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Caring For The Human Family

Caring For The Human Family

Last night I swallowed a reality pill, and the side effects were a giant dose of humility.  It’s a concept I’ve heard of before, but last night I think I fully digested it.  A friend’s Twitter re-posting of my pastor’s blog caught my eye, so I opened my bible to the place it referenced.  Matthew 25: 31 -46. It’s the passage that talks about two groups of people: one who asks “when did we feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, invite strangers in, tend to the sick, or visit prisoners?”  To the group that did these things, ie: served their fellow-man, he said “whatever you have done to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you have done to me.”  To the group who did not do these things, ie: failed to serve their fellow man, he said “whatever you have not done to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you have not done to me.”

“My brothers and sisters” … that’s the reality pill for me.  I’ve heard and read this story before, but it appeared to me on an entirely different, very real level.  Jesus is identifying himself with human beings. He is calling us his brothers and sisters, his family. He is identifying with us so closely that he says whatever you do to them, it’s like you’re doing it to me.  What you fail to do for them, you fail to do for me.

That crazy odd concept that Jesus was “fully God” and “fully man” at the same time made more sense to me last night.  By stuffing himself (God) into the humbling flesh and nature of a human being, Jesus became “related” to us on a whole new level.  God wasn’t just our Creator through Jesus, he became our flesh and blood relative. He shared in our human struggles in a way we never thought a distant “somewhere out there” God ever could. That makes the phrase “down to earth” resound on a higher wavelength for me.

“My brothers and sisters” … if God relates to us as brothers and sisters, then we should too.  And by relating to people, on some level we relate to God. This absolutely blows my mind! It’s not just a bumper sticker or bracelet philosophy like “What would Jesus do?” It’s a life altering concept to think that the way I treat another person is the way I treat the God of the universe who is literally called Love. Do I care for my fellow man and tend to his or her needs? Do I ignore them with an indifferent posture? By doing so I am either nurturing love (Love) or deflecting love (Love).

My immediate response was “God what can I do?!” “Who needs me? Who can I help and how?” But it occurred to me a split second later that my over-eager response would die out with the coming of tomorrow, because I was looking to make a grand impact in my fervent response.  Jesus let me know in that moment that he doesn’t necessarily want me to go seeking out opportunities, while that is certainly a good thing. Rather, he wants to shift my heart attitude in such a way that when a need arises, I’ll naturally meet it. It is in our daily encounters with people where needs are made known.  They are subtle, which is why I think Jesus referenced simple things like hunger, thirst, companionship, healing, and sticking by someone in tough times.

“My brothers and sisters” … next door, in the checkout line, on the subway, on the bus, a few cubicles down, alone at the park, in the gay pride parade, two church isles behind me, in the suit running for office, in my home in a chair, on the internet in a chat room, bumming a cigarette, holding a sign for food, handing me food at the drive-thru, looking at me for some trace of kindness or connection.

My brothers and my sisters …

 “And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!’ “

You Never Judged Me …

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You Never Judged Me …

I was sitting outside towards evening time and looked up to see the sun burning full and round at me through some nearby trees.  In that moment of warmth and light a thought flickered through my soul, traveled up to my mind, and out towards God: You never judged me.  It was a stunning realization.  For a long time I’ve been aware of the verse that there is no condemnation for those who are Christ Jesus.  But this is literally the first time that it has dawned on me that never, not once, not only in my lifetime, but from all of eternity past has God ever judged me.

In his foreknowledge he knew every sin I would commit and every good I would omit, every pattern, every choice, every hard-fought struggle against giving in to this flesh nature.  He knew my willful sins, the ones that I would delight in.  He knew of the times that I would “know better” and “do it anyway”.  Yet never has he pointed the finger of blame or crashed the gavel down to reverberate so hard as to knock me off my feet.  He has loved me with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3) and his thoughts about me outnumber the grains of sand (Psalm 139: 17-18).  His thoughts towards me are good and not evil, and his plans are to give me a future and a hope (Jeremiah 29:11).

There is a difference between knowing that a person will sin versus judging them for it, a difference between allowing the natural consequences of sin versus raging in anger over people about how wrong they are, a difference between God and man.  It is not God, but man who points the finger and slams the gavel and even takes Bible verses to point out how wrong others are and how much they are “God’s enemies” if they continue in their unrepentant ways.  It is not God, but man, who will flip out at this post and begin harvesting verses from their minds, looking in indexes and concordances to find stories or verses to negate what I say here: God doesn’t judge until the end.  Until then, he loves.  And that is all he has ever done.  And that was given to me, today. When the warmth and the light shone down on me.

