As I Walked Out One Morning

This morning I was curled up with my coffee and cats, sifting through my emails, making a mental list of things I need to do today.  I found this anonymous comment awaiting moderation on a post I wrote nearly three years ago.  It's one of those things that makes me kind of scratch my head and say, "Huh."  It really does puzzle me.  I'm not sure if it's meant to be a personal attack from a nameless person out in the cyberworld, or if it somehow is trying to fall into the category of spiritual discipline/encouragement.  Anyhow, the nameless person clearly gave it some thought, and felt compelled to send it to me, so I will also give it some thought and share with my tiny readership for your consideration.

"I stumbled upon this particular blog post (Letter to a Friend) and must say, it was very self foucused & has a certain pathology that I find disturbing. You said "I" or "me" many times.We are to be crucified with Christ and this was just a poetic excuse to air things that didn't really talk about the redeeming work of God.Your struggle seems to be pride and jealousy. Good news is the Gospel covers these sins.Keep looking to the Lord and ask yourself, is my blogging really glorifying Christ, or is it to fuel my pride?"

I will also share one of my favorite poems, because quite honestly, I love poetry, and never think poetry (or poetic writing for that matter) needs an excuse.

As I Walked Out One Evening

W. H. Auden, 1907 - 1973

As I walked out one evening,
   Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
   Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
   I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
   ‘Love has no ending.

‘I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you
   Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
   And the salmon sing in the street,

‘I’ll love you till the ocean
   Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
   Like geese about the sky.

‘The years shall run like rabbits,
   For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
   And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
   Began to whirr and chime:
‘O let not Time deceive you,
   You cannot conquer Time.

‘In the burrows of the Nightmare
   Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
   And coughs when you would kiss.

‘In headaches and in worry
   Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
   To-morrow or to-day.

‘Into many a green valley
   Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
   And the diver’s brilliant bow.

‘O plunge your hands in water,
   Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
   And wonder what you’ve missed.

‘The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
   The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
   A lane to the land of the dead.

‘Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
   And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
   And Jill goes down on her back.

‘O look, look in the mirror,
   O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
   Although you cannot bless.

‘O stand, stand at the window
   As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
   With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
   The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
   And the deep river ran on. 

 

Letter to a Friend

Dear One,

I confess, I am a poor friend.  I have not been honest with you.  I am not who you think you see.  I have worked very hard through the years, to create an impressive facade.  For this I am sorry.  By creating this facade, I have unintentionally placed undue pressure on you to focus on performance and measurable results.  For this I am also sorry.  But more than anything else, I am sorry for looking down on you, because my facade was better than yours.

I have spent years building up the image of a woman who can do anything, and who does all things well.  I sewed and crafted, cooked and baked.  I read books, and gardened, and renovated, and decorated.  I homeschooled my children and raised small livestock.  I volunteered my time and efforts in the church and in my community.  I was well spoken, and I always tried to look the part.

And then one day my house of cards came crashing down, and I realized that none of the things I could do with my hands mattered, if I was not able to hold love in my heart.  And my heart was a sieve.  I was so full of holes, that I was bleeding out.  

This realization immobilized me.  Even if I had wanted to somehow reconstruct the shattered facade, I could not have done so.  I laid in the rubble, and thought I would never sew another quilt, or frost another cupcake, or lead another Bible study for as long as I lived.  I did not care if I did.  

I cried at the strangest times.  I withheld myself from my loved ones for months, even years at a time.  Yet I would find huge tracts of sadness and bitterness flowing out of me unchecked, brought forth by the glance or word of a person that did not mean to unloose the deluge.  It was a horrible feeling to not be able to trust myself to open or close at appropriate times.

And thank God, by the grace of God, I have not come through.  Instead I have learned to live in this shattered place.  The house of cards still lays scattered about me, and that is where is belongs.  

The work of my hands, is just the work of my hands.  I love to work, and I love to love on people by working for them.  But my work is not the measure of my worth.  Neither is the reputation I gain by the quality and quantity of my work.  And that reputation was very important to me, if I was to be totally honest with myself.

In truth, I recognize that my reputation isn't worth much of anything at all, unless I am known for loving people.  Me, the broken down house-of-cards girl, loving other broken down house-of-cards people.  The only kind of people there are.

But I realized this horrible thing about myself today...this little section of stacked cards still standing.  I realized that I am looking down my nose at you, because once upon a time my card house was bigger than yours.  I still take pride that my cooking was tastier and my baking prettier.  That my quilts were more intricate and my stitches tinier.  That my home was tidier, and my children could all write an excellent persuasive essay.  That at my most proud and my most broken, I still did it better than you do.

I admit to you dear one, that I am astounded and ashamed of myself, to discover this mean little tower of cards still standing.  So that when you approach me with your cards slipping through your fingers, your heart like a sieve, feeling like you're bleeding out...we are separated.  Kept apart by that delicate little structure that makes me feel more and you feel less.

I can knock it down, and I can tell you so.  But I am so sorry I let it be there in the first place.  Please do not mistake me for anything but what I am.  A broken down house-of-cards girl, living in a shattered place.  Feel free to join me.  Don't mind the mess.

An Easter Hymn

Now The Green Blade Rises

Now the green blade rises from the buried grain,
Wheat that in the dark earth many days has lain;
Love lives again, that with the dead has been:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.

In the grave they laid Him, Love whom hate had slain,
Thinking that never he would wake again,
Laid in the earth like grain that sleeps unseen:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.

Forth He came in quiet, like the risen grain,
He that for three days in the grave had lain;
Quick from the dead the risen Christ is seen:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.

