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.