When God Ran...or the Parable of the Lost Son told another way...

I would have told the story from the cow’s perspective.  We are all familiar with the parable of the lost son and the layers of metaphor in that tale.  To be honest, I am not sure that we have quite figured out what Jesus meant by telling that story. 

 

So, it was about this time of year, about ten or eleven years ago, that I walked in and sat down and thought about that cow.   The spiritual director I had been seeing suggested that I try this.  Evening prayer, that is, not thinking about a cow.  As I recollect, it was probably a Tuesday or Wednesday.  It was the middle of Lent.  Growing up in the buckle of the Bible belt south in a thoroughly low Protestant tradition, this was going to be a stretch for me.  In retrospect, the suggestion was probably made to me so I would consider breathing and just being still.  I tend to shy away from those people who talk about conscious breathing; I start to worry that a long discussion about the healing properties of aromatherapy is around the corner, and that will lead to a discussion on diminishing my carbon footprint, and then that will lead to a discussion about only eating organic food and then the power of going gluten-free, (which reminds me, I really must share the story of gluten free communion wafers one day), and by that time I am hyperventilating again because all those voices of anxiety, judgment, doom and guilt start screaming.   But, these conscious breathers are probably on to something, if you try to follow your breath for a while, it will ground you.   Drinking a glass of cold water or plunging your hands in ice has the same effect too.  So does a harsh slap in the face and while eating six peanut butter cookies in less than six minutes might not be the healthiest choice, it has been known to ground me a time or two.  Also, my friend Deborah, who grounds me all the time at work tends to remind me, "well...that might sound harsh..."  or  "Kathleen,  the face, girl....the face..."

 

Rituals are very calming to me and rituals attached to ancient church liturgy even more so.  As I sat down in the nave, I didn’t notice that I was the only one sitting in the nave and everyone else was sitting in the choir.  My first thought was, “Wow, what church has a choir sing on Tuesday evening with so few people attending?”  My second thought was, “churches everywhere really are the same after all, and the choir really is a sacred cow.”  I was also kind of impressed that two priests showed up, vested.  As, the priest stepped down from the choir and across the crossing, toward me, I thought, “how very kind he is to come a personally welcome me.”  Still obsessing over the architecture and the ascetics of the place, I had failed to realize, I was the only one sitting in the nave.  While, I suspect, the priest was welcoming me, he also was coming to tell me that it was the congregation sitting in the choir and the service would be held there and I was welcome to join them.  He also kindly said I could sit in the nave and just watch.  I suppose that tipped him off that I might not be Anglican.  Since, then I have learned to pass for a good Anglican and once I even passed for a Catholic for an entire weekend. I fooled a priest, who was shocked to learn I was so thoroughly Protestant.  Jokingly or maybe not, he told me I would come home one day.  I am still trying to figure out what that means. And thus began my love affair with the Book of Common Prayer and Anglican spirituality.

 

I have never mastered nor will I ever the finer points of breathing and I can not even claim to have mastered the art of praying the Psalms, (I always get confused about when to stand, when to cross myself, what is said in unison, what is said in response, who leads and who follows), but I do find comfort in the rite of Evening Prayer.  I find it comforting to pray what Jesus prayed.  The psalms were his prayer book.  He had them memorized.  I also find it comforting to recite the Apostle’s Creed, words that were written down in the fourth century.  Words that still carry power and truth today.

 

The gospel reading for that particular night in Lent was the parable of the lost son.   Everyone knows that story.  Disney made it popular with the Lion King.  But that night, the priest asked a very odd question.  In the story, who most represented you, who most represented God, and who had the most to lose?  My answer- the fatted calf.  No, I did not share my answer aloud, as we always did in Sunday School growing up.  I was trying to blend in.  And I am pretty sure the fatted calf was not the answer he was looking for.

We can all relate to being lost and being found, the depth of parental love, sibling rivalry, anger at being unfairly treated, not getting what you deserved, and maybe even just how far God runs.  But it was the calf that lost the most.  I wondered and still do every time I hear that parable, if the calf was angry or if she tried to run away, or if she bit the father, or if it hurt when she bled, or did she imagine she would grow up to be momma cow and or does the cow tell us that the price of life and ultimately love is just that- death to self and what you thought life was going to be.  The most striking and frustrating thing about the parables of Jesus is he does not tell us the meaning. And perhaps that is the point, the message of the Gospel is that you have everything you need to be fully human.