When our hearts are wintry, grieving or in pain,
Christ's touch can call us back to life again;
Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7uhbiUs6eY

Fellowship of the Broken

"Let us not underestimate how hard it is to be compassionate. Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they are weak, vulnerable, lonely, and broken. But this is not our spontaneous response to suffering. What we desire most is to do away with suffering by fleeing from it or finding a quick cure for it. As busy, active, relevant ministers, we want to earn our bread by making a real contribution. This means first and foremost doing something to show that our presence makes a difference. And so we ignore our greatest gift, which is our ability to enter into solidarity with those who suffer. Those who can sit in silence with their fellowman, not knowing what to say but knowing that they should be there, can bring new life in a dying heart. Those who are not afraid to hold a hand in gratitude, to shed tears in grief and to let a sigh of distress arise straight from the heart can break through paralyzing boundaries and witness the birth of a new fellowship, the fellowship of the broken." ~Henri Nouwen

I recently encountered this quote.  I freely admit I have not read it in context.  The book that it is reported to be taken from is called The Way of the Heart, and because it is not available for Kindle, I can't get it instantly.  Poor me and my first world problems.  There it is in my shopping cart, along with a CD by Pink, and I wonder what in the world that says about the state of my mind these days.

I have been thinking about these things lately, so when I read the quote, it resonated deeply.  It said what I had already been thinking and feeling deep within myself.  It said what I have experienced to be true, on both sides of the suffering fence.  Oh no, that is so very wrong, and my language betrays it.  There is no suffering fence, and we do not find ourselves on the one side or the other.

And still I want to think of it this way.  I want to divide up neatly, those who suffer, and those who comfort.  I want clear delineation of where I sit.  And of course I would prefer not to be the one suffering.  Sign me up as the comforter.  I will earn my bread with kind wise words.  I will brainstorm possible solutions.  I will roll up my sleeves and work for change.  And by doing so, I do the very thing I hate.  I flee from suffering.  I turn my face away from it.  

In all my busy, active, relevance I throw away the greatest gift...to "enter into solidarity with those who suffer".  Because I hate it.  Solidarity with those that suffer is me.  It is knowing that suffering is the human condition; that the paralyzing boundaries of pain that cannot be smoothed away, are the lot of every man.  There is grief, and distress, and death itself, and it cannot be eradicated by the right word or the right action.

There is absolute terror in the realization that there is no quick cure...that there is no cure at all, and so we flee.  I want to learn to sit in silence, and hold hands, and shed tears.  And I so deeply crave that someone will come and do that together with me.  Because we are not sufferer and comforter, we are the fellowship of the broken.

Jumpstart Your Ministry

I was reading a brochure the other day.  It was an informational brochure for a ministry that provided helps of various kinds, in a voluntary capacity.  Cool.  Except the brochure talked more about who they didn't serve, than who they did.  I loved the sorts of things they do.  I loved the idea that an organization or group could contact them and say, "Hey!  We could use some help."  And they would go there and help.  Well, kind of.  But only if you were a certain sort of group or organization.  A very specific sort.  They had a list of prerequisites that the group had to agree to.  They had a list of demands.  In exchange, the group or organization could expect to receive a very specific number of skilled and unskilled hours of labor.  

I'm not entirely sure why, but it made me kind of mad.  Because I still wanted to picture people saying, "Hey!  We could really use some help here."  I wanted to picture these other people pulling up and saying, "We can do that."  And at the end of a long, sweaty day, they would all sit around and eat together.  And after many days like this, they would have had many chances to learn to know one another as they worked side by side.  They would know each others' strengths and weaknesses, and kind of like each other anyhow.  Then, and only then, would anyone care very much what the other one had to say, or thought, or believed.  And after many long, sweaty days, they would talk about that stuff while they ate together.  

They would probably disagree about a great deal, as people are prone to do, but it wouldn't matter because they would be friends anyhow.  And even if they disagreed about a great deal, as people are prone to do, they would enjoy talking about it, and thinking about it, and even arguing about it.  They would marvel that such radically different strangers could become such dear friends.  

I know that people will read this and think, well, that just isn't how things work.  That sort of ministry would never get off the ground.

That's another thing that has been bugging me lately.  I've been watching, and reading, and listening.  It seems as though there are all these ministries trying to get off the ground...trying to pick up steam somehow.  They want to be relevant.  They want to reach people where they are.  They want to be like Jesus, and go eat with the sinners.  Kind of.

Jesus was very cutting edge.  He ate with sinners and tax collectors.  He hung out with lepers and women of ill repute.  He got rebuked for it.  But the thing is this, every time he sat down and ate with another person, every time he touched someone, he was hanging with sinners.  It didn't matter if they were rich young rulers, or devout Jews, or whatever.  They were all sinners.  When I sit down and eat with anyone, I am eating with a sinner, and when I sit down to eat all alone, I am eating with a sinner.

I'm not Jesus.  I am not lowering myself when I eat with sinners.  I am not coming down from some place on high, to bring sinners a gift, or special message (that I have and they don't).  I am sitting with my family.  If I'm lucky we have shared a long day of work together, and we are sweaty and hungry.  It's likely that we'll disagree about a great deal as we sit around the table, as sinners are prone to do.  As families are prone to do.  But we would also marvel that such a rag-tag family could ever be assembled, much less stay together for any length of time.

We'd probably be so tired from our work, and so engrossed in the food and conversation, that we would scarcely have time to think about whether the ministry was getting off the ground.  We probably wouldn't need brochures much either.

Keeping Lent

Having not grown up in the liturgical tradition, keeping Lent is unfamiliar to me.  I always heard of people "giving up" things for Lent, and never understood how giving up chips or pizza deepened one's understanding of the sacrificial love of Christ.  But lately I've been thinking of doing a fast, and since Lent is fast approaching, it seems very traditional, and appropriate.  I am considering giving up the recreational use of electronic equipment/media.  Like Faceb**k.  And television.  The radio.  It really seems like I fritter away far to much time half-heartedly pecking at keyboards, surfing from site to site, looking at the same old nothing.  Or I turn on the TV as I crawl into my bed, and half-heartedly click from channel to channel, until some bit of nothing catches my interest.  Or I'm driving in the car, and I want some noise, so I seek, and seek, and seek until something familiar comes flickering across the radio waves.  OK, I live in the country, and radio listening in the car is a bit spotty, but I'll listen to some dreadful eighties pop music fading in and out, over the sound of the car and my own thoughts.

