Lessons and Carols

Hi friends! It's been a LOOOOOONG blog sabbatical, eh? I had intended to "reopen" the blog for advent, but that never happened. I do plan to come up with another blogging task for Lent this year, though-- so watch out!

In the meantime, though, I wanted to share these prayers that I have written for my church's Lessons and Carols service (coming up this Sunday!). I'm so excited for it, and I hope that maybe these words and the readings will be of some encouragement to you in these final two weeks of Advent. Enjoy!

Lessons and Carols 2011

I. The Creation and Fall of Humanity

Invocation

O Holy Breath,
Silence before the world and the word,
come silence us before you
and breathe into our imagination new life
to grasp how glorious and gracious
is the scope of the story you have written us into,
from the creation of the earth
to its redemption
to its continued sustenance by your hand.
Father, you are truly God: immeasurable, incomparable, indelible.

Exhortation
Come, let us gather together and listen with awe and wonder to hear of the God of Israel, the one and only living God, whose own hands crafted us out of nothing, whose very breath gave us life, and who, in spite of our turning away, relentlessly calls us back to himself, back to the garden, back to life in his light.

Readings
Genesis 2:4b-7, 3:1-6, 22-24

II. The Promise of a Redeemer

Invocation
O Mighty Shepherd,
lifter of heads and true Glory of the Father,
your undeserved gentleness and unceasing power
fills us with wonder.
Arrive now,
in your word
and speak to us of your promise,
fulfilled in spite of our faithlessness.
Prepare the way in our souls,
that all the rough and uneven pathways inside
might be leveled by the sheer force
of your mighty authority, and your boundless mercy.
O Prince of Peace, you are truly God:
heal us,
hold us,
herald to us your coming Kingdom.


Exhortation:
 Listen, people of God, to hear the good news. A light dawns on our darkness, a savior enters with authority, a shepherd carries us in his arms. Listen with the darkest places of your soul because it is there that His light will triumph. Listen, with the burdens on your back, for that is the very load He will lift. Listen, with your weariness, strife, and toil, because into that struggle He will bring His zeal, His authority and His endless peace. Listen to the good news.

Readings:
Isaiah 40:1-11
Isaiah 9:2-7

III. The Annunciation and Birth of Christ

Invocation
O Good Father, Draw us near to your heart as we listen to the story of your Incarnation, of God becoming Man, of God coming to be with us and for us. Teach us, as we marvel at this Holy Child, to become children, ourselves, and hold fast to your hand as the light grows dim, clinging to hope.
Jesus, you are truly God: 
quench our sorrow
deepen the shallow
and revive the fallow places in our souls, we pray.

Exhortation:
And now, let us abandon the wideness of the world,
the glories of the heavens,
the epic narrative of God's conversation with man,
and enter into the still, small inner world,
the world of the child,
the very womb of God
where we, with Mary,
wonder at the miracle of God's nearness
and wait for the revelation of His gracious glory to be born again within us. 

Luke 1:26-33, 46-55
Luke 2:1, 3-7

IV. The Proclamation of the Gospel

O Holy Word,
by your word we were first given flesh,
and by your flesh, you have given us the word of hope.
You have made a way for us
by unveiling the face of the Father,
full of grace and truth.
Speak now,
and silence the terrified storms of our souls with your word,
and boldly proclaim
that
you
have
done it.
Savior, you are truly God: above us, for us, and with us.

Exhortation
Family of God, do not fear. Be still before the Lord now, and receive the Truth. Christ has come, and Christ will come again. The darkness has not overcome us, and the end has become the beginning. This is the gospel. Hear it, and live.



Readings:
Luke 2:8-16
John 1:1-14

Oh, Grammy

It has certainly been awhile.... and I have missed writing! While I originally intended the blog as a Lenten practice, it turned into so much more....and even though Lent is long over, I do plan to keep the blog open, in case I randomly have something I want to share. In this case, I would like to share with you a piece of writing that I read aloud at my grandmother's memorial service, just yesterday. She was certainly one-of-a-kind. Hope you enjoy...

Grammy

In moments like these, words seem like such fragile, futile vessels for capturing a human life…for trying to contain the whole colorful, vibrant world of someone like my grandmother and somehow give it new breath. I can’t begin to pin down a life so full of motion, activity, laughter, love, and adventure….of secrets I’ll never know and stories I’ll never forget. Even in death, this wonderful, wild woman simply won’t be held down or summed up. So I’ll choose my words sparingly but deliberately…and offer up just another brush stroke as we re-member Grammy together.