 

When God ran.  I think that might be a more fitting title than the lost son.  God ran that day as the father running to meet his lost son.  God may have run that day as the cow but choose to stand still at some point instead.  And at times we have to be the cow that chooses not to run.  As older sons, we sometimes need to see “God” running to us so we can invite him in to have dinner.  As lost sons, we sometimes need to remember that it is “God” inside of us that causes us to come back home for dinner. 

 

Secretly, when I go into church, I long to see Jesus jump off the wall and run down the aisle to greet me.  I suspect we all do.  And it can be hard to see God running or even to be Jesus running to someone else.  So, then next time you see a billboard asking you to eat more chicken…remember God ran.

Blessings during the last week of Lent,

Kathleen

What I hope I taught you...

To my CNA Students at Walkertown and North Forsyth High School Class of 2015
I will always carry you in my heart, I am so proud of each you!

This evening, it is an honor to sit amongst a group of people who are not only nurses, but also educators, a group of men and women who epitomize the values of nursing and education: Perseverance, generosity, humor, dedication...and here is the big one, compassion. And the list of qualities we share could go on and on. But I think, the energy of this class and the charisma is almost tangible as this evening we celebrate your completion of the nurse assistant program and the grand accumulation of a knowledge you never imagined just two years ago.

 
So let’s reflect for moment.

 Abby, You weren’t sure about me at first when I took over.  You probably and maybe still do hate me for being so tough but as you put it, “I don’t play,”  Remember, the first time you and I were doing peri-care on some one and you almost passed out on me?  I had to sit you down, fan you and get you water.  But you came back the next day, and you did it. You still gag a little but that doesn't stop you.   And today you are a  CNA.

 Cole, bedmaking was not your forte.  In fact, you were probably ready to kill me the day I made you make all the beds on the unit because the last bed you had made looked like a third grader had made it.  But, now you can make a bed to my high standards.  Mrs. LaTonya told me that you would come to her and ask for work because you were afraid if I saw you just standing around I would kill you.  Good thinking Cole, because I would have killed you. But today, you can make beds with the best of them. And today  you are a CNA

 

 Austin, I was worried about you and performing baths on females.  I suspect you were a little nervous too.  You looked so worried that first day in clinical. And you can be proud that the one patient who couldn’t speak or stand on her own, trusted you above all others.  You gently put her to bed every single day for her afternoon nap and your gentleness brought her much comfort in her last days on earth. Today you are a CNA.

 

Aaliyah, you always had confidence and you took to nursing like you have been doing this your whole life.  Remember the frail elderly lady who hurt every time you touched her, and how she fell in love with you and you were the only one who could help her to the bathroom?   Today you are a CNA

Natavia,  Remember your first day in clinical when you forgot your watch?  I really wanted to hug you and tell you it was ok, and it broke my heart to see your tears, but I had to let you fail because I knew you would learn a valuable lesson.  That we learn far more from our failures than we ever do from our successes.  Today you are a CNA.

 So, to my clinical group at Trinity Glen, you are remembered by the staff  as some of the best students to ever work at that facility.  They still remark on your bedmaking skills, your professionalism, and most of all your compassion.  Remember how we made all those patients smile with the spa bath. No one has yet to surpass your abilities as students and Mrs. Attaway still chastises me for being too hard on you all.  She would pull me aside and say, "Mrs. O'Brien, you are being too hard on those children." But today you are all CNAs.  

AhLexus, I don’t think you ever quite got used to me standing over your shoulder and goodness knows I made your hands shake, but today you can say with pride, I did it.  You were so determined to succeed.  And today you are a CNA.

 Breanna, you overcame a lot.  You came to lab every day at 8 am for three and half weeks just to make up the time you missed during your hospitalization.  I know you hated me and the way I demanded perfection from you when it came to vital signs in clinical, but today you are a CNA.

Brooke, I was worried about your tender stomach.  I didn’t think you would ever master peri-care and bedbaths due to the odors.  I really didn't think you could keep up physically with the demands of the job but you surprised me and today you are a CNA.

Diamond, it broke my heart when you failed BP check offs the first and second time, but I had to demand perfection and couldn’t be soft on you, because I knew what it would take to succeed in a very unforgiving profession where nothing less than your A game will do. You were one of the few who could handle giving a bath to that lovely patient whose only word was NO!!! And today you are CNA.