What would happen if I stopped drifting from image to image, soundbite to soundbite?  Would I think on spiritual things more often?  Would I find my attitudes changing?  Would I have more time to do productive things?  Maybe I would just sleep more and be more well rested, and thus less likely to be cranky and fall into sin.  Really I'm not sure at all.  What if it revolutionized my life?  Would I just slip back into the same-old same-old, just as soon as Easter came and went?  One thing I know for sure.  I would need to set myself ground rules, or before long I'd be making myself exceptions and justifying my slip ups as necessary.  I know how weaselly I am.  Here are some rules I've considered:

• No Faceb**k at all.  Once a week (probably around midweek) I would check the PM's as I get camp info and scheduling info for my kids via that method.  But I would ignore newsfeeds, walls, and notifications.
• I would check my email once a day to delete all the junk, and respond to all necessary correspondence (which I do actually get there).  I would ignore silly forwards and intriguing advertisements.
• I would use the computer for necessary research/purchases such as homeschooling and airline tickets.
• I would not use the computer to read random Wiki articles and plan pretend vacations.
• I would not watch TV, with the exception of watching a movie with family.  Which generally puts me to sleep.
• I would not turn on the radio in the car.  If I want music, I would remember to bring a CD with me.  Which I won't.
• Would I read blogs?  Probably not.  I like to waste time on blogs.  And Wiki random article.
• Would I blog?  Maybe.  Maybe I'd find more time, or be full of deep thoughts, and blogging would seem the natural thing to do.  Or maybe I'd forget I had a blog, since I'd be away from my computer so much.  Not really sure on that one.

Will you be keeping Lent, and if so, how?

Why I Go to Church, Part 2

In my last post I was thinking aloud about the church. I said a bit about kitchens and bathrooms, that probably would sound pretty funny out of context. I also said I would get back to my thoughts about the church building and its important function. I will say again that people are the core of the church. All Christians are connected, whether they want to believe it or not, all part of the Body of Christ, all "the church". No particular building houses God, or any object that gives us a direct line to Him. But today I am going to discuss the local church building, the individual group of people that gathers there, and some of the reasons we show up on a Sunday morning.

I'm going back to my bathroom analogy, not that it's perfect, but it works for me. I said that relationships with people are the kitchen. Sometimes hot, sometimes messy, sometimes frustrating and even a little dangerous. But it's where you get fed when you are hungry. When people are needy, they need other people. Even when they aren't in a particularly needy place, they still need people. The Bible teaches us that the way people get fed, and clothed, and cared for rests on what people do. It's true that God can do miraculous things, and it's true that all good things ultimately come from God's hand. I believe that. But God has never physically cooked me a meal, taken me shopping and bought me underwear, carried out the trash, or given me a hug. God has always used the bodies of living people to do those things for me.

The problem, in my humble opinion, is setting up shop in the kitchen. People are awesome. They are the very best gift God has created on this earth for us people. The Bible tells us that they aren't just awesome, they are made in God's image. I can't even begin to see what that means...but I am certain it means something really good. We have something in us that is like God. It is so easy to fall in love with people, and spend our lives pouring ourselves out for them, and soaking up the awesomeness of them, that we could forget God altogether. To continue with my analogy, we might be tempted to sit around that big ol' kitchen table, warm and full, and with a contented sigh say, "It doesn't get any better than this."

Can I take a small rabbit trail here? When I was growing up, I was taught that Jesus was THE WAY. I was further taught, that anybody who wasn't living this reality was miserably unhappy. Of course they were probably sinful and bad too. If they didn't look miserably unhappy, and sinful and bad...well, they were just really good actors. Except I knew people who were not Christians, and they were genuinely moral, compassionate people. They seemed happy. They didn't seem like they were faking it. I just could not make sense of this. I think my kitchen theory might account for this. To be honest, I have been tempted at times, to discard everything else in favor of the kitchen.

So if people are what it's all about, and the church is really just people, why not discard the church building, and start hanging out in some awesome person's kitchen? Why not throw away the whole rest of the house, and just make one huge kitchen? Well, partly because I will not buy a house that doesn't have a bathroom. Call me American, but I do love me some white porcelain fixtures. I like the fact that I can go into that quiet room, all by myself, and take care of my private business. I can dispose of waste, that isn't good for me to hold onto either inside or outside my body. A quick flush of water and it's gone. I can wash up in the sink if I'm only partially dirty, or I can take a shower or a tubby if I need a total cleanup. Don't get me wrong. I don't want to live in the bathroom, but I need and want to visit the bathroom with regularity.

Maybe it's a bit irreverent to liken the church building we visit each Sunday to the bathroom. I'm going to take a chance on it. Think about it for a moment. Why do we go to church in the first place? Let me preface my answer with a list of all the reason I do NOT believe we should go to church on a Sunday morning. I do not believe we go to church to get things. One of the biggies that I hear all sorts of rumblings about is "fellowship". And what most people mean by this is socializing. I love to socialize. I love food and coffee. But if I couldn't get any of it, I'd still go to church. I do not go to church to get feelings, blessings, fillings up, etc. Sometimes it happens, and it's nice no doubt. I don't go to church for teaching. I really appreciate a good sermon. I even appreciate a bad sermon that a pastor has clearly labored over. But if there was no sermon, I wouldn't feel as though the filling was left out of my sandwich. I don't go to church to be entertained. I don't have the right to critique anyone's "performance". I don't have the right to decide if the room is too bright, warm, clean enough for my liking. I don't go to church to judge or be judged by other people, whether they are in the pew next to me, or at home sleeping in.