Growing up, I knew Grammy was quite unlike any other. Other people would sometimes describe their grandmothers to me and I would chuckle to myself…. demure, quiet, likes to crochet? Not my Grammy! Grammy’s life was constantly brimming with adventure. She was always going, going, going. Running races, traveling the world, tutoring children, gallivanting about town with friends, fighting for causes, and supporting all of her children and grandchildren at games, plays, concerts, graduations, and the like. I might be one of the few people who can honestly say that my grandmother had a more complicated schedule than I do.

Grammy always had an incredible capacity for celebrating and enjoying life….every sweet drop of it….from an appreciation for art and culture, to her affinity  for parties and social gatherings, to her simple love of a sun-soaked day at the beach with drink in hand.

  And in all circumstances, she was unapologetically herself…comfortable in her own skin, whether playing basketball or dancing at a party or even walking around- as she did one fateful trip to the Bahamas- without any pants on (don’t worry, she had a bathing suit cover up on…but still)…she was who she was…and proud of it! How many times have I heard or used the phrase… “Oooh, Grammy” upon knowledge of another adventure or campaign or humorous conversation….But it’s always said with a smile…I think we simply can’t help but admire someone who lives so boldly and unashamedly… perhaps because deep down we all wish we could do that.

As I’ve gotten older—especially in the past few years, I have grown to see Grammy from an even clearer perspective. On more than one occasion, I’ve recounted—beyond merely funny stories— how grateful I am to have known and been related to such a passionate, courageous woman. I believe that my own love for language and literature, my passion for women’s empowerment, my knack for teaching, and my gutsy “tell it like it is” tendency has to be inherited- at least in part- from her. I’ve come to admire her fiesty perseverance and spunky resilience, her loyalty to friends and family, and her ability to do what few of us have the courage to do with integrity: to wake up each day and face the world head on, without apology or pretense…to drink in each moment and experience the whole, brilliant landscape of life…to laugh and to live from the very core.

This part’s for you, Grammy—improper as it may be, I think you’d appreciate it. I have to admit, for the past several days, a smile keeps creeping to my face as I can’t stop imagining Grammy running into Heaven, as she did upon finishing so many of her races in this life, with a wide grin and a hearty, “Somebody bring me a beer!” Yup. That’s my Grammy. And I’m proud of it. I love you, Grammy, and I’m so thankful for your life.

 

The Empty Place

Today I participated in a “wimp’s fast”—And lest you think my newly coined term is self-effacing, be assured, I say it with great joy, not shame. A few friends and I committed to fast today in order to remember to pray for someone, and as a very reluctant faster, I chose to simply skip eating from the time I left in the morning, to the time I returned to my apartment in the early evening. Essentially skipping lunch…. :) But with intention.

After a certain period of not eating, there’s a hungry space that becomes tangible. It is that space that reminds me to turn again to God, to lift up my needs and hopes and desires to him—for myself and for others—all of the little weights that, with time, become clearer, heavier, and somehow “ripe” for offering.

That hungry space is akin to what my yoga teacher called the “sweet spot” the other day. She said that in a certain philosophy (I can’t remember what culture), there is a belief in a deep sadness that lies within each of us. It is the kind of sadness we experience when we watch a sunset, or listen to a breathtaking piece of music, or witness some other small miracle. Apparently, it is believed that boredom, loneliness, frustration and the like are signs that we are actually moving closer to that sweet spot of sadness, not further away. We just have to sit with and through those emotions in order to arrive there….rather than covering them up with activity, stimulation, food, and other distractions.

My teacher’s point was that when we are stuck holding an unbearable yoga pose for a long period of time, we are moving closer to that sweet spot (or, as I prefer to call it, the “empty place”). Of course, at the time, as sweat pored down my face and my legs began to shake, I sort of wanted to strangle her with her own metaphor (or at least throw a block at her head)….but now looking back, I actually see her point. How often do I use ANYTHING I can to cover up and bury that feeling of sad joy…..whether it’s food, television, phone calls, facebook, job searching or restless “anywhere but here” daydreaming. And what is underneath all of those layers? What is left when I truly STOP and learn to be quiet, to be with myself, and to be with God?