 Amia, I will never forget the day you came in and told me you were dropping the class because there was no way you were going to brush someone’s teeth.  You were dead serious too.  I told you that failure or quitting was not even an option on the table and that you could not quit.  You looked horrified the first day of clinical when I told you to clean dentures but you did it.  And today you are a CNA.

 And Amia, you kept me humble and reminded me of my own mortality.  It was you I overheard telling your clinical group that of course I made nursing look easy, I had been doing it for like half my life.  True to that.  I have. 

Lauren, you always looked like you were half asleep and never did I know if you heard anything that I said.  You told me I threw you to the wolves the first day of clinical.  I seem to recall that I only asked you make all the beds on the hall, feed two patients, and take maybe four sets of VS tops.  By the end of clinical you were managing an entire group of patients by yourself.   And today you are CNA.

To my Salemtowne clinical group, you are still remembered as the most prepared, the best bedmakers, the best bath givers.  They even remarked during my clinical rotation this semester, that they wished you were back. And today you are all CNAs.

It’s not easy to think of something original to say to a group of enthusiastic future health care professionals. After digging deep into my heart—hoping to channel Florence Nightingale—I decided to share my impressions of what patients thank us for when they say “Thank you, nurse.” Over the years, I’ve noticed that the predominant theme of those thank-you cards we get from patients is gratitude for the little things we do for them—answering the call light promptly, speaking compassionately, giving them something to drink, placing the phone by their ear when they’re unable to, holding their hand, bringing them a newspaper, and (my personal favorite) trimming their nails and washing their hands. (I did so much of that I could have been accused of illegally practicing podiatry or cosmetology!) I heard a patient say, “Thanks, nurse. That enema was really fabulous!” But many patients recall, even years later, the time you washed their hair.  You will never forget the patient you watch give birth, the first patient you watch die and probably if you are a lot like me, you never forget anyone you watch die.  I know I don’t.

Recently, when I reread Florence Nightingale’s Notes on Nursing: What It Is, and What It Is Not, I realized she was writing about similar little things. Referring to keeping the bedside spotless and other housekeeping issues, she admonished, “If a nurse declines to do these kinds of things ‘because it is not her business,’ I should say that nursing was not her calling.” These little, seemingly menial gestures may not get us nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. But as with peacemakers, what nurses and nursing assistants do moves and soothes the human heart and spirit. The enchanting (though not entirely mysterious) thing is that as we strive to bring about positive changes in our patients, we’re transformed ourselves. I’m certainly not the same “nurse-person” I was at my pinning ceremony 29 years ago.

Today, health care professionals walk a delicate line between tradition and technology, computer skills and compassionate service.

To my  new colleagues, I’d like to stress that whatever field of nursing you pursue, don’t forget to do the little things, share your knowledge with all, and invoke Florence Nightingale—the founder of modern nursing for our modern times.

Congratulations, graduates, and welcome to a healing profession. You are certified nursing assistants.  Whatever you may do from here, wherever you may go I hope that you never forget that this is what you help to do. This is your greatest power, your greatest gift. You will reach into the hearts and minds of the sick and their families and you will plant two very important seeds, hope and love, and the fruit of these is healing.

I think our job is a sacred one. I think that the art of healing is a privilege. It is one filled with love and with compassion. Treat your patients with this love and compassion. You can feel it right in your gut here. Let it guide every encounter with them. If you do this often enough your job will take on an entirely new meaning for you. Your words, your touch, your presence will heal. Welcome, again, to a healing profession.

The Ghost of Christmas Past (or what your English grammar teacher forgot to teach you about the real meaning of Christmas)

For Nancy, my favorite bibliophile and for William, the only person I know who knows the words to “Once in veiled darkness Judah lay”

To be perfectly honest, I am a sermon snob.  It is not so much that I am critical of preachers, but I do want a sermon with three points that tells a story.  Frederick Beuchner  is a master storyteller who knows how to craft a sermon. One of my favorite Beuchner quotes states:

“Christmas itself is a grace. It could never have survived our own blindness and depredations otherwise. It could never have happened otherwise. Perhaps it is the very wildness and strangeness of the grace that has led us to try to tame it. We have tried to make it habitable. We have roofed it and furnished it. We have reduced it to an occasion we feel at home with, at best a touching and beautiful occasion, at worst a trite and cloying one. But if the Christmas event in itself is indeed—as a matter of cold, hard fact—all it’s cracked up to be, then even at best our efforts are misleading.”