For me, going to church is somewhat paradoxical. I go to be part of something that is communal in nature, yet it is solitary as well. In the kitchen we are shoulder to shoulder, and face to face. In the pew we are all facing toward something other than ourselves. We come to church to worship, which is kind of an alien concept in itself. I read some definitions, and it all seemed to boil down to a sort of adoration for something that is elevated far above us. It is very true that we can worship privately. Nature can cause us to spontaneously worship. Private devotion and prayer can lead us to worship. Communal worship is just downright hard for me.

Think about the rituals we observe. Confession. I sit next to my neighbor, and I confess that I have sinned against God in thought, word, and deed. I have not loved my neighbor. Yes, that person sitting next to me. I have been negligent. I have not done the things that I know I ought to do, yet amazingly I have found time to do things I know I shouldn't do. Communion. I sit quietly and examine myself. I find myself sadly deficient. "This is My body, broken for you... this is my blood, shed for the remission of your sins..." These are not comfortable thoughts and actions. If I could avoid them and remain in the kitchen, it would be more to my liking.

But I need to take my waste somewhere. I need to clean up sometime. I'd prefer to do it in private, behind closed doors. Experience teaches me, it is better for me to do it quietly beside my brothers and sisters. In a sense it is private. In a sense it is communal. In every sense it should humble me. If there is a humble room in our homes, I would say it is the bathroom. If there is an actual, real, literal humble place to go to in our faith, it should be our church building.

Going to church should empty us out, make us cleaner and freer. When I am cleaner and freer, the songs I sing feel more uplifting, my prayers feel as though they soar straight to God's ear, and I feel so much more love for my neighbor. God makes me this beautiful gift of feeling, even when I come dragging my feet (and my feelings) sometimes. Most times. It is alien and mystical. It's probably a whole lot better than a bathroom.

Why I Go to Church, Part 1

I've been thinking lately, about some things that I've read, or heard said, about how the church "does charity". Now this is a pretty broad subject, since there are all sorts of churches and parachurch organizations that administer charity. When I say charity, the verses in Matthew 25 come to my mind.

"For I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me."

I hear a lot of people complaining about how the church deals with the hungry, the stranger, the naked, the sick, the imprisoned. Sometimes the complaints are directed at the institution of the church, and sometimes at the individual members. And heaven help us, many of the complaints are completely valid.

There's an old Keith Green album from the seventies that rolls two songs, one into the next. The first is a dramatic retelling of the above passage of scripture, concluding with the thought that the only difference between the sheep and the goats (righteous and unrighteous) is what they "did and didn't do". It rolls directly into the song "Asleep in the Light", which describes a church paralyzed by its own prosperity.

"Oh bless me Lord, bless me Lord!"
You know it's all I ever hear.
No one aches, no one hurts,
No one even sheds one tear,

But He cries, He weeps, He bleeds,
And He cares for your needs,
And you just lay back
And keep soaking it in.
Oh, can't you see it's such a sin?

'Cause He brings people to your door,
And you turn them away
As you smile and say,
"God bless you, be at peace"
And all heaven just weeps
'Cause Jesus came to your door.
You've left him out on the streets.

Heaven help us if this is how we do charity. I have heard the cries of people who have been turned away at the door by people who say "God bless you, be at peace, and here's the numbers of some government agencies that might be able to help you". I have heard the cries of people who have been turned away at the door by people who say, "God bless you, be at peace, come back at Christmas and we'll have a toy for your baby and a holiday food box." I have heard the cries of people who have been turned away at the door by people who say "God will bless you and give you peace, but only after you clean up the mess that is your life."

The church, as an institution could do better, but we need to cut the church some slack. It is an awkward thing, trying to administer charity to strangers through the church as an institution. The government does it, and maybe does it better. The government has programs that we are compelled to fund through our tax dollars. The government expects to be defrauded. They set up all sorts of protocols for a needy person, to prove that they are indeed needy. The American tax payer does not expect the government to be frivolously handing out cash and goods to anyone who has their hand out. They expect the government to screen people, and determine if their need is real. And so needy people are served, and still the government is defrauded as well.

The church sits in the shadow of the government. No one is compelled to fund the church. People always talk about how all the church ever does is scrounge for money. I have been in the church for my entire life, and I have never experienced this. If anything, I have often heard the church apologetically asking for money to fund worthy endeavors. People give, and proportionally, the people with the least give the most. The church as an institution holds that gift carefully, and labors over where it will be best used...where it will best serve to feed, clothe, heal, and comfort. In fear of being defrauded, perhaps we guard the gift too closely. Do we become the man who buries his talents in the ground, for fear of being robbed? In fear of enabling the very behaviors that cast people into poverty of body and spirit, we are afraid to give liberally. In fear of being impoverished ourselves, we hang onto the lion's share to feed our own.

This is the struggle of the church as an institution. We have this idea that if we find ourselves cast upon hard times, we can find a church door, and knock there. Maybe we can find help. The reality is, you will probably find the door locked. If you are lucky, you will find a friendly pastor or priest, and they may be able to offer some suggestions and assistance. They will invite you to come back and worship together with their congregation. They will express an interest in getting to know you. This will feel weird and invasive, like there is a price to be paid for help, or a screening process to determine whether you are deserving. If the pastor shares your situation with the congregation, it will be awkward. People will treat you like you are special, but it will feel forced and strange. If the pastor does not share your situation, it will be awkward as well. People will treat you like nobody special, and you will feel hurt because they didn't see your need and minister to it.

I think it's kind of like being hungry, and going to the bathroom looking for food. Over and over, you feel the hunger pains, and you get up and trot to the bathroom for a snack. But there's no food to be found. There's water and a cup. That helps. There's vitamins in the cabinet. That helps too. There are magazines on the back of the toilet. Some of them even have pictures of food in them, and recipes for how to prepare it. But no matter how often you head to the bathroom, you still end up hungry.

I think that going to a church building when you are in need, is like going to the bathroom when you are hungry. It's not really what it's there for. The church building has her own purposes, and I'll return to that another day. I don't want anyone to think I'm saying that the church building is useless, or cold, or empty. I just want to spend this post sending hungry people to the kitchen.