Over and over again, God implores his people to WAIT. So many verses in the Psalms encourage the soul to wait on the Lord, to be still, to be quiet. Perhaps He really is calling us to spend more time in that “empty place.” To find ways to strip away the layers and be left with.....well....nothing—to truly know our own poverty, so that we might look to the One who feeds us. It is often easier to move, to act, to seek, to fill, to hold, to read, to pray, to GO. But I feel God distinctly calling me, in this season, to stop, to cease, to open, to empty, to release, and to simply BE. And wait. In the empty place…..in the tomb deep within, from which he longs to roll away the stone and show us his light, his face, and the healing power of his resurrection.

Complexity and Resilience

I don't apologize for the length of this one. Read it if you dare!


On Tuesday nights, I leave my desk at about 6:25 and walk down the countless flights of stairs to a big, brightly lit reception hall on the first floor. The hum of conversation is in tune with the live jazz and the smell of good food- and lots of it. Tonight, there's a Puerto Rican pork dish with rice and beans and little peanut butter cupcakes for dessert. Everyone keeps asking if I'm going to have some-- apparently, it's a hit.

People are still trickling in (and sometimes out) when Eric- the head of the program- steps up to the mic and welcomes everyone to Our Place: A Wellness Cafe. After we pray and sing a few songs, someone reads the biblical twist on the 12 Steps, followed by a testimony. Tonight, J. reads us her "homeless story," as she calls it-- recalling her childhood in Birmingham, AL in the 50's, her troubled teenage years in NYC, and the heartaches and joys of her adult life. She is simple and sincere. I admire how articulate she is, then immediately judge myself for focusing on that, rather than the story.
I glance around and take in the room as Eric begins a short talk....a few apron-clad volunteers collect plates and refill coffee. Someone gets up to go to the bathroom.  But most people just sit and listen. Some are dressed in crisp collared shirts with combed hair and an attentive eye. Others are layered in an assortment of shirts and coats, toting their lives on their backs. Some struggle to stay awake, others struggle to stay still. I find myself doing both. All walks of life converge for a moment here.

We break into small groups-- "wellness circles"--- and tonight we answer the question-- "what is one hurt, habit, or hangup that you have that just doesn't seem to go away?" I’m a bit distracted by a less-than-pleasant smell, but to try and discern its owner would be…well, tricky. I nudge myself away from my clean-freak tendencies and back to the conversation. Some of my group members share their struggles to survive in horrific living conditions, or stay afloat without a job, or recoup after their money or IDs were stolen at a shelter. Others share about the need to see God as loving, to let go of shame, to move forward in trust. We close with the serenity prayer and truly do hope to be supremely happy in the life to come.

Now it’s time for classes. The knitting group is hopping tonight—everyone is excited that it’s back in swing. The creative writing class gathers and is already scribbling away by the time my little cohort and I finally make our way down stairs for Creative Expression (my feeble attempt at making the word “Theater” seem less scary). It is always a small group, but every week God provides—both people and ideas, courage and hope. Tonight we are jovial. There is a lot of laughter at our collectively bizarre imaginations. Later, I lead them through an exercise using bits of news headlines I have snipped from the morning paper. They collaborate to create still shots that represent these titles. It is always interesting to watch a story emerge out of seemingly nothing….just a few words- “join the fight” or “tipping point” or “tough call” and you have an image. Add a few people and you have a scene. Add imagination and Voice and you have a story. One image from this exercise sticks with me as I leave later in the evening, dodging the rain on my way to the subway—two people, limbs intertwined,, growing into a man standing nearby. The stolen newspaper heading: “Complexity and Resilience.” Yes, I think, that is the perfect title for tonight.

Returning and Rest, Quietness and Trust

Some days-- like this one--that are filled with rain and muffled light, both inside and out, the best I can do is to sneak away to the chapel and sit for a moment and pray one of my favorite prayers from the BCP:

"O God, you will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are fixed on you; for in returning and rest we shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be our strength."

The Real Presence and Present Mystery

He was the Word, that spake it:
He took the bread and brake it;
And what that Word did make it,
I do believe and take it.
 

--John Donne

Sweet Spring Evening

Yesterday was tinged with weariness.....and tomorrow is shadowed by unknowns.....But I am learning (slowly) that Jesus' power and grace are most abundant in the present moment. And I am trying to slow my pace and stay back with Him. So right now, here's what I'm thankful for:

1. After a run through Central Park and strolling about the upper west side today, I finally have some sun-kissed skin to declare that winter is officially OVER!

