"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." (Psalm 46)
I'm living in a continually vulnerable state (estate). I tremble that it is so.
My nervous system is awake now. Alert.
To be so aware of vulnerability highly arouses my bodily senses.
Vulnerability and Longing,
Trembling translucent garments
flowing off my shoulders,
silhouetted against a twilight sky.
Oh, how to live, to dwell like this ...in the gale.
Recalling, remembering
Whose I am
Who regards me as His own child, daughter.
I'm living in a physical world between
the now
and
not yet.
By remembering God my Father
and
Christ my Lord, my Brother,
by
doing this together, one
brave
step
one confident
stride
in front of
the other,
risking
This exposure to life's elements that hail and rain
around and
upon me.
Calling life's biggest bluffs - recalling
there's a grace and a longing that
endures to the end
with hope,
and a permanence that's firm like an oak and hard like crystal and diamonds
Transcending.
"Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way." (Psalm 46)
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Sunday, May 26, 2013
In the Garden & Beholding
It's in the beholding.
It's in the seeing.
Blended with desire
That we choose. Or decide a course of action or a response.
Foreseeing betrayal, He loved.
John 13
It begins with John saying something profound about Christ - about who He was. Only, it wasn't what others thought. It's what Jesus knew that John writes.
His actions flowed from it, were rooted in it ...
He knew God had given all things to Him
He knew where He came from
He knew where He was going
Even the cross, it's gore, He knew
Even the betrayal of friends, He knew
He was completely secure in the knowing.
So he took off his outer garments, filled the basin, and knelt down at his friends' feet...even Judas' feet. And cleaned them.
Formative.
Act.
Behold.
He knew those whom he washed.
He knew the pain their actions (and omissions) would thrust upon his physical body. And soul.
(Imagine, rejection and betrayal and innocence.)
But He did it securely. He knew where he was going.
That God would be made known - like never-before-known.
In Him.
He in God.
And God in them. Yes, even in them who bore him ill. Them who "knew not what they do."
And he told us to love likewise.
Life batters us. It gets rough. But it matters.
I believe that we can love and live like this, like Jesus did, and still (yes, still) maintain justice. After all, justice is always first on everyone's mind when a wrong or omission is done. It is on everyone's mind for good reason. For Goodness' sake, yes.
Justice, after all, is about one thing in particular: Maintaining righteousness, surely; in the face of sin, in its self-absorbed ill-will we inflict on others, Justice Loves. It sees sin's disregard for another's property or person. Justice - it's about healing the wronged, and arresting the wrong-doer for the same purpose. It's for redemption. It's not about vengeance. Or it's anger. It's about a different anger. And a deeper love. That doesn't excuse. Yes, for Goodness' sake.
There is a time for healing. And we can do that, too. We can heal.
Jesus was betrayed and then the betrayal killed him. And then he rose. It took him three days. (Sometimes, it seems like it takes me years to recover, and I did not suffer as He did, not even close, so I know, because He lives and is wholly well, I shall be, too, in Him.) And in the killing and the dying, yes, he bore justice for all, through bearing injustice. He loved clean through our sin, completely.
Sometimes, in living and loving, in healing from sorrows dealt unjustly, it takes wisdom and trust to know that forgiveness is not one more betrayal (of justice, for self); to know that forgiveness fixes itself upon God, upon knowing what Jesus knew; to know that there is a grace that holds it all together, even when we cannot, and we must rest from the effects of someone's sin. I wonder if maybe Jesus was in some manner "healing forward" in the garden before he took on the world's injustices, its penalties. Because, because He knew. And it was agony to know. There wouldn't be time on the cross to heal. It was all about the breaking, the dying. He was supposed to die. He knew it. But His soul, His spirit needed to be well, his will to forgive, to go through with forgiveness, strong. So, he sweated drops of blood, and he gasped a prayer, "Not my will, but Yours be done, Father."
And the angel came
To the Son of Man,
God in flesh,
And strengthened Him
Who knew us. Mankind. The betrayals we drown in, he knew. (Sin is the betrayal of all that is good and right, yes.) So, He knew His friends.
But he loved completely.
Exposing himself.
Vulnerable, he lived;
Vulnerable he died.
Victorious he rose.
And he invites us to rise like that, with him - in him.
To love each other.
---
Yes, it took me a long time to recover from it.