One of my students must have momentarily lost her mind because she thought it wise to argue with me in front of a patient, not once but three times.  I guess I may have snapped.  I would have described it as I had a moment and she was lucky I didn’t remove her tongue.  I chose to verbally shred her instead.  I was attempting to instruct her on how to do perineal care correctly, and she thought it wise to balk at my instruction.  Now truth be told, there are about 100 ways to wipe someone’s booty, but the Board of Nursing only recognizes one.  Just one way, and this also happens to be my way.  

I guess since I have been giving baths to patients for the past 30 years, I probably have given well over 1000.  I would say that makes me an expert and Lord knows I have cleaned way more booty than a 1000. Apparently my confused student had forgotten this fact.  I also would like to add this was her fourth bed bath.  Just her fourth.  Let me say that number again, 4. Any who, when I tried to correct her technique, she argued.  Furthermore, she continued to argue after I speaking to her through clenched teeth and my temporal artery was pulsing. Needless to say after we finished tending to the patient, I took her to the conference room and proceeding to instruct her in the error of her ways.  It was not pretty.  It got even uglier when she responded to my criticism with “But, Mrs. O’Brien….”  I quickly told her that the phrase “But, Mrs. O’Brien” would never be the correct answer.  Ever.  I also suggested she remember that I have forgotten more about nursing than she will ever know and if she temporarily lost her mind again, I hope she had sense enough to keep her mouth closed.  As my students tell me “Ms. OB snapped.”

Which brings to the sermon on Sunday and how thinking about how angry I made my English teacher once kept me from cutting out her tongue.  The reading for Sunday was Isaiah 40: 1-11.  The passage tells Judah that deliverance is near.  Judah was living in a time that parallels our world today.  Oppression.  Slavery. Poverty.  War. Violence.  It seemed as if God was not going to show up to rescue.  The prophet reminds the people of Judah that help is coming.   

Besides sermons, I love the stories behind hymns and carols.  I love to hear who, why and where they were written. There is a carol entitled: “Once in veiled darkness Judah lay.” I am willing to bet some serious money that there is only about one or two of my readers who even know that carol, much less can recite all the words.  I am also willing to bet that if all of you look in your hymnals on Sunday, only about 2 of you will find it in your hymnal.  It is not found in the Baptist hymnal, the Lutheran hymnal or the Methodist hymnal. I did find it in the Presbyterian hymnal which was a shocker to me.  It is in the Moravian hymnal and as I learned on Sunday, there is a reason for this.  

My pastor told the story of how this hymn was written.  His grandfather wrote it in 1915.  To be honest, I have never met a writer of a hymn before.  His grandfather, Rev. Douglas Rights, a Moravian pastor, was in seminary at Harvard and entered a hymn writing contest during Advent.  He wrote this hymn for the contest and he won.  The hymn is a musical version of the prophecies of Isaiah. 

Veiled in darkness Judah lay,

Waiting for the promised day,

While across the shadowy night,

Streamed a flood of glorious light,

Heav’nly voices chanting then,

“Peace on earth, good will to men.”

Still the earth in darkness lies.

Up from death’s dark vale arise

Voices of a world in grief,

Prayers of those who seek relief:

Now our darkness pierce again,

“Peace on earth, good will to men.”

Light of light, we humbly pray,

Shine upon Thy world to

day;

Break the gloom of our dark night,

Fill our souls with love and light,

Send Thy blessed Word again,

“Peace on earth, good will to men.

The hymn tells something about verb tenses and how that teaches us about the real meaning of Christmas.  My fifth grade English teacher made us diagram sentences.  She was a grammar nazi.  I on the other hand, am more the creative writer type and love to play with run on sentences, hyperbole, metaphor, simile, sentence fragments and the like.  Subject/verb agreement was never high on my priority list.  Once, she hit my knuckles with a yard stick because I didn’t use the future prefect progressive tense of a verb.  Most of you probably didn’t even know there is a verb tense other present, past or future but alas, there happens to be. But thanks to her, I learned.  Now she had to beat

that knowledge into me, but I learned subject/verb agreement. 

Now I know you are breathless with anticipation and are dying for me to get to the real point, but let me refresh your memory on verb tenses first. In English, there are three basic tenses: present, past, and future. Each has a perfect form, indicating completed action; each has a progressive form, indicating ongoing action; and each has a perfect progressive form, indicating ongoing action that will be completed at some definite time. Notice the word perfect.  It means complete or finished.