2. A beautiful, relaxing evening with a good friend (and roommate!): walk to the park, followed by a wine tasting at the store down the street, and a chilled white- to mark the arrival of spring- shared over leftovers and good conversation at our kitchen table.....plus a little Under the Tuscan Sun to round the evening out.

3. Interviewing for a volunteer opportunity I've been interested in for months....and dreaming about the future, learning to hush my worries and let myself feel hopeful...

4. That above it all, and over it all, and in it all.....is a God who is FOR US....and from whose love we cannot be separated....neither by death nor life, angels nor demons, the present nor the future, nor any power in all creation. (!)

Now that's what I call a good Saturday.

He who dwells....will rest.

On Saturday, I ran 13.1 miles. I still can't really believe I did it, but somehow, by the grace of God, my feet kept moving and I didn't stop running until I crossed that half-marathon finish line! It was an incredible experience. And it was cool to do it not just for my own physical health, but for World Vision's efforts to provide clean water to those who don't have access to it (it is hard to believe that is still possible in the world today, but apparently it's a huge reality for many people). Anyway, there's a lot I could say about the race, but one thing stands out as most important: that God taught me to rely on Him....physically, mentally and emotionally.

The night before the race I was so anxious I couldn't sleep at all. My automatic reaction was to think that God was just not showing up, not holding up His end of the bargain, not giving me what I wanted. And somehow, His voice broke through my self-centered, sleepless, anxious thoughts and the words that stuck with me as I fell asleep, as I ate my oatmeal the next morning, and even as I ran the course were "you shall not strike your foot against a stone." I found myself praying that over and over as I ran, lifting my body up to Him, and trusting that He protect me from illness, injury and hopelessness. And he most certainly did! I experienced joy as I ran-- He lifted me up and truly kept my feet (and my spirits) from stumbling.

Last night, I took the time (finally) to look up that passage and  found that it was from Psalm 91- a psalm that has meant a great deal to me in the past. It begins: "He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty" and as it continues it resounds in some of the most hollow crevices in my spirit...."He will cover you with his feathers and under his wings you will find refuge....You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday....For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone."

Here is what is TRUE (not easy....but true): If we learn to dwell in Him, we will find rest....rest in the Truth that He hears us. He sees us. He knows us. He loves us. He covers us. He keeps us.....And He lifts us up.

He Sees Us as though We Were....

Tonight I rode home near a woman with hospital bands still clinging to her wrists. She was the ultimate representation of the travesty of slashing public mental health funding........but that's another story. Anyway, as she sat, flinging about abrupt verbal vulgarities and counting the same two dollar bills over and over, the seats around her quickly emptied (a rarity on the long ride uptown) and suddenly, I saw her- for a brief second- from a standpoint of compassion, rather than fear. She was literally, and deeply, alone. Alone among a traincar of people who just wanted to get home to safety and warmth. Alone in her confusion and pain and suffering and mental anguish. Just...alone. Miraculously, I didn't pity her; I sort of, weirdly, understood a small part of her. I wished I had the guts to walk away from my safe seat (jammed b/t two burly guys) and sit with her, maybe even ask her name. I don't know if that would even be wise...but I wondered. What would the power of such a small act be in the face of the indifference, fear, apathy, and even disgust-- in my own heart and in those in around me?

All I can say is....the change in me is small and slow and nearly imperceptible. But. God is freeing me from fear. And I'm practicing saying YES.... to the freedom of Christ, to the love of God, to new ground... and to opening my heart more and more to "the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were." (Romans 4:17)

Fear and Unplowed Ground

I love it when God confirms something I've been praying or thinking about with scripture. It's so cool! This morning, while reading in Jeremiah, I came across this: "“Break up your unplowed ground and do not sow among thorns. Circumcise yourselves to the LORD, circumcise your hearts…" (4:3-4)---sound familiar? (See my post: Breaking Up Earth- Mar.18). Looking to the footnotes, I saw that this passage quotes Hosea 10:12-- an even more beautiful and striking word to challenge my heart today:

"Sow righteousness for yourselves, reap the fruit of unfailing love, and break up your unplowed ground; for it is time to seek the LORD, until he comes and showers his righteousness on you."