Maybe I imagine poorly and get it wrong. Maybe, but I just know how this past year and a painful friendship has fallen like residue across the landscape; of how it reminds me of particular things past, of experiences and events (emotively) I'd forgotten - how like a tempest cast from past sorrows.
I am still recovering, it feels like, at least on some days. (I tried to tell her, but she couldn't hear me.)
In myself, in my imagining, I choose a response to her.
I am formed by these two; by imaginings and response.
I am not locked by bitterness, shut up in sorrow. I am free (in Jesus' love) to love.
I am called, in spite of the hurt and the knowing, to serve her - to love her. Yes, Jesus knew his friend. Yet (and) he loved him. Yet (and) he vulnerably washed his dust-covered feet. All 12 of his friends' dirty feet, he scrubbed. And loved.
He knew. It mattered that he do it for them. Yes, it mattered that he love. So he did. Why? How? Because he knew something. He knew from where he had come. And he knew where he was going. And that God (his Father, with whom he was intimately acquainted) had placed all things in his hands.
And, so, because He knew it (and John told us), I know, too. I am in His hands. Safe, careful hands. I am made alive in Him. I can love with my eyes wide open. And if I am worn out and tired or exhausted by the effort or the exchange, there is a garden I can go to, to pray. Where the angels occupy and his own Spirit comes fresh as the dew at dawn. Before the cross. And at the resurrection.
Glory (amen)
It's in the seeing.
Blended with desire
That we choose. Or decide a course of action or a response.
Foreseeing betrayal, He loved.
John 13
It begins with John saying something profound about Christ - about who He was. Only, it wasn't what others thought. It's what Jesus knew that John writes.
His actions flowed from it, were rooted in it ...
He knew God had given all things to Him
He knew where He came from
He knew where He was going
Even the cross, it's gore, He knew
Even the betrayal of friends, He knew
He was completely secure in the knowing.
So he took off his outer garments, filled the basin, and knelt down at his friends' feet...even Judas' feet. And cleaned them.
Formative.
Act.
Behold.
He knew those whom he washed.
He knew the pain their actions (and omissions) would thrust upon his physical body. And soul.
(Imagine, rejection and betrayal and innocence.)
But He did it securely. He knew where he was going.
That God would be made known - like never-before-known.
In Him.
He in God.
And God in them. Yes, even in them who bore him ill. Them who "knew not what they do."
And he told us to love likewise.
Life batters us. It gets rough. But it matters.
I believe that we can love and live like this, like Jesus did, and still (yes, still) maintain justice. After all, justice is always first on everyone's mind when a wrong or omission is done. It is on everyone's mind for good reason. For Goodness' sake, yes.
Justice, after all, is about one thing in particular: Maintaining righteousness, surely; in the face of sin, in its self-absorbed ill-will we inflict on others, Justice Loves. It sees sin's disregard for another's property or person. Justice - it's about healing the wronged, and arresting the wrong-doer for the same purpose. It's for redemption. It's not about vengeance. Or it's anger. It's about a different anger. And a deeper love. That doesn't excuse. Yes, for Goodness' sake.
There is a time for healing. And we can do that, too. We can heal.
Jesus was betrayed and then the betrayal killed him. And then he rose. It took him three days. (Sometimes, it seems like it takes me years to recover, and I did not suffer as He did, not even close, so I know, because He lives and is wholly well, I shall be, too, in Him.) And in the killing and the dying, yes, he bore justice for all, through bearing injustice. He loved clean through our sin, completely.
Sometimes, in living and loving, in healing from sorrows dealt unjustly, it takes wisdom and trust to know that forgiveness is not one more betrayal (of justice, for self); to know that forgiveness fixes itself upon God, upon knowing what Jesus knew; to know that there is a grace that holds it all together, even when we cannot, and we must rest from the effects of someone's sin. I wonder if maybe Jesus was in some manner "healing forward" in the garden before he took on the world's injustices, its penalties. Because, because He knew. And it was agony to know. There wouldn't be time on the cross to heal. It was all about the breaking, the dying. He was supposed to die. He knew it. But His soul, His spirit needed to be well, his will to forgive, to go through with forgiveness, strong. So, he sweated drops of blood, and he gasped a prayer, "Not my will, but Yours be done, Father."