The grace of Christmas and the real meaning of Christmas can be found in the present progressive and future perfect progressive form of the verb: come.  Some 2000 years ago Jesus came to Bethlehem.  He took on our fragile flesh and brought his peace into our violence.  He breathed our air and walked on our sod. Tears were and are falling.  Hearts were and are breaking.  We needed and need to hear from God.  He was promised and we waited and are waiting and will wait. He didn’t mind the manger and he made himself at home among us.  He filled and fills and will fill our hungry souls. His coming broke heaven’s silence. That tiny heart of that baby lying in that manger was filled with blood that will save us. He took our sin and made us holy.  He did not come in vain.  And he will come again.  The real message of Christmas: Christ came.  Christ comes.  Christ will come again.  Jesus came in one definitive moment of history.  Jesus continues to come into our hearts today and Jesus will come again. 

All is grace and grateful to my English teacher for making me diagram sentences and the Moravian hymnal and every song really does need to be sung

Kathleen

There. Are. No. Words. (Or the point of hyperbole- a commentary on what a prophet who had visions of heavenly creatures and hot coals on his tongue had to say about Advent)

 For my friend Lyn and in praise of cookies and the gratefulness to the prophet Isaiah and Casting Crowns

It began as a simple plan.  My friend Lyn and I were going to have an old fashioned cookie swap.  We were going to get together one afternoon and bake a few batches of cookies to share with each other.  Instant holiday joy! Right?  Butter, sugar, flour, chocolate and nuts screams joy to me.  What we didn’t count on was exactly how long this would take, how big a mess it would make, and how tired we would be.  She moved into my kitchen Saturday and at one point we had two types of cookies in the oven, two types of dough chilling and a pot of caramel melting on the stove.  I think the last time my kitchen was in that much chaos was when we installed tile floor.  And the tile floor might have been easier. 

I had made a run to the grocery store at 7:30 that morning to buy: 5 lbs of flour, butter (4 1bs), eggs (1 dozen), and 4 bags of chocolate chips, 2 lbs. of pecans, evaporated milk, heavy cream, 2 bags of coconut, 5 lbs. of white sugar, 1 lb of brown sugar, 1 lb. of confectioner’s sugar, candied cherries and a bottle of bourbon.  (Incidentally, the bourbon was not for baking but for drinking my new favorite Christmas drink: Bourbon Pomegranate fizz).  Drinking a baking are very complimentary activities.  You should try it sometime. 

Anywho, we began this scrumptious adventure at 2 on Saturday and we threw in the towel at 6. Literally.  Lyn brought as many supplies as I had bought that morning as well as her Kitchen Aid.  Do not even think about attempting this kind of a baking marathon without at least 2 Kitchen Aids, a Cuisinart, several saucepans, about 6 mixing bowls, three sets of measuring cups, (and does anyone even really know how much 5/16 of a cup is?  I am still pondering that one), 12 cookie sheets and multiple cookie racks.  Don’t forget an unlimited number of spatulas will be needed as well. And even with all of that equipment on hand, it was not exactly the easy task I had envisioned. 7 different types of cookies later (about 12 dozen to be exact), we smelled like butter and sugar, had flour in our hair, and chocolate on our elbows.  I would also like to note that my blood glucose level was about 746.

We both are irritated by how cooking blogs have turned into these psychodramas that revolve around butter and sugar.  She and I both just want to read the damn recipe, not the novel on the first time the cookie was ever made.  Personally, I think these cook/writers (and I use both terms lightly), really have never made the recipe at all.  And I really don’t need the seventeen photos on the making of the cookie.  If you need a photo of creaming butter, may I suggest you find a series on Netflix to binge on instead.  I’d personally recommend Mad Men or Breaking Bad.

This brings me to my other rant.  Lyn was reading a recipe on turtle cookies, (and yes they are as good as you are imagining in your head right now).  The blogger was attempting to describe this delicious concoction of pecans, chocolate and caramel and simply stated: There. Are. No. Words. Periods and all.  Lyn and I just couldn’t let that go and proceeded to verbally shred this blogger.  Of course there are words.  There are always words.  Scrumptious.  Serious deliciousness. Ridiculously awesome. To die for.  The best thing I have ever tasted. Ever.  It is so good it makes you want to slap your momma.  Can I just lay my face down in that pan and lick it?  But there are words. 