I had a friend in college who called this sort of thing-- "God coordinating your curriculum."I mean, seriously. I had just been thinking of this-- and somehow, He had already connected the "unplowed" or "fallow" ground idea with my own hardened heart....which needs to be broken up, circumcised, rent. Old habits, old fears, old grudges, old prejudices, old pride, old dreams.....they're all my unplowed ground-- hardened, fallow, dry and brittle. They're all spaces in my "inner terrain" (to quote a wise man that many of us love!) that remain unusable to God. They need to be broken up, churned up, so that new things can grow from those very places of weakness, fear, and stubbornness.

So, I'm sitting on the train, thinking about all of this stuff...praying that God would break up my unplowed ground and lead me into new growth, new life...when suddenly, I notice that a girl standing nearby me is looking quite pale and fanning herself. The boy next to me mumbles something and carves a space in the crowd for himself while the girl slips into the seat. She is NOT looking good. Somehow-- God moves me beyond my initial panic (as most of you know, I do not do well with illness), and I find myself- miraculously, asking her if she is okay, then gently encouraging her to put her head between her knees, rubbing her back and telling her it's going to be okay. It is? I'm shocked at my apparent calm in the moment. I help her remove her scarf and ask her where she's getting off-- 59th St., the next stop. Phew. Can't be more than a minute.

We walk out of the train and I help her find a place to sit, while I go get her some orange juice from the little newsstand on the platform. Are you going to be okay? I ask her. She says she feels like she might be sick. I'm giving her instructions about the juice and I start to panic. Like Peter walking on water and suddenly, in doubt, falling....like that moment when you're holding a particularly difficult yoga pose and as soon as you realize it you come crashing to the floor, an embarrassed mess. I ask her if she needs me to go get someone and she says, no, no-- I'm fine, you've helped me so much already. So I touch her shoulder once more, wish her a quick blessing, and scurry off to catch the next train to work.....hoping that next time, maybe I'll have the guts to see this kind of thing through.

I can't help but feel that I should have stayed with her to make sure she was okay. I prayed that God would bring someone else to help. The truth is, I doubted myself right at the end...doubted that I'd be able to sustain the strength and steadiness of my spirit. (This may seem crazy to those of you who don't know just how strong my phobia toward throw up....and all things medical....truly is, but it's one of my comical- and detrimental- idiosyncrasies). But, even though it's embarrassing to admit, for me this was a big deal. And in spite of my imperfection, I still found God giving me strength, breaking up my unplowed ground, and ultimately teaching me that He really is sufficient for me. His strength really is made most perfect in my weakness. He really does want to churn up the unused soil in our souls to grow something new. May God meet each of us today on the cold, little plots of fallow ground inside. And may we learn, through giving up, to inherit new earth.

A little more info....

Because some of you have been asking, here is a little more information on the song in my last post: 

"Jesus Blood Never Failed Me," composed by Gavin Bryars. It has quite an interesting- and beautiful history......

"In 1971, when I lived in London, I was working with a friend, Alan Power, on a film about people living rough in the area around Elephant and Castle and Waterloo Station. In the course of being filmed, some people broke into drunken song - sometimes bits of opera, sometimes sentimental ballads - and one, who in fact did not drink, sang a religious song "Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet". This was not ultimately used in the film and I was given all the unused sections of tape, including this one.

When I played it at home, I found that his singing was in tune with my piano, and I improvised a simple accompaniment....I took the tape loop to Leicester, where I was working in the Fine Art Department, and copied the loop onto a continuous reel of tape, thinking about perhaps adding an orchestrated accompaniment to this. The door of the recording room opened on to one of the large painting studios and I left the tape copying, with the door open, while I went to have a cup of coffee. When I came back I found the normally lively room unnaturally subdued. People were moving about much more slowly than usual and a few were sitting alone, quietly weeping....This convinced me of the emotional power of the music and of the possibilities offered by adding a simple, though gradually evolving, orchestral accompaniment...."

Yet Never Failed Me

My song in the night today:

Like water spilled on the ground...

Two posts in one day. Crazy, I know. But hear this beautiful Word (shared with me by a wise friend from my house church):

"We must all die; we are like water spilled on the ground, which cannot be gathered up. But God will not take away a life; he will devise plans so as not to keep an outcast banished for ever from his presence."
2 Samuel 14:14

Breaking Up Earth

Yesterday I felt that spring had finally SPRUNG! When I went out for my afternoon run, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and families littered the sidewalks, eating ice cream treats and once again enlivening the empty swings and slides in hopes of the end of all cold days.