And the angel came
To the Son of Man,
God in flesh,
And strengthened Him
Who knew us. Mankind. The betrayals we drown in, he knew. (Sin is the betrayal of all that is good and right, yes.) So, He knew His friends.
But he loved completely.
Exposing himself.
Vulnerable, he lived;
Vulnerable he died.
Victorious he rose.
And he invites us to rise like that, with him - in him.
To love each other.
---
Yes, it took me a long time to recover from it.
Maybe I imagine poorly and get it wrong. Maybe, but I just know how this past year and a painful friendship has fallen like residue across the landscape; of how it reminds me of particular things past, of experiences and events (emotively) I'd forgotten - how like a tempest cast from past sorrows.
I am still recovering, it feels like, at least on some days. (I tried to tell her, but she couldn't hear me.)
In myself, in my imagining, I choose a response to her.
I am formed by these two; by imaginings and response.
I am not locked by bitterness, shut up in sorrow. I am free (in Jesus' love) to love.
I am called, in spite of the hurt and the knowing, to serve her - to love her. Yes, Jesus knew his friend. Yet (and) he loved him. Yet (and) he vulnerably washed his dust-covered feet. All 12 of his friends' dirty feet, he scrubbed. And loved.
He knew. It mattered that he do it for them. Yes, it mattered that he love. So he did. Why? How? Because he knew something. He knew from where he had come. And he knew where he was going. And that God (his Father, with whom he was intimately acquainted) had placed all things in his hands.
And, so, because He knew it (and John told us), I know, too. I am in His hands. Safe, careful hands. I am made alive in Him. I can love with my eyes wide open. And if I am worn out and tired or exhausted by the effort or the exchange, there is a garden I can go to, to pray. Where the angels occupy and his own Spirit comes fresh as the dew at dawn. Before the cross. And at the resurrection.
Glory (amen)
At Home or Not
He who has prepared us for this very thing is God,
who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.
Disillusioned?
Oh, sorrow: It tastes bitter.
Pours down like hail - some days.
"Vanity, all is vanity."
So said the wisest man ever. An empty chasing after wind, this thing called life; so in despondency, on really bad days, it can feel like there's not a whole lot of living worth doing.
(Oh, but maybe it's in the chasing after that things go awry. After all, we construct our lives carefully, planning, choosing, building around a certain paradigm of importance - even paradigms of important goodness.)
You know the routine (or on groggy days, the grind). Wake up, dress, toss the laundry into the machine, grab a coffee (toast if you're lucky), out the door with a cell-phone in one hand, and a toddler on a hip. Buckle him into his car seat. You look back in the rear-view mirror and the toddler's growing peach fuzz on his upper lip. His voice has changed, too. Yep, he's morphing as you're driving down the road.
Soon, he's driving. And you're in the rear-view mirror. Waving. Goodbye.
I wonder how long it took Solomon to get there? To realize it? To make such a profound sorrowing statement? More importantly, I wonder if he ever recovered from the shock?
Surely, he had to have been intoxicated for a long time. On women. Fame. Fortune.
Oh, wait. That's not your life.
On diapers, soccer games, pizza, family vacations, root beer floats, chores, birthdays, good friends, love-making with a husband, long chats and meandering talks.
I must be strange.
I love all those things.
But, they're not enough.
Inside
I
am the Sahara.
Looking for the oasis.
And it's nowhere in view.
At least not externally.
I do well to remember it.
No, the oasis springs up from inside, from a secret, quiet place where One dwells with me, constantly, as His child. So, if I am the Sahara inside at this point of my life, if everything is scorched and baked by the heat of day and chilled by the cool of night, I've not been dwelling there, in that secret place.
Do you ever feel like that? Do you ever take time to feel it?
The longer I live, the more respect I gain for the old - who have learned to live well.
It takes courage.
To.
Live.
Well. Old. A certain knowing, a confidence in grace and truth and beauty and love.
To embrace bodies falling apart. Or children who bear grandchildren who come when they can, if not at all.
Oh, what brings meaning to your life?
Significance. Relevance.
For I know that I am given these things (in my head, yes, I know).
But some days are shifting underfoot like sand dunes caught in a hurricane.
On those days, I can't see my hands. Or feet. (No, I'm not pregnant.)
I may feel irrelevant, yet I know that to stay engaged is eternally right.
To breathe is holy.
(Oh, my, yes - een when you're not sure why you're breathing - breathe!)