Of course there are some tragedies that human language fail to describe.  For instance, there are no words for Sandy Hook, Ferguson, The Va. Tech massacre, the recent be-headings by ISIS, the Ebola outbreak in West Africa, 9/11, human sex trafficking, and the crisis in Dafur.  There are no words.  But cookies always have words. 

Which brings me to my real point: the prophet Isaiah.  Advent’s best wordsmith.

For many Christians, particularly the American variety; Christmas is a time of comfort, of peace, and most always: abundance.  We’re fortunate if that is the case.  But what if Christmas is intended to be an annual reminder of our need for a Savior to break into our darkness, our “homelessness,” and for us to be convicted of our lack of offensive faith?  What if Advent, the season leading up to the celebration of the Incarnation, ought not make us sentimental and satisfied but rather challenge us to live out our sentness as bold heralds of Christ’s coming? At least that is what the prophet Isaiah thought.

The book of Isiah has been called “the fifth gospel.” By this I mean that so many of the themes of the gospels, incarnate in their portrayal of Jesus, have their scriptural beginnings in Isaiah. Isaiah’s connection to the story of Jesus seems particularly strong in the Advent and Christmas seasons. Even the prophet’s name — Isaiah means “Yahweh saves” — foretells the Christmas story.

The writings of Isaiah are distinguished among the Old Testament writings for their extraordinary literary quality. Isaiah was a poet who used vivid and powerful images and symbols to convey his message.
His father’s name was Amos and he was a lifelong resident of the city of Jerusalem. His concerns are those of the city, the king, and the Temple. Isaiah was called to prophetic service in the year King Uzziah of Judah died, which would have been around 742 B.C. He appears to have been around 18 years old at the time. He was married to a woman who was herself a prophetess (there were many more men and women prophets in those times than those whose writings have survived in Scripture). He had two sons. Isaiah preached at a critical time in the history of the Jewish people. The original nation of Israel had divided into two, Israel to the North and Judah to the South. Each had its own king, and they were constantly in conflict with each other and with larger, more powerful nations. Isaiah tried to advise three successive kings of Judah (Jotham, Ahaz and Hezekiah) who sometimes accepted his counsel but more often ignored him to follow their own priorities. Isaiah disappeared from the scene sometime around 701 B.C.

During the time of Jesus, nearly 800 years after the prophet’s own life and death, the words of Isaiah continued to be read prominently in the synagogue. Jesus probably heard more about what Isaiah had to say than about any other prophet. In the gospel of Luke, Jesus begins his ministry by reading a passage from the prophet Isaiah and applying the message to his own ministry (Luke 4:16-21).

The prophet of hope, peace, mercy and justice had this to say about Advent some 800 years before Jesus:

The grass dries up; the flower withers, but our God's word will exist forever.

 For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment and with justice from henceforth even for ever. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this.

Do you not know or have you not heard? The LORD is the eternal God, creator of the ends of the earth. 

On that day the deaf shall hear; And out of gloom and darkness, the eyes of the blind shall see. The lowly will ever find joy in the LORD, and the poor rejoice in the Holy One of Israel.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone. You have brought them abundant joy and great rejoicing, as they rejoice before you as at the harvest, as people make merry when dividing spoils.

The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling together;
 and a little child will lead them.

The most decisive event in human history was summed up in one word some 800 years before Jesus was ever born. That word: Emmanuel.  That is the word for things like Sandy Hook, Ferguson, Dafur, beheadings, sex trafficking, human slavery, injustice, tragedy, suffering. You are the savior we have been waiting for.  In our humble hearts you will dwell.  God is in us. God is for us. God is with us. Emmanuel. 

Advent blessings and remembering that all is grace.

Casting Crowns...a video just to remind you of Isaiah 

The sky is not the limit

I would hazard a guess that most of us, most of the time, live with Christ’s apparent absence rather than a sense of his presence. Today is my least favorite day of the liturgical calendar- Ascension Sunday.  I don't even like the hymns.  Technically, the Feast of the Ascension is always celebrated on a Thursday-exactly 40 days after Easter.  So here we are some 40 days after Easter and we are staring up at the clouds wandering where exactly Jesus went and what exactly are we supposed to do now. The Ascension brings up some serious abandonment issues for me.  I can’t help but think if Jesus would have hung out with us just a little longer then maybe things would have turned out differently.  Maybe we could have avoided the Crusades or the Great Schism.