Peace to all far and wide.  He is a God who has always loved us, and loves until our last breath. The choice to know him and love him back through a relationship with Jesus is ours, and at that point, condemnation shall never touch a hair on our head.

Grave Day: Easter Reflections

Grave Day: Easter Reflections

Today is a grave day.  Not because I’m sad, not because anything has happened or that it is dismal and gray outside. On the contrary it is absolutely beautiful outdoors.  The sun is shining, it’s warm out, and the spring leaves and flowers are becoming fuller.  It is a grave day because today is the 2nd day in this Easter season.  It is the day Jesus’ body was in the tomb, the large stone secured and sealed because the Jewish leaders feared it would be rolled away in the night by Jesus’ disciples.  The Jews feared a resurrection conspiracy and had spoken with authorities to ensure that it was not only sealed but guarded by soldiers.

So I have been contemplative today, wondering what that 2nd day in history was really like.  It was a bleak day for those whose lives were forever touched by Jesus, and an anxious day for his haters. Regardless, all of them were wondering if what Jesus said he could do (raise the broken temple, literally and figuratively) would really happen.  So I turned to an online bible and looked for passages that talked about the crucifixion and resurrection and found something entirely different to wonder about.

In Matthew 28:2-4 it says that after the Sabbath dayThere was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it.  His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow.  The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.” Yet later on in Matthew 28:11-15 it saysWhile the women were on their way, some of the guards went into the city and reported to the chief priests everything that had happened.  When the chief priests had met with the elders and devised a plan, they gave the soldiers a large sum of money,  telling them, “You are to say, ‘His disciples came during the night and stole him away while we were asleep.’  If this report gets to the governor, we will satisfy him and keep you out of trouble.”  So the soldiers took the money and did as they were instructed. And this story has been widely circulated among the Jews to this very day.” 

OK, what happened here with the Roman guards? They witnessed a powerful earthquake and an angel descend from they sky.  The angel was obviously very “angel like”, supernatural enough to freak the guards out and cause them to faint.  How would an experience like this affect a person truth wise? How can a person not believe something God-sized has just occurred? I’m sure that “some of them” did, because the verse says that “some of the guards” went to tell the religious leaders (chief priests) what had happened. To me, this implies that “some of the guards” stayed behind, and by further and perhaps liberal implication, I believe those particular guards may have at that point believed that Jesus was really the Son of God and had truly raised from the dead.

But I’m disturbed by the actions of the other guards who gave their report to the chief priests.  These are the ones I assume that, while scared to death, didn’t believe the spiritual truth and ramifications of what they had witnessed. And for whatever they believed about what had happened before their very own eyes, they sold the truth in order to save and enhance their own lives.  By accepting the Jewish leaders’ “large sum of money” to lie and tell people that a scam had taken place by the disciples taking the body from the grave, they sidestepped rebuke from their superiors for “slacking on the job” and letting this happen, plus that “large sum of money” was surely enough to live comfortably for a long time.

After witnessing a miracle, a God-sized event, not to mention a supernatural being, they sold the truth.  For self-protection and provision they sold the truth.  Wow.

But don’t people do that today? How many people witness God doing miraculous things, yet they don’t buy the truth of it? Like a surgeon who watches a patient clearly, scientifically, medically doomed suddenly have test results that come back stating a clean bill of health.  Or a person living a completely “hell-bent” life suddenly coming in to work radically changed, talking about how Jesus changed his or her life, talking crazy madman spiritual stuff that is as foreign to that person as another language.  Or a personal God experience, like hearing or seeing something that seems so clearly from God, or hearing a message and feeling so heavily the strong urge within to say “yes”, to respond, to believe and receive the thing so badly yet inexplicably desired?

There are countless examples of God-works throughout our lives.  And there are just as many “bribes” offered to us to sell the truth of what we’ve witnessed or experienced.  Sometimes it really is money and the protection and provision it brings. Some people would rather live comfortably than to risk anything that might compromise the layers of security carefully constructed by meaningless but oh so useful ‘green paper’. Some would rather sell the truth to keep relational peace, fearing the perception of others: “What would my family and friends think if I let Jesus into my heart and started behaving like a ‘religious nut’?” Others sell the truth for identity and independence no matter how powerful the God-sized evidence is in their life.  They don’t want to give up who they are and the control they have over their own life.  Humanly speaking, who would want to do that? I still struggle with that one, even though I know that no one knows who I truly am and can be better than God, and no one is more equipped to steer my life than One who is good and literally called Love.