It brings the God who made you (much) glory.
To love.
To hope.
To cherish.
To embrace.
Maybe I am meant only to live this day in order to hold someone who needs holding.
Maybe I am meant only to live this day in order to smile for someone who needs cheering.
Maybe I am meant only to breathe one more breath in order to type this sentence ...
Yes, maybe.
Tomorrow will come. And I will hold that someone, and I will smile, too, and I will breathe one more time.
Amen.
(Here is the rest of the story in 2 Corinthians 5:1-10 ...)
For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.
who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.
So we are always of good courage ... So whether
we are at home or away,
we make it our aim to please him.
2 Corinthians 5
Disillusioned?
Oh, sorrow: It tastes bitter.
Pours down like hail - some days.
"Vanity, all is vanity."
So said the wisest man ever. An empty chasing after wind, this thing called life; so in despondency, on really bad days, it can feel like there's not a whole lot of living worth doing.
(Oh, but maybe it's in the chasing after that things go awry. After all, we construct our lives carefully, planning, choosing, building around a certain paradigm of importance - even paradigms of important goodness.)
You know the routine (or on groggy days, the grind). Wake up, dress, toss the laundry into the machine, grab a coffee (toast if you're lucky), out the door with a cell-phone in one hand, and a toddler on a hip. Buckle him into his car seat. You look back in the rear-view mirror and the toddler's growing peach fuzz on his upper lip. His voice has changed, too. Yep, he's morphing as you're driving down the road.
Soon, he's driving. And you're in the rear-view mirror. Waving. Goodbye.
I wonder how long it took Solomon to get there? To realize it? To make such a profound sorrowing statement? More importantly, I wonder if he ever recovered from the shock?
Surely, he had to have been intoxicated for a long time. On women. Fame. Fortune.
Oh, wait. That's not your life.
On diapers, soccer games, pizza, family vacations, root beer floats, chores, birthdays, good friends, love-making with a husband, long chats and meandering talks.
I must be strange.
I love all those things.
But, they're not enough.
Inside
I
am the Sahara.
Looking for the oasis.
And it's nowhere in view.
At least not externally.
I do well to remember it.
No, the oasis springs up from inside, from a secret, quiet place where One dwells with me, constantly, as His child. So, if I am the Sahara inside at this point of my life, if everything is scorched and baked by the heat of day and chilled by the cool of night, I've not been dwelling there, in that secret place.
Do you ever feel like that? Do you ever take time to feel it?
The longer I live, the more respect I gain for the old - who have learned to live well.
It takes courage.
To.
Live.
Well. Old. A certain knowing, a confidence in grace and truth and beauty and love.
To embrace bodies falling apart. Or children who bear grandchildren who come when they can, if not at all.
Oh, what brings meaning to your life?
Significance. Relevance.
For I know that I am given these things (in my head, yes, I know).
But some days are shifting underfoot like sand dunes caught in a hurricane.
On those days, I can't see my hands. Or feet. (No, I'm not pregnant.)
I may feel irrelevant, yet I know that to stay engaged is eternally right.
To breathe is holy.
(Oh, my, yes - een when you're not sure why you're breathing - breathe!)
It brings the God who made you (much) glory.
To love.
To hope.
To cherish.
To embrace.
Maybe I am meant only to live this day in order to hold someone who needs holding.
Maybe I am meant only to live this day in order to smile for someone who needs cheering.
Maybe I am meant only to breathe one more breath in order to type this sentence ...
Yes, maybe.
Tomorrow will come. And I will hold that someone, and I will smile, too, and I will breathe one more time.
Amen.
(Here is the rest of the story in 2 Corinthians 5:1-10 ...)
For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.
So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him. For
we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one
may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good
or evil.
Do You Ever Wonder?
Do you ever wonder
why the soles of your feet
blister
before the day is done?
Or why your soul
yet thirsts
when the wine
runs
dry?
Or why a dark sky
feels foreboding
when the
sun
is
high?
Do you ever wonder
why we
fill
up
with amusements
when they're
done?
Do you ever wonder why?
why the soles of your feet
blister
before the day is done?
Or why your soul
yet thirsts
when the wine
runs
dry?
Or why a dark sky
feels foreboding
when the
sun
is
high?
Do you ever wonder
why we
fill
up
with amusements
when they're
done?
Do you ever wonder why?
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