And yet. For some reason, I felt like my heart had not yet caught up to the warmth of the season. I felt cold and hard inside, like winter earth needing some time to defrost. I wrinkled my forehead as little kids on scooters got in the way of my trudging feet and for a moment, I actually lamented being quite so warm and sweaty! Unintentionally, I prayed a begrudging prayer that God would soften the soil inside and make me ready for new things, for streams in the desert, for growth.

This morning, a familiar Psalm sung anew to my heart: "Today if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts" and accompanying that thought, from Deuteronomy, was "And now, Israel, what does the LORD your God ask of you but to fear the LORD your God, to walk in obedience to him, to love him, to serve the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and to observe the LORD’s commands and decrees that I am giving you today for your own good....Circumcise your hearts, therefore, and do not be stiff-necked any longer."

Hmm. Okay, God, I get it. I get it. Teach me to soften my heart and offer it to you, Lord-- and fill in the gaps of my own inability to do so. I am ready for spring to come in.

Our Unborn Wholeness

"But Jesus said, 'No more of this!' And he touched his ear and healed him."

Luke 22:51

While reading through the end of Luke 22 in my small group's weekly practice of lectio divina last Thursday night, I was confronted with the distinction between Jesus' healing touch and all the ways we avoid or corrupt touch in the world. Here we are, on the night of his betrayal and arrest. The disciples are sleeping "because of grief" (oh, how I know that feeling)-- they've isolated themselves out of what I can only assume to be a state of incredible despair, confusion, loss. In my imagination, none of them sit together, but everyone, unable to deal with it, spreads out and finds a lonely place to drown in. 

And then we have Judas, whose instinct to touch comes from a place of covering, hiding, denying. He greets Jesus with a kiss- a sign of welcome and affection, of friendship-- but Jesus immediately rebukes him....calling him out on his dishonesty. I get that, too, I think. Trying to live in denial....to pretend I'm not turning against someone, or against God-- maybe even trying to convince myself. 

And the touch of the sword. Someone who loves Jesus is filled with anger at the injustice of the situation, burning to slice away all that is wrong in the world in one slick moment. There I am, also....filled with frustration and passion and loyalty and pride. But the sword brings no resolution..... only the sting of Jesus' words, ringing out in the night, "NO MORE OF THIS." 

And then.....there is Jesus. In the darkness, his fingers reach out and touch the wounded servant. Jesus. The only one whose touch restores humanity....births a moment of reconciliation, peace, wholeness. His touch is healing. He shocks us back into a right understanding of community, forgiveness, hope, and love with one single touch. I think He longs to heal us, too. Do you believe that? I don't believe it about myself. I see his hunger to heal those around me....but I confess I struggle to understand why he would want to heal me. But I am choosing to believe it. And stepping forward in faith in one or two specific ways because of that this week. After all, He is more powerful than my unbelief.

And Jesus also longs to heal through us. Father, teach me to see the ache in the world around me and advocate for healing..... teach us to serve the world in such a way that, as Rachel Naomi Remen says, "we see the unborn wholeness in others; we collaborate with it and strengthen it. Others may then be able to see their wholeness for themselves for the first time." 

Amen. Make us whole, Lord.

Beauty for Ashes

Yesterday was an extraordinary Ash Wednesday. After our noon service, I donned an alb (the white flowy thing you see me pictured in above), slung a wooden cross around my neck, pulled on some Target fingerless gloves and headed out onto Broadway with a small group to offer "Ashes and Prayers" to passersby. I figured a few curious onlookers might risk stopping at least to ask what we were up to. Boy, was I wrong. We didn't have a few, but MANY people who were hungry for prayers, ready for ashes, deeply longing to encounter the mysterious on a blustery, gray Wednesday outside one of New York's popular bagel spots.

I love it when God offers us gifts that we didn't expect, don't deserve, and do absolutely nothing to make happen.....God prayed through me for so many different people yesterday.... for the woman who lost her father, for the teenage boy who wanted to get back on the "right path" and graduate high school, for the lively Jamaican caregiver who wanted more compassion, for the run-down student, for the silent but hopeful. I believe he blessed my cold, shaky thumb as it pressed ashes into the foreheads of so many story-filled lives, so many generous souls. He gave me such a gift-- standing out there with numb fingers and toes-- because he changed my perspective about the people surrounding me in New York. Yes, they do have grief and loss and struggle-- but that I already knew. What I realized is that they have a lot of joy, they have families, they have love, and they have a longing for God-- I really believe that. As a wonderful woman from my church put it, "they all want so much to be touched, but they're afraid to step inside" the church.