The kitchen is people. The kitchen is community. The kitchen is relationship. The kitchen is also the church, but it can exist with or without a building, a pastor, or even a Bible. Not that it throws these things away. They are good and necessary things that help the church grow...but if it has to, it can live and even grow without them. But without people, the church is dead. The church can have a beautiful building, a well trained staff, and shelves full of Bibles and hymnals...but without living breathing people in relationship with one another, it's dying.

Oh, but the kitchen is a sloppy place. It gets uncomfortably hot at times, especially when something is cooking. The sink is full of dirty dishes, and the counters are covered with crumbs. The cooks bustle and squabble, sometimes self important in their aprons. Sometimes they yell at you to get out of the way if you're not doing anything useful. The kitchen can be a scary place, with knives and hot pans. The kitchen can be a wonderful place, full of delicious smells, and happy chatter. The kitchen is people, and it feeds you.

I think that when people come to a church building, genuinely searching for help, they are often let down. Because when people come searching for food and drink, clothing and warmth, healing and human companionship...they are searching for relationship. And when we tell people that God loves them, that He will meet all their needs, that He is the solution to all their problems...we're speaking the truth. But if we don't speak it from the context of a genuine relationship, it sounds like "God bless you, be at peace" as we turn them away from the church door, still cold and hungry.

I don't pretend to know the answers. The physical church building is often the most visible representation of the church body in the community. It is natural that people in need would want to see that steeple as a beacon. In the old stories, people left babies in baskets on church doorsteps. Is this because somehow, magically, the church building itself would save the child? No. The hope was that the presence of the church building indicated the presence of a community of people that were knit together in love. Such a community of people might take in a stranger's baby, and bring them up in that environment of love.

I think babies on church doorsteps are mostly confined to feel-good fiction. The reality was the same then as it is now. The church doors were locked for the night, and everyone was gone home to their own families and firesides. Baby would freeze on the doorstep of the church. If you didn't know of a warm, welcoming kitchen somewhere, you were out in the cold for the night. In other words, if you didn't have genuine relationships, and you found yourself in need, you had few options. I guess what I'm getting at, is that some of us need to stop checking the church doorstep for baskets, and start checking our own back porch. And some of us lingering on the church doorstep, need to find the kitchen and ask to come in. Maybe you're hungry. Maybe you know a bit about cooking. Maybe you can help with the dishes. On a cold night, we might all be surprised to see who gathers around the table.

Continued here in Part 2.

Adoption Sunday

This is the speech that we were privileged to share with our congregation today.

Dear Brothers and Sisters,
We are honored to speak to you today, about a subject that is very dear to our hearts. This month, November, is set aside as National Adoption Month, and many churches will recognize this today by observing Orphan Sunday. Many of you have supported our family in our adoption journey, and for that we are very grateful. Today we wish to challenge each of you to think about how God may be calling you to minister to orphans. Scripture teaches that each of us is required to minister to the weak and the fatherless, in their need. It is not optional, and it is not easy.

It would be very easy to make this time into an advertisement for adoption. We could tell you many heart warming and inspiring stories, and most of them would be true. Instead, we want to talk about some of the hard truths concerning orphans. Worldwide it is estimated that there are between 140 and 210 million orphans, but it is hard to tell, because only a fraction are being counted or cared for. I have read that less than one percent of these children have the hope of being adopted.

In America, if you are a healthy infant, you will certainly be adopted. There are waiting lists of qualified folks wanting to adopt these children. This is a necessary and worthy endeavor, which has its own joys and challenges, but we are not here to speak of these children today. In America we have orphans as well. They are the 114,000 foster children who are legally freed for adoption. Their family ties have been severed , and they are wards of the state. The average child in foster care is not an infant, and there is no waiting list to adopt him. He is eight, maybe nine or ten years old, a boy, African American. He may have siblings that need to be adopted with him, or that he wishes to remain close to. He will wait, on average, four and a half years to be adopted. He has suffered trauma and loss, and his attitudes and behaviors reflect this.

You will encounter this child's face in books of child profiles, or on photolistings on the internet. He will smile out at you and grab your heart. His profile will tell you that he loves fried chicken and football. That he works hard in school, and enjoys drawing and listening to music. It will probably not even hint at the truth about this child. This child was removed from his birth family because of horrible tragedy. No suitable family member or person acquainted with this child stepped forward to take him in. He is probably living in a different home than his brothers and sisters, and is lucky to see them once every few months. While in care, he has probably moved several times, having to adjust to new caregivers, homes, and schools. It is a certainty that he has experienced more trauma and abuse since he entered the system. Now he is being marketed to waiting adoptive families.

Russell D. Moore says: "As much as we might not want to admit it, many of us don’t think much about orphans because, frankly, we’re scared of them. Orphans are unpredictable. Often we don’t know where they’ve come from, what kind of genetic maladies and urges lie dormant somewhere in those genes. Moreover, in virtually every situation of fatherlessness, there is some kind of tragedy: a divorce, a suicide, a rape, a drug overdose, a disease, a drought, a civil war, and on and on. We’d rather not think about such things, and we’re afraid often of what kind of lasting mark they leave on their victims."

Many of us don't think much about orphans. Even when people do think about orphans, they often think wrongly about them. People want heart warming stories about families being formed, but adoption of orphans is also about heart wrenching stories of families being torn apart. We want to celebrate adoption because it is a win/win situation. Children without families are being given homes and families. But adoption of orphans is also about tremendous loss. The children already know this, but if the adoptive families don't know it, they'll be finding out soon.

When children are very young, even before they are born, the groundwork for who they will become is being laid. Each time a child is cared for, soothed, kept safe from harm, they are being shaped. When children are cared for consistently through childhood by the same one or two people, they are being shaped. When they are held, sung to, played with, read to...their brains are being shaped. They are receiving messages that the world is a good place, that they are valued, that they are safe. Without any thought at all, trust is formed and cemented.