Again, wow.  This Easter I challenge all of us to put ourselves in a place where we can witness something otherworldly and powerful.  To go to a church service, whether in person, on TV, or online and get ‘close to the tomb’. And for the life of us, and everything that temporally and eternally matters, not to sell the truth for a temporary substitute or bribe.  How grave a decision “some of the guards” made that day in history.  How I pray so many of us will not repeat history this Easter Sunday and match it with our own grave choices.

Blessings to you wherever you are this Easter. If you don’t have a service to attend, or you physically cannot get to one, or if your schedule is crazy and you want to watch an Easter service online at a later date, I invite you to join me at a place that miracles happen every day.  I can tell you this, tomorrow will be a day when earthquakes will happen in the lives of many people who will witness the truth of God’s love for them.  They will choose to receive the God-sized Truth that has pursued them patiently their whole lives!

Wow!

Join me online this Easter at your convenience to hear about how maybe God has a ‘fresh start’ personally gift wrapped just for you!

Quest Community Church

 

Deep Wounds Require Deep Healing

Deep Wounds Require Deep Healing

April is National Poetry Month and I’ve been sharing on my Facebook some of the selections I’ve written over the years.  Poetry is usually something personal, although I often write what I call “perspective” poems – poems I write from the “voice” of someone else whose experience I imagine or sympathize.  I’ve posted some personal ones, and choose to keep others tucked away.  It’s difficult to share the stuff that comes from the deep places of the heart, especially with people whose response will likely remain unknown.  It’s “too hard” to let the world see our wounds, isn’t it?

Woundedness is something we all experience and something we all try to hide from ourselves and others.  But it’s always there, like a basement door we shove a large piece of attractive furniture in front of – a curio cabinet filled with dainty things, delicate and beautiful knickknacks, sentimental pictures from “happier” times.  That’s what we’d prefer to look at in our souls, what we’d have others see instead of the door we’ve chosen to bolt and disguise.

That basement – and we all have one – harbors the ills done to us and the pains we’ve experienced.  Things we’ve done to others dwell there also. Woundedness, brokenness, deep emotional pain, even deeper soul pain.  How foolish to think it would go away, but we believe it.  No one fools the self better than the self.  We put our little band-aids on gashing wounds and half-severed limbs and store them in a sea of forgetfulness.  But the sea always churns what is in it, and throughout our lives things happen which bring those hidden pains to surface.

It is what we choose to do with them at that point which matters. In fact, it’s a matter of life and death.  But what if I’m a Christian? I’m not going to die spiritually if I ignore the things that are too hard and too big to ever fully go away? I get along just fine.  There is no use in digging up the past. God will heal me when I get to heaven anyway.

Yes, we might have a functioning and successful life. Work and family might be as ‘together’ as it can possibly be.  But I doubt that anyone reading this would deny that at least one thing in the ‘basement’ occasionally makes a sound, asking and sometimes demanding to get out.  We know how powerful it is.  We know how damaging it would be if we moved the curio and dared to touch fragile fingers to aging, rusted locks. We don’t even think that God could take care of the past, and even if he could, we don’t want to experience healing because that means pain.

Good news – God is the most experienced heart surgeon around with a long-standing reputation.  And he is gentle. Isaiah 42:3 says “A bruised reed he will not break, a smoldering candle he will not snuff out …” God’s knowledge of us coupled with the power of his love and character (tender, merciful, kind, compassionate, patient) is exactly what we need.  He knows when to push forward and when to pull back in such a way that pain will be minimized.  He won’t let us suffer in the healing process beyond what is endurable, and the healing ointment of the Holy Spirit and Comforter will ease whatever pain happens in the process.

It’s worth it.  Without deep healing for those deep wounds, we do die on some level.  And if we’re choosing to live as crippled Christians, yes, we may feel fine and we’ll still go to heaven, but our pain serves to limit us, and those limitations and hindrances could mean the spiritual death of not just one person, but many.  In our wounded state, there are people who cannot be reached.  I wasted years of my life living with wounds, and only now am I seeing how detrimental that was.  I was so inhibited from reaching out to people who need to know who Jesus really is.  I look at where they are in life now and wonder how they might be different if I was in a stronger and more healed position to have met them when and where they needed it. Would they know Jesus by now?

Well, enough of that.  Here’s a poem in honor of National Poetry month and one that touches on this very topic.  I hope I’ll keep reaching out to the Gentle Surgeon, who also happens to be a Loving Father, and I hope you will too.