As I walked around the city doing my normal errands after work, everyone I saw did look- somehow- different. Richer. Fuller. The outer "shell" was, for a moment, dematerialized, and God gave me a tiny glimpse of the way he sees the world- hearts that are looking everywhere for Him, whether we know it about ourselves or not. Essentially, he gave me a "song in the night" (to harken back to my last post)....joy in the midst of great unknowns. I don't expect to always see New Yorkers that way. But I am thankful- so thankful- for the glimpse.

Earlier in the day yesterday, I sat on my little wooden chair during the service, confessing to God my fear, my inability to move forward--trusting Him or to stay still-- waiting on Him. I confessed that I feel like I need to be fearless, easy-going, compassionate, loving, independent, SURE....in order to be content where I am or go on some new adventure in life. But His response came back quickly, and was confirmed in the ensuing events of the day: You don't need to be perfect. You need to know just how imperfect you are. From that place of accepted weakness, of confessed poverty, from there I will fill you, use you, lift you up. I will truly turn your ashes into beauty. Not because of anything you do. But because I AM.

Songs in the Night

“…It is no surprise
that danger and suffering surround us.
What astonishes us is the singing.”
--Jack Gilbert (“Horses at Midnight Without a Moon”)

For some reason, as I started to write this post, I couldn’t help but think of the old Nickelodeon classic of our generation: "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" A masterpiece of television history….with episodes like "The Tale of the Pinball Wizard" (I actually remember seeing that one!). How on earth did Nick con all of us into being so terrified by weak storylines, flat characters, and a particularly un-original title? I guess it doesn’t take much, as long as you add some scary music, and a bonfire….in the woods, of course.

The truth is, I think it worked because we are all, to some extent, afraid of the dark. At least, I am! And as I’ve gotten older, it’s not so much literal room-smothering darkness that sends me crawling under the covers anymore, but NIGHT itself. I can almost gauge how well I am doing emotionally and spiritually by my relationship to Night. When I am rested, content, at peace—I cozy up in bed with a cup of tea and let myself enjoy the slow, sweet slipping into sleep….as Night quiets me and keeps me safe. When I am stressed, anxious, depressed, unsure, or lonely—Night is my worst enemy….taking my mortal-sized woes and projecting them, like funhouse shadow puppets—disfigured and grotesque—on the ever-moving walls of my mind. 

Knowing all this to be true about myself, I was delighted to happen upon C.H. Spurgeon’s sermon “Songs in the Night” today. I’ve been leafing through it and pulling out dozens of gems, and it has so encouraged my heart (hopefully I’ll post more on it soon!). But I also felt it connected perfectly to the aim of my blog….What does it mean to truly sing in the night? To, as Paul and Silas did (Acts 16), “pray and sing hymns to God?” And if we do sing in the night, will we, like those two brave men, see our shackles come loose, the doors of our prisons swing open in an earthquake of freedom? I dare to say the answer is….yes.

Perhaps it won’t always feel so dramatic, of course, but I want so much to believe that in the night, when I am anxious, if I choose to sing to God—in whatever way I can…even to simply breathe “Lord, have mercy”— He will not only hear, but he will free me from that anxiety. And I long to believe that in a “nighttime” season of life, when all doors are closed, and no fresh air is to be had, when I feel lost or confused, or alone and without hope, if I ask God, He will give me a song to sing. As Charles Spurgeon says over and over, the songs come from God—we are utterly incapable of producing songs in the night on our own:

“So, then, poor Christian, thou needest not go pumping up thy poor heart to make it glad. Go to thy Maker, and ask him to give thee a song in the night. Thou art a poor dry well…and so…go to God, ask him to pour some joy down thee, and thou wilt get some joy up from thine own heart.”

I don’t know exactly how to sing in the night. I’m asking God to teach me. I’ll keep you posted. For now….I challenge you to try singing a song tonight yourself. For God, for yourself, for me, if you like! Maybe God will teach us to be (in the words of my "buddy" Jack Gilbert) "astonished" by the singing in our own hearts.

Forgive us as we forgive...