When children are very young, even before they are born, and their environment is chaotic and unpredictable, likewise a foundation is being laid. When children are neglected and ignored, they are being shaped. When they are surrounded by violence and anger, they are being shaped. When they have changing caregivers, and cannot attach to any one person, their brains are being shaped. They are receiving messages that the world is a scary place, that they are unimportant, and that they must keep themselves safe at any cost.

Children, even children of trauma, are smart and adaptive. Over time, most children will develop a highly effective set of coping skills to help them navigate and survive foster care, orphanages, tent cities, the streets. It is not enough to want to help. You cannot transplant this child into your loving home, give them a cute bedroom and a closet full of toys and clothes, and tell them they are safe and loved. There are dozens of ways different children react, but almost certainly it will not be with gratitude, and reciprocal love and mutual respect.

You might find it surprising to know that no matter how awful a place this child might come from, they will miss it. They will miss their absent parents, and past caregivers. It does not matter if they can remember them. It does not matter if they were ignored by them. It does not matter if they were abused by them. They may be angry at you for taking them away from that place and those people, even if it happened long before they met you.

You might find it surprising to know that this child will be afraid of you. In the beginning you won't know, because you won't know what afraid looks like in your child. But later, much later, you will look at photos of the early days, and you'll see it. The photos will be of celebration, and you will realize your child was afraid.

The fact is, many things will surprise you, even if you read lots of books, and take classes, and pick the brains of every adoptive parent you know. Knowing what may happen, knowing what will happen, is not the same as having it happen to you and your family. Planning out how you think you will react and feel, is not the same as living through it. You may be ashamed to discover you are not half the person you thought you were. You may be shocked to discover how much you need to change to make this new relationship work.

Orphans are hurting people. The world is full of hurting people, and being an instrument of healing is something we should pray to be. When we pray, we should know how much it may cost us. My dear friend, and fellow adoptive parent, Christine Moers writes "I ask you to converse with God and determine if you are ready right now to parent one of these children. If not, what will it take for you to get to that point? How does God need to work you over?" If you feel God pulling you toward older child adoption, I would say, why not let Him start working you over right now?

Not everyone is called to adoption. Many will sincerely think it through, and come to the conclusion that God has not equipped their family to adopt. But you can support families who do choose this path. Above all else, adoptive families need to be upheld in your prayers. From the moment a family begins to fill out the paperwork, adoption is a stressful, costly, invasive process. If you have ever welcomed a child through birth, think of a long hard pregnancy with no due date in sight. Pray these children home, as there are endless obstacles and setbacks along the way.

Rejoice with adoptive families as they prepare to welcome children into their homes. Observe the same rituals that you would observe if a family was expecting a child by birth. Parties and showers are wonderful ways to celebrate, and help families provide for the needs of their new child or children. Let the family take the lead about how this is best done. Children from institutional care need simple, small lives when they arrive in a family. This may mean that showering the family with lots of material goods is not actually a good thing. Combining monetary gifts to buy one or two larger items, or to purchase a gift card for future use, may be a better plan. It is hard for families to know in advance, all that their child may need in the early months at home. Do not give in to the temptation to wait until the child is home to have a party, so that they can be included in the festivities. This celebration is for the waiting family, and will likely be difficult for a newly placed child to process. Likewise, do not create public welcome ceremonies for older adopted children. This puts already stressed children on the spot. Instead, wait for quiet, appropriate times to say, "Hello. I'm glad you're here."

When the children finally do come home, allow families to take a period of time away. I realize that people are naturally curious and excited to meet the new child, but adoptive families need weeks, even months of quiet family time to allow their new family to begin to bond and adjust. Families may come into church late, and leave during the last hymn, because they realize this is all their child can handle for a time. Realize that much like the parents cooped up at home with a newborn, this family misses their church family. They are isolated, and often exhausted. They need for you to keep up contact. Call on the telephone, send emails and cards. Set up a rotation of meals, and have them delivered by someone who won't be tempted to stay and visit. Ask if the family would appreciate a visit after the children are in bed asleep, or offer to come stay with sleeping children so Dad and Mom can slip out for a late night cup of coffee.

It is natural that this feels strange. So often, when a young couple is expecting a child, our reaction is to say, "Oh, I just can't wait to get my hands on that baby." All the focus is on the beautiful new baby. With older child adoption, it is easy to see the beautiful baby, and the first reaction is to want to shower the child with affection and attention. The child may seem chatty and affectionate...may even run to you and hug you, or climb into your lap. This is an unhealthy behavior of an unattached child. Children learn quickly that the cutest, most charming child, often gets the lion's share of everything. If you do not have an intimate relationship with the child, it is best to gently redirect them back to the parents. Always direct them back to their parents.

These are just a few suggestions of simple things that can be done before and shortly after a child arrives. Truly, books could be written on the subject. But if I would leave you with any enduring message today, it would be this. Adoptive families of older, traumatized children are not like the other families in your parish, and these families are committing to a lifetime of being very, very different. It would be easy to understand this in terms of troubled children struggling to integrate into families, of weary adoptive parents dealing with years of rejection and difficult behaviors... and at times it can look exactly like this. But that would be unfair, and would not properly honor our children.

Every day we ask our children to move mountains to achieve healing. Our mental hospitals and prisons are filled with adults whose histories mirror that of our children, and yet we demand that they rise up out of their apathy, overcome their fear, and let go of their very justifiable anger. We ask them to make themselves vulnerable, when they have been hurt so many times before. We ask them to trust, when they have been let down time and again. It boggles the mind, to consider what we are asking of them, and in the light of this our sacrifices and struggles must also be very great. This is why God must work us over to prepare us. You must be willing to ask yourself, What am I unwilling to give? and know that it will be required of you.