To be honest I find Luke’s story a little too sci-fi for my liking. The way Luke tells it Jesus walked around, ate, partied, and talked for 40 days after his resurrection in a body.  And then one day, the disciples were enjoying a nice little hike with Jesus and suddenly Jesus defies gravity and disappears into the clouds with the disciples standing on the ground staring at his feet.  As Jesus is floating above them, just before he is “beamed up”, he gives his disciples some final instructions.  And just what was Jesus thinking, leaving these guys who argued amongst themselves and had completely abandoned Jesus, in charge of changing the world?  Can you imagine the Instagram photos or tweets that day?!?

The weirdest thing just happened…

#keepyourfeetontheground

@skyisthelimit.com

#canigetawitness?

The game has been changed forever.

“I will be back!”

“Hang on! Help is on the way.”

Up, up and away on my beautiful cloud…

We weren’t ready for you to go, Jesus…you didn’t tell us who was the greatest.

You want us to do what???

Go where?  All the world?  Seriously?

Who did you say was coming?  Is he family?

 

And maybe, just maybe if the disciples had Instagram or Twitter I could wrap my head around it more. The whole pre-scientific concept that Jesus went up to heaven defies modern understanding of the universe. "Up where?", people ask. "Into outer space, a planet, a star?" The ascension story doesn’t fit into modern thinking anymore; it’s not mentioned in the Bible very much and it falls on a workday. Who needs it? But somehow the early church fathers wrapped their heads around it and made sure it got included in the Apostle’s and Nicene Creed.  Both affirm the reality of the ascension. It is that important.  It is as important as the resurrection, even though it doesn’t get a lot of press.  I looked and you can’t find a card that says, “Happy Ascension Day.” And given our love to market anything…why not ascension day balloons or climbing gear? 

And this is where it kind of gets messed up for me.  Jesus bodily ascending into heaven so we could do what exactly? And where did he go and why did he leave us?   I know he promised he would send a Helper to guide and shows us truth…but let’s face it…that Spirit is a wild thing.  And to expect us to be Christ’s hands, eyes, feet, and healing presence in the world.... well, I am not entirely convinced that was the best plan.  Another blogger put it this way: “I don’t know, Jesus.  I guess I just can’t get over how miraculous and infuriating and profound and ridiculous it is that you trust us, that the God of the universe allows sinners to do His work. It’s quite an unconventional plan. There are days when I’m convinced it’s going to fail.”  

I am easing into the belief that God trusts us to know we don’t have to hold on to him physically.  He gives us power to “Go into all the world” and actually show up in tangible ways in the lives around us and to pursue justice and peace.  Ironically by letting go of Jesus, we never can really loose him.   In the ascension, God is saying that we are capable of restoring a broken world, that we really do have the power to be Christ’s love to all the world and there is no limit on that.

What God can and cannot do or why Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead is a bit overrated.

 

"Anyone who believes in me will live, even after dying." - Jesus according to St. John

 

He died again.   For all the layers of depth and high Christology the gospel of John has to offer, the story of Lazarus is the hardest for me to wrap my head around. This week the lectionary had us read the entire 11th chapter of the John's gospel.  All 45 verses.  I am one of those types who loves the high church tradition of standing to read the gospel and raising the gospel over our heads and processing with it.  I love the blessing of it with incense and the crucifer going before it.  But I will admit, that last evening at church, after I had helped Vance build a fire pit, painted two rooms and did six hours of yard work, I could have done with Readers Digest condensed version.   I could have just had verse 25 read and be done with it.  As usual my mind was wandering, I was fidgeting, I was thinking about dinner and how much I was missing meat and wine and thanking God that he has not called me to be Orthodox yet.  (Not only would the Great Lent be impossible for me, their faithful stand for the entire liturgy which takes 2 hours).   It takes a long time to read that story.  And it was not entirely lost on me and my very tired body that perhaps the Church fathers knew what they were doing when they insisted on reading the entire chapter.  There is some good stuff in that story, but to me the raising of the dead is a bit overrated.  

Was it impressive that Jesus raised him from the dead 4 days after he was in the tomb?
Absolutely. It's been a while since I raised a guy from the dead.
Like forever a while. Like I'll never be able to touch that a while. So yea, that was one of the greatest miracles the world has ever seen. Mind blowing amazing.