Blessings,

Cafe Girl

 

A Bruised Reed He Will Not Break

How do You hold a fragile bird that’s fallen from a tree?
How do You touch a tender nerve when You perform a surgery?
How do You mend a broken bone without breaking the remains?
How do You heal a wounded soul with hidden unknown pains?

How do You soothe the crying child afraid of all around?
How do You sift through pounding rain to guide one drop aground?
How do You work the needle quick to sew and patch the hole?
How do You mold the shattered glass into something new and whole?

I am the bird, the nerve, the bone, the soul, the child that screams
I am the drop that’s falling fast, the cloth that’s ripping at the seams
I am the glass that’s on the edge, that fears the break and fears the heat
I am the one who needs You now, the bruised reed at Your feet

Freedom In Expression

Freedom In Expression

Freedom of expression is an amazing gift, one that is given to all people.  It is the loosening of the inner self into the outer world, which creates relationship with the outer world and gives meaning and connection to self and others.  It synthesizes the self, bringing broken pieces together to form a more perfect, more beautiful whole.  People express themselves through speaking, writing, dancing, music, and art.  By choosing to express themselves, they are being creators, fashioning something new and unique from internal elements into something tangible which others can receive.

There is vulnerability in this kind of creation, this freedom of expression.  The self then becomes ‘on display’ so that others not only have the chance to receive it, but the choice to critique it.  The risk of freedom is worth it though.  Without expression, the self withers because it’s composition is fundamentally relational. Therefore, ‘give me liberty or give me death’, for I cannot truly live unless I have expression and the freedom it brings.

Obviously as a blogger, my favorite way to express myself is through writing.  One of my favorite kinds of writing is poetry, although it seems several years since I last produced a poem. Given what I’ve stated about the risk of expression – the critique of the creation and the critique of the self – I am choosing to loose upon the world my vulnerability, because through it someone else may connect with what I’ve written.  It may give voice to a similar experience and help another synthesize that experience, to look within their own self to process, deal with, and heal.

In honor of April being National Poetry Month, here is a poem from 7 years ago but 30 years in the making with many more years left before healing.  However, synthesis is under way for me and I continue to grow more whole and more beautiful from the inside, where it cannot fade with time.

 

Beautiful

I want to be beautiful – I always have
But I don’t know what happened, not exactly
I remember vaguely some words from the past
Spoken to mom, did they make me uncomfortable?
‘She’s a looker, Barb – you better watch out’
 
But even then I couldn’t receive it
Compliments don’t take easy here
Timidity and shyness were part of my smallness
Which remained for lack of a better love
Because only love can build a person
 
I am small on the inside, just to clarify
You see, for some reason I grew more than
I care to admit – I got big, like emotionally pregnant
Putting things in my mouth, I was a stuff stuffing stuffer
Food filled my heart so that “I” wouldn’t fall out
 
I spent summers in New York where I’d go from the split
To spend time with dad, or at least at his place
I’ve got memories of friends that I liked to visit
Childhood was great playing dodge ball in the street,
Riding bikes or going to the gorge
 
The gorge … gorge, and not gorgeous – that became me
My eyes are still hazel – they still look to be seen
My skin is still tan, and still awkward to me
My hair is less blond and shorter these days
How time has changed me, but it still feels the same
 
For all I ever wanted was to just be beautiful
To hear a few words uttered from a man
A ghost of a man who was emotionally gone
Whose three little words seemed only to signal
The end of another indifferent phone call
 
Oh to be beautiful and  treasured as such
Little girl hearts don’t ask for much
Just to be seen and valued and pursued
But the damage is done and the deficit remains
What began at the root falls like fruit from the tree
 
And people still sometimes compliment me
Not quite so emphatically as in my youth
I could blame it on age, or maybe my weight
But either way doesn’t matter, for even if I were a
Smoking hot “10”,  all I’d really want is to just be beautiful

Daily Prompt: Express Yourself

Freedom in a pen / MC’s Whispers

Daily Prompt / myjourneyeveryday

Daily Prompt / benjaminsolak

The Creator God and His Gift To Us / meanderedwanderings

I teach! / Perpleus’ Blog

 

 

The Measure of a Moment

The Measure of a Moment

I remember the first time I noticed, I mean really noticed, the interaction between light and water.  I was sitting in the grass in a wide open area having a scheduled quiet time at a church retreat.  For the life of me I couldn’t concentrate on the bible or the things they’d given us to reflect upon. Instead I looked around or stared at the ground in contemplation and free thought mode.

Suddenly a burst of color caught my eye and I honed in on a blade of grass upon which a drop of water rested.  The rich green and the perfectly straight edge amazed me.  I thought of a man made level that is used in construction to make sure they are building perfectly straight, level boards and surfaces.  God was the first to create such a perfect thing, yet it is something we hardly notice in the midst of that which we walk upon without a thought.