Many of you may say today, "I didn't know this, then. Now it is too late. Your family is moving beyond this stage of need, and I didn't know then how to help." Don't worry. In this room, I am confident that there are other families, who God has already begun to work over. In time, they will adopt orphans, and we will all have the privilege of supporting them in their ministry. Even a few of us, who move well beyond the years of child bearing age, may realize that God calls us to be adoptive parents to young orphans nearing adulthood. Children aging out of foster care at 17 and 18 years of age, are still placing themselves on photolistings, hoping against hope that they will find a family for life. How cold is the world for an 18 year old, with no one to advise them, no home to return to for holidays, no grandparent to hold their babies? This is the sad reality for 30 thousand young people who will age out of the foster care system this year in this country.

We can only speak for our own family, but I believe in this Godly community, that it must be so, that good Christian men and women will rise to the occasion. That being said, let us be the first to announce the adoption of the next member of our family. Her name is "S" (for bloggy purposes), and she will be five years old this month. Right now she is in a wonderful medical foster home, and we have been caught in a waiting pattern for several months. The wheels of the adoption bureaucracy move very slowly. We ask that you please pray our new family member home. Pray that the appropriate approvals and paperwork come through. Pray that the money comes through. Pray that her health remains stable, and that we are able to line up excellent health care in advance of her arrival. Pray for our family, as we prepare to take on this new challenge. And pray that this is only the first such announcement in our parish.

A Thought

"The demand to know where we are going is one which no Christian has a right to make. In a very real sense we do not know where we are going, but we are trying to meet day by day the plain requirements of God's will."

~Bishop Newbigin 1909-1998

Nasty Houses and Unbroken Colts

This has been an interesting Palm Sunday weekend. It has been busy in the extreme, and it has felt as though every moment has been planned out and scripted. I am ready for the weekend to be over, so I can slow down and breathe. Still, it has been a good weekend in many ways. First, much work was accomplished. Second, I got to go out for breakfast with hubby, which is always cheap fun. Third, we got to go to church for the first time in quite awhile, and finally, our friends came over to eat and play with us this afternoon and evening. So over all it was just too much fun.

The interesting part is how totally unrelated events seem to mesh, as you sit in church, and let the service wash over you. Yes, that's how I felt today. I was tired, and unaccustomed to being there. I had to go to the bathroom when we arrived, so I was the last person in the family to slip into the pew. I was sitting next to Hippie Boy, who happens to be fairly low maintenance. I knew I ought to insert myself into the midst, but it just felt so good to stay on the end, by myself, where no one was breathing my air. So I did, and nothing horrible happened. In fact, as I said, the service just washed over me in the most comforting way. I don't think I listened to more than a quarter of it. Small bits would fall on my ear, and I would begin to consider them. Time would pass, and I would find that I had missed a good deal as I let my thoughts meander. But still it seems I caught more than I could process in a week.

The text was appropriately about the triumphal entry. They read the words about the donkey and her colt, and as always, I thought about the strangeness of this text. Since I was a child, I have always thought it odd, that Jesus instructed his disciples to go and fetch these animals, with only the explanation, "The Master has need of them." I always pictured myself as the guy who owned them, wondering who was taking off with my livestock. It seems presumptuous. I know God owns the cattle on a thousand hills and all, but I would find it very challenging to let go of my animals with an explanation like that. And I always run through this mentally, every time I read or hear this passage. It's just this thing I can't let go of.

But today I got to thinking about that phrase, "The Master has need of them." How many times does the Master have need of something, and He prompts me to go and get it, but I feel so presumptuous...like my explanation is just too weak. So I don't go and fetch it with authority. Instead, I hang back, all insecure, and convince myself I am being ridiculous. I convince myself that God has no need of that thing. I convince myself the thing itself is ridiculous, which is interesting in light of part of the sermon today. One small part anyhow, which is how I took it in today. The speaker was explaining in a scholarly sense, that the donkey was a lowly animal which might carry a lowly person, and an untried colt would be apt to not only make you look lowly, but also possibly foolish.

So maybe that is the crux of the problem. Maybe I am just afraid of looking lowly or foolish. God does seem so prone to asking me to do things that seem to make no earthly sense, and sending me in with what sound, to me, like weak explanations. And I just cringe with all manner of discomfort, because I suspect I know exactly how this will go. I will go looking for the thing tentatively, and when I find it I will offer up my explanation apologetically. Then I will go my way, lugging my awkward burden through crowded streets, while folks look on and scorn me for my foolishness. Things never go easily. I stumble and struggle, and sweat and puff. Smart, well groomed, rested people stare, and wonder why I do not put down my cumbersome load. And all the way I avert my eyes, and wish my burden away, because I am not so sure why the Master has need of this load, or why he would send someone so unsuited as me to fetch it for Him. If the way is long enough, I would generally even get angry and begin to resent my load, or worse, the Master Himself.

Knowing this about myself, I am surprised to still hear the echoes of, "The Master has need..." in my ears. I am so very bad at this fetching business. So what, you may ask, does the Master have need of? I can't say for sure, but I think it's a huge, filthy, run down, former drug house. I couldn't say I know beyond a doubt, but it has all the earmarks of one of these fetching missions. Absolutely nothing about it makes sense, and it will doubtless leave us sweating and puffing. Surely it will leave many well groomed and well rested, wise folk scratching their heads in puzzlement. I guess we will set out, and see if the donkey and her colt are where He says they will be, and if our explanation for making off with them is accepted.

Lazy Sunday

This morning was one of those Sunday mornings when I felt as though I had been dragged through a knot hole on the way to church. But never mind. The family looked respectable, the service was lovely (confirmations), and I discovered I was in good company. Apparently even the Bishop's wife has been known to exclaim that she didn't even know why she went to church. This following the attempt to try and get herself and her children there, while hubby had gone on ahead. So I guess it has always been thus, when families prepare to head out to church.

