to be reflective.  To be reflective, means to be aware, or working on being aware.  If there’s one quality that is up on a Top Ten List, I hope Awareness is way up there after Lovingkindness.  Maybe even second.  Awareness might just keep us intentional, and diminish the “so what” question from rearing its head as often.

An unaware life, Anthony De Mello writes, is a mechanical life, not human.  In the current movie “Hugo,” it might correlate to an automaton.  How easy it is to slip into programmed and conditional living!  We can argue that for far too many people on the planet, life is a matter of survival, and that reflective time is a luxury, but frankly, some of the wisest, happiest people I know are in survival mode but have resolved the “so WHAT” question with “so THAT.”

Why am I doing ________________?  So that I can feed my children.  So that I can be a contributing member of my community.  So that I can share some of my life experiences.  So that I can show gratitude for the many blessings I have been given.  So that I can reflect Christ’s love and grace to others.  So that?  You can fill in the blanks.  By becoming aware.

“So that” living is the heart of what we are about as Christians.  I hope you’ll take time to consider the “so that” aspects of your 24 hours.  Sometimes, it can be a lifesaver.  Promise!

Grace and joy,

Julie

Happy St. Paddy's Day!

I love wearing green on March 17th, even though my Scottish ancestors certainly are fuming in their graves.  I have some Irish ancestors too, however which makes for quite a blessed blend of characteristics in my DNA. 

There's a shadow side of everyone and in everyone's background, so we pray for discernment to hold onto the good, prune the not-so-good and learn lessons from that, and accept the reality of both.  I'll not be goin' all serious on ya today (said with my best Irish brogue), bein' that a wink and a grin is always a good thing.

Do you know what's green and sits in your backyard?
Paddy O'Furniture

Have you seen the cartoon of St. Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland, in his Chevy?

'I had an accident opening a can of alphabet soup this morning,' said Murphy.
'Were you injured?' inquired Seamus.
'No, but it could have spelled disaster,' concluded Murphy.

How do you save a pastor who tells too many jokes from drowning?
You don't know? Good.

So here's a blessing for you:

May God grant you many years to live,
For sure God must be knowing
The earth has angels all too few
And Heaven is overflowing.

Go mbeannai Dia duit
(May God Bless You)

Grace and joy,
Julie

From a Glass, Darkly

This has been quite a week.  Two grandbabies born to our members, with whom we rejoice, but a shadow side has been the unusual number of deaths we’ve experienced as a community this past week.

Mary Louise Clift Brown died Saturday, March 3^rd.  Private services were held at the Middle Tennessee Veterans Cemetery on Wednesday, March 7^th.  Among her survivors is her husband Thomas A. Brown.

Beth and Dudley Warner are mourning the death of Beth’s mother, Ruth Edna Hokinson Green, who died Sunday, March 4^th.  Services were held at West End on Wednesday, March 7^th.  She is survived also by West End member Elizabeth Shayler (granddaughter).

Bess Frances Hunt Bennett died Tuesday, March 6^th.  Services will be held at West End on Friday, March 9^th. 

James Hicks, father of Karen and Pamela Hicks, died Wednesday evening, March 7^th.  Services will be held in Huntsville, Alabama on Saturday morning.

And on top of that, it’s gray and raining outside.

Days like these call us to cling to our Good News:  That the worst thing that happens to us is never the last thing to happen to us, by God’s grace. 

None of us can fully comprehend the mystery of death and resurrection, but it helps me to think of this inspired parable.

Once upon a time, twins were conceived in the same womb.  Weeks passed, and the twins developed.  As their awareness grew, they laughed for joy:  “Isn’t it great to be alive?”

Together the twins explored their world.  When they found their mother’s cord that gave them life, they sang for joy.  “How great is our mother’s love, that she shares her own life with us!”

As weeks stretched into months, the twins noticed how much each was changing.  “What does that mean?” asked one.

“It means our stay in this world is drawing to an end,” said the other.

“But I don’t want to go,” said the one.

“But maybe there is life after birth!” said the other.

“But how could that be?” responded the other one.  “We’d have to shed our life cord, and how is life possible without it?  Besides, we have seen evidence that others were here before us, and none of them have returned to tell us that there is life after birth.  No, this is the end!”

And so the one twin fell into deep despair, saying “If conception ends in birth, what is the purpose of life in the womb? It’s meaningless.  Maybe there’s no mother at all!”

“But there has to be,” protested the other.  “How else did we get here? How do we remain alive?”

“Have you ever seen our mother?” said the one.  “Maybe she lives only in our minds; maybe we made her up because the idea makes us feel good.”

And so the last days in the womb were filled with great questioning and fear. 

Finally, the moment of birth arrived.  When the twins passed from their world, they opened their eyes.  And they cried, for what they saw exceeded their fondest dreams.

For now we see as through a glass, darkly….  At least that’s the view from my desk today.

Grace and resurrection joy,

Julie

Dropping the Guilt Baggage

Last night our Final Words From the Cross discussion group was lively as we talked about Lent, the reason for self-examination, and forgiveness.  Many of us start squirming at the thought of sin and confession—mostly from a sense of denial, I reckon, unless it’s looking at others and recognizing their sins.  It’s easy to justify our own mistakes, slip-ups and judgmentalism, being that we know our intentions, or so we tell ourselves.  If we’re fully honest, however, we admit that instead of putting God and love at the center of our lives, we place ourselves and our selfishness smack dab in the center of our personal universe, much to the detriment of healthy relationships that separate ourselves from God and one another.  Note the word “sin” and that “I” in the middle, or as one participant last night pointed out, “Ego stands for Edging God Out.”

If that weren’t bad enough, if we recognize that trait, we often jump to the conclusion that we are guilty, guilty, guilty.  Which equals bad, bad, bad.  God may forgive us, but we have trouble forgiving ourselves for our grievances.  Such thinking is often promoted by power-sources who want to maintain control through fear.  I’ll let you figure out those sources, but the media is chocked full of that message from all directions, reinforcing what our distorted egos are already telling us.  Are we really arrogant enough to deny God’s forgiveness by placing our own judgment above that of our Creator? 

Adam Hamilton drives home the point in this Lenten study that God’s forgiveness, as lifted up before the whole world from Jesus’ lips praying forgiveness for us from the cross, is blatant.  What more could God do?  In the midst of the torture and anquish, betrayal and denial, Jesus is praying for our forgiveness.  We hadn’t even said we were sorry, and God is forgiving us.  It may be time to accept that forgiveness and get on with things.

I’ve shared before that even more than John 3:16, is the verse that follows, for me.  “For God came into the world not to condemn the world, but to save it.”  Not to make us wallow around in guilt, but to accept us and encourage us to turn in God’s direction rather than our own.  Turn to love, and abandon fear.  Abandon, in other words, that baggage of guilt.  Use it as a symptom pointing to something that needs to be corrected or healed, and move on.  

It’s a beautiful thing, our need for forgiveness and God’s willingness to give it.  Open those windows and let that fresh air into your soul.  That’s what I’m doing today, and I hope every day.

That’s the view from my desk this beautiful afternoon.  See you Sunday, and even Wednesday evening to enter further discussion!

Grace and joy,

Julie