"'Be patient with me,' he begged, 'and I will pay back everything.' The servant's master was moved with compassion, canceled the debt, and let him go." (From "The Parable of the Unmerciful Servant," Matt. 18: 26-27).

Bad news: I had to stay home sick today because my body felt like it had gotten run over by an elephant. Good news: I was actually able to take a moment to dwell in God's word (rather than hastily flip through some Psalms over my oatmeal before rushing out the door and into the madness). I read this gospel lesson last and it resonated with me like a sound thwack to the face. There I was-- right there in the Bible-- the unmerciful servant. Who knew I'd been written into Biblical history? 

In all seriousness, as I read this I realized that the unmerciful servant and I share the same basic problem: we both think that God (or the master) works like we do. We see the world as a giant equation that must be balanced. If someone is in debt, the debt must eventually be paid. There is no way to fully cancel it. From personal injustices to systemic ones, I am deeply bothered by inequity. I, like the servant, want to "pay back what I owe" and demand that what is owed me or others is "paid back" as well. God revealed to me today that because of that mentality, I have a load of unforgiveness that has settled over many years like a thick, corrosive plaque in the walls of my heart. No wonder I struggle to open my heart to God and others! And the root of it is my unwillingness to believe that God has truly canceled my debt.

The most redemptive moment today was undoubtedly the realization that God is NOT LIKE ME! Hallelujah! He has canceled our debt. He does rise to show us compassion. He sees us fully, knows us fully, and loves us fully. Wow. That's still gonna take a long time to sink in.

We exist in a world of limitations....with dwindling economic and natural resources, with population crises and illnesses and accidents and boundaries.   I often behave as though there is "only so much to go around" -- I am small and careful with my love and forgiveness. But God doesn't work from that scarcity mentality. His capacity for love is so far beyond what I can even remotely comprehend. He is truly "ABOUNDING in steadfast love." So, may God start there with us.....teaching us to dwell in the rich, abundance of his love and mercy...and from that deep place, to find the courage to fully "forgive our debtors."

"For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us." (Psalm 103:11-12)

p.s. My posts will not always be this long-- I promise! Don't be dismayed. I am extremely likely to get sparser as my dedication dwindles. :)

To start things off...

Here's a snippet of poem I have taped above my bed (torn from a certain college alumni magazine that shall remain nameless...hey- sometimes good things come in unexpected places, right?)

"View me, Lord, a work of thine!
Shall I then lie drowned in night?
Might thy grace in me but shine,
I should seem made all of light.

In thy word, Lord, is my trust,
To thy mercies fast I fly;
Though I am but clay and dust,
Yet thy grace can lift me high."

(Thomas Campion)

On NOT Looking for Love in All the Right Places

In spite of the poetic tendencies, raucous laughter, and sporadic silliness (complete with accents, characters, and embarrassing jingles) that I am known for among close friends.....all-too-often, I find myself viewing the world through darker lenses. For better or for worse, I am deeply attuned to the grief, pain and suffering the world around me. On a good day, I feel this is a gift, and I keep lifting it up to God, asking for his mercy on the fallow ground in my soul and for the thirsty world oustide it. But in worse moments, I let the sorrow I feel for the world drown me, push me under, curl me inward, and perpetually furrow my brow. If I am not careful, I can so easily stuff myself with concerns that are simply not mine to indulge...... I  become a self-focused, protective person who is closed to the world and ruled by fear, rather than love.

So, as Lent approaches this year I've been considering what things God is asking me to give up in order to enter more fully into His presence. Aside from a few "conventional" things I will be fasting this year, I feel that God is leading me to into something totally new..... reconstructive eye surgery! That's right: I was praying and felt God saying....get Lasik. Just kidding. But I do think He is longing to clear the cobwebs from my eyes, to remove the lenses that keep me from seeing where He is in the midst of the world's pain, and to change me into a person who can find beauty, love, and joy in unexpected places. 

This blog is aimed in that direction. The subtitle says it all-- "an experiment in courageous hope." I will make it a priority to try and post things (quotes, pictures, stories, poems) that encourage me (and you!) to find hope and to see where God is in this crazy world. I will need to remind myself not to try to be a good writer, a creative or dedicated blogger, or a perfect Christian...mainly because none of those things are possible and they only get in the way of my ability to hear God's voice.  

So, I hope you will read when you can and help me along this journey, as I try to learn to be present with the world as a child would...to find, despite deep darkness, the joy and light surrounding me...and maybe, in the process, to rise up.