But we have to remember, it's important to remember, that Lazarus died again.

There was another funeral. His friends and family all wept again but this time there was no coming back from the grave.

The story isn’t even about Lazarus. I mean, Lazarus does very little in this story. He gets sick, he dies, and then he stumbles out of a tomb. Lazarus is just a supporting actor in this story. In fact, if this were a movie, Lazarus would have a very short, walk-on part. He doesn’t even have any lines! People talk about him, but only Jesus speaks to him, and Lazarus isn’t on screen when He does.

So what is the story really about?  Is this a story about the omnipotence of God? I don’t know because I really don’t know if God can make a four-sided triangle.  I don’t know if God can make a rock so heavy he can’t move.  I don’t really know if God knows the future or not.  I tend to think not because of free will and I tend to think a four-sided triangle is a square. And even in this story, God didn’t move the rock.  People did.  So maybe there are rocks too heavy for even God to move. So maybe getting up from dead isn't even the point. 
All of these questions speak to our fascination with the extent of God’s power, specifically whether or not God can do the impossible.

"For many of us, though we speak of love and grace and forgiveness, it is the ability to do the impossible that, in our minds, truly makes God, God. So, when we are faced with a situation in which God seems incapable of doing something we panic, worried that that inability somehow diminishes God’s divinity. "(shamelessly stole this quote from a guy named Zak Brown).

And if we are truly honest, we don’t like a God that makes rocks that he can’t move.
Most of us want Jesus to show up and pull a raising the dead.  We certainly don’t want him to be late and we certainly don’t want the funeral to have already taken place and we certainly don’t want to have to grieve.  So why did Jesus take his own sweet time in getting to Bethany? 

In one of my favorite books, The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis writes about the limits of God’s power. In a scene towards the end of the book, Eustace, Jill, Tirian, and the Pevensie children are standing alongside Aslan in the new Narnia looking on at a group of dwarfs who believe they are stuck inside a dark barn. Frustrated that the dwarfs can’t see their true beautiful surroundings, Lucy begs Aslan to do something to make the dwarfs see the reality of their situation.  

Aslan replies to Lucy saying, “Dearest, I will show you what I can and what I cannot do.”
Giving in to Lucy’s request, Aslan walks up to the dwarves, shakes his mane, and instantly a magnificent feast appears in the dwarfs’ laps.

But they can’t see it for what it really is. They think someone is simply hiding in the barn with them making lion sounds in order to scare them. They know there’s food in their laps, but they give no thought to where it came from, instead greedily fighting over it.  Aslan says, “You see, they will not let us help them…their prison is only in their mind and yet they are in that prison and so afraid of being taking in out.”

The point I think C.S. Lewis is trying to make here is that there are some things God simply can’t do and that’s ok. 

I also think Lewis is trying to make us see that most of the time we have to participate in our own miracles as well as the miracles of others.  Lucy and her siblings wanted to help the dwarfs, but the dwarfs would not allow them to. 

It is interesting to me that Jesus didn’t move the rock.  He told others to do it.  Lazarus also needed help removing all those bandages.  Lazarus didn’t just walk out of that tomb without the help of others.
 
God is not a superhero, and as long as we think of God in that way we miss out on the truly incredible things God is trying to do in and through us.  In the end, I think our fear that there may be things God cannot do, says much more about us then it does about God.  We like the God who shows up and makes the dead live again, not the God who shows up on a cross, rejected as a failure.  We want the resurrection, but we don’t want the path it takes to get there.  We don’t want to die. But sooner or later we all realize that we are going to die.  I know this seems like gloomy news… but really it is good news.  I think the real reason it took Jesus so long to get to Bethany was to show us what faith and real trust looked like. (And there is the part of me that believes in the humanity of Jesus, that believes that Jesus was seeing if God really did raise the dead or not.  After all, Jesus was depending on the same power that raised Lazarus to raise him as well. And I am not entirely convinced that Jesus knew the story ended well for him. And perhaps this is why God has not called me to a more Orthodox faith.  Obviously, I did not give up snarkiness for Lent).  Jesus did come to bring the dead back to life, but the real miracle in all of this is the gift of faith.  The ultimate test of our faith is that God is on the other side of that rock.  Sometimes we have to move the rock and sometimes we have to wait for someone to move it for us.  The miracle is in the waiting.