As I continued to observe the dew on the grass I moved ever so slightly from side to side, marveling at the miracle of subtly changing colors of the spectrum within that tiny liquid circle. I’ll never forget the sense of wonder encapsulated in that simple moment, the stunning realization of beauty so common and yet so rare, the significance of something so small and seemingly insignificant.  It reminded me that whole worlds can exist in a moment even as countless moments comprise the whole world.  It brings to mind now a wonderful quote I often think of in times of quiet observation:

God dwells in the details.  – Mies van der Rohe

Today is a day where the small and grandiose bounce around together in my soul, polar opposites dancing within, waltzing out of reach and eluding my grasp.  I cannot completely define what it is, but it has to do with significance and insignificance, time and eternity, the measure of a moment, the fleeting nature of time.  Time is but a dew drop in the continuum of eternity, yet within it is a marvelous array of colors blending one into another. The earth exists within eternity as a small drop of water, and even smaller, our individual world and the length and breadth of our own lives.  How small, how fast, these lives of ours.  Before we know it we are grown with children and careers, and in the blink of an eye or a shifting of our body we see that life has changed from color to color, season to season, and our children are the ones with children and careers.

What is the meaning of all this smallness and profoundness heaped together in something so fleeting yet ever continuing as time?  Do we get it? Do we truly see the significance within the seemingly insignificant? We hardly have appropriate levels or scales upon which to weigh the measure of a moment, a life, or a lifetime.   Our thoughts and actions, goals and achievements, dreams and ambitions and efforts … all seemingly small, yet at times enormous, deep, and far-reaching.

Maybe there really is nothing which is insignificant.  Maybe “insignificant” should not even be a word.  Everything matters.  The matter within the simple blade of grass and the matter comprising a drop of water and the matter of light pouring from the sun in a beam of glory (as if to say “This matters! Yes, this small thing is simply and profoundly beautiful and alive and significant!”) all come together to enlighten us on our complex journeys.

Perhaps this realization that everything matters, that all things are significant and have purpose and value, is both a precursor to love and a component of love.  Love does not see anything as insignificant, for love sees the “whole” as well as the “part”.  Love sees nothing, save evil, as ugly.  Love in fact creates beauty out of the unbeautiful.  It transforms evil into good, reversing the letters to make the opposite of “evil”, which is “live”.

I guess what I wish is for each of us to really see as much as we are able.  To walk with God and to sit with him, to listen to his observations of the world around.  How marvelous all of life would seem if we would take time to sit with Jesus and ponder the glory and significance of the “insignificant” things laid out before us in our daily lives.  To cherish, as he does, all things that are made and to gaze at everything and everyone is such a way as to see the wonder and the beauty and the incredible meaning and value of life.

Life is a splendid gift – there is nothing small about it.  – Florence Nightingale

A Picture of Restored Humanity

A Picture of Restored Humanity

A friend of mine posted a link on Facebook from a site called ViralNova: Trending Stories on the Web.  I’ve attached the link at the end of this post and you’ve really got to check it out, especially to get a visual for what I talk about here.  It contains a short story of a homeless dog found wandering the streets.  It was so filthy with such caked and crusted, matted fur that a passer-by initially thought the small dog was a pile of trash.  It is an unbelievable, unforgettable image.

I am so metaphorical in my thought process that I couldn’t help but think of how this is a picture of humanity.  This big ball turning is a mass of human generated, perpetuated mess, and we are the messiest of all.  Deep in our hearts there is a goodness worth redeeming, but it is also caked, encrusted, and matted with the badness within us.  Jesus is the “kind humanitarian” who walks by us on the street.  He sees our homeless souls and beyond our unruly filth.  He knows we’re not a pile of trash.  He dares to stoop down and touch our leprous form.  He takes us to a place of cleansing.  He doesn’t just wash us.  He cuts away the befouled growth clinging to us, shedding our moral muck and discarding it as the pile of trash.

When He’s done we look entirely different.  We look human again.  We look like we were intended to before we chose evil into the world.  We are a new creation, no longer homeless, but clothed and cared for.  We are blanketed in love and rest on the pillow of forgiveness and renewal.  We are truly at peace in the home of God’s heart, where we will enjoy his everlasting benevolent presence and companionship, never more to remember the taint and affliction of the former things from which we are forever freed.

Blessings to all who read this and soak in the images and truth.

http://www.viralnova.com/shocking-dog-transformation/

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