Hippie Boy was ill this morning, and opted to stay home and sleep. He never does, so I didn't argue with him. I was feeling under the weather and came home to collapse into my own bed for the afternoon. I have no idea what my family did for the better part of four hours. When I awoke, Hippie Boy informed me that he felt much better, and not to worry, he had "watched church on TV at 11". He also let me know he had learned how he could become "totally ripped in just 90 days". I'm not sure what impacted him most...the service or the infomercial.

Harmless Fun

We are in the camp kitchen as I type. I know this because the keyboard is crusted in grease and has food particles between the keys. Such are the joys of having your "office" in the corner of a busy commercial kitchen! Hubby is teaching the girls a valuable skill...how to entertain yourself with a latex glove. Currently everyone is running about with their glove on their hand, inflated with air and pinched off at the wrist. They are all loudly telling stories of smacking their hands with hammers and having said hands "puff up". Oh, now the story has changed to wasp stings. I can't wait until he shows then how to put the thing on your head like a rooster comb (blown up of course)...that'll do wonders on their hair.

I have to admit that life at camp can be amazing at times. Last week was a rough week. I was grumpy (translate to unbearable) and hardly wanted to come to meals and be forced to make nice-nice with anyone who happened to plunk their plate down across from me. Plus the group was challenging as well. I won't say that it isn't a joy to serve, but some folk really tend to bring the joy out more than others. This week we have an amazing group in, with quite a few familiar faces since they've been with us before. They are mostly immigrant Khmer people, who have such incredible suffering in their heritage, yet they are so kind, friendly, and full of joy. Their speaker is a Jamaican man, and he and his wife and son have made friends with our family quickly. He pointed out to us the amazing position that we are in here at camp. How we get to meet, and see in action the variety in Christ's church. And it's true. As we serve, and talk with, and even worship together, we realize that we have far more in common than we ever imagined. Frequently the groups range not only in style of worship or denomination, but also in skin color, culture, and even language. I remember attending a Ukrainian service, all in Russian, and having a teen boy feverishly translating for us and explaining the humor of the skits. I can't remember anything of the service, but only his fervor to share it with us.

So in the midst of all my grumpiness, I am grateful for new friends, who point out the beauty around me. Beauty that I sometimes cease to see, as the landscape becomes so very familiar. And I am thankful for small pleasures...like latex gloves. Otherwise known as cheap toys.

A Tale of Two Churches

There once was a little white Baptist church, set on a plot of farmland that the pastor liked to call "sacred acre". It was a small congregation, firmly mired in the year 1950, dearly loved by their elderly pastor. One Sunday in June, they observed the relatively obscure church holiday "Children's Sunday". The Pastor sprinkled short object lessons with scripture, prayers from select members of the congregation, and performances by youngsters in the church. The theme was children, growing up in Godly homes, growing to be the future of the church. For each object lesson he called children from the pews up to the platform to "help" him with the lesson. For the most part this consisted of holding an item, and answering leading questions.

In the very last pew of the little church, sat a multicolored family, filling the row tightly. Four of the children were newly adopted daughters, who had never had much of a childhood, never known a Godly home, and had never yet pondered their role in any church. The pastor rushed to the rear during the greeting time, to shake hands all around, and in passing asked if he could call on some of the children during the lesson. The father of the children smiled broadly and said, "Absolutely not!" His voice was cheery but firm. The pastor looked momentarily taken aback, but then chuckled and said, "Well, I'm glad I asked!"

Later the lesson went like this. The pastor called some children forward and handed them different sorts of sea shells. He asked them to identify them by kind. Then he asked the children what the shells were created for, and finally they arrived at the idea that they were specially created as homes...just as our heavenly Father has specially created homes for the children in the church. And why are they shaped this way, and hard on the outside? Because they keep the creature inside safe...just as our parents keep us safe in our homes. The lesson clicked in the minds of the parents in the last row. Of course the pastor had wanted one or two of their children on the platform. They would be "feel-good" poster children for how God had delivered these little ones out of chaos and danger, and into the bosom of a Godly and loving home.

And maybe it was the truth. But there is another truth as well. One or two of those children would have stood uncomfortably at the pastor's side, and pasted on fake smiles. Through those fake smiles they would have tried to give the answer that was expected. If the questioning had become personal, they would have buried their shame and discomfort, and forced out cheery agreeable answers. Then they would have gone to their safe Christian home and self destructed for a day or three. At the conclusion of the segment, the pastor drew attention to the family in the last row, praising the parents for the selfless thing they were doing, "inviting these four girls into their home, and giving them a family." He asked the father to offer a prayer thanking God for the homes that He provides for His children. The mother of the family was amazed at how gracious and sincere his prayer was, as she felt like she might have choked on the attempt.

There once was another church, also small, and much loved by the pastor. In this church the multicolored family, sitting in a crowded pew did not feel strange. No one ever drew attention to the "different-ness" of their family. No one tried to paste a halo over their picture in the church directory. In this church, they were just another family. This was not to say that folks were unaware of the differences, or their struggles. But instead of remarking on it, they prayed about it. They asked their questions in private, or sent notes by mail. The pastor sent around a CD with information about the struggles of families adopting older children, so that a person might educate themselves a bit, and offer genuine help and encouragement. It was like cold water in the desert.

A Beautiful Day for a Baptism

Four sisters and one brother, baptized today, and welcomed into the family of God.

Food for Thought

What does it mean when someone shows up at your door, weighted down with grocery bags and a casserole? In my past experience I would guess I had just had a baby. Back then we were plugged in to a great church, with lots of friends and family close by. As exhausting as those times were, it was great to have "meals". I learned a lot about loving people when I was on the receiving end of the meals ministry. The meals people brought spoke volumes on caring and kindness. Not just a casserole or pot of soup, these were full course masterpieces. Breads hot from the oven, salad, dessert! Sometimes there was a package of paper goods to save on dishes, or a sweet card, or a small treat for the children. After being on the receiving end a few times, my joy at being on the giving end increased dramatically. Suddenly the extra job in the day, that I really didn't have time for, was transformed into a labor of love...no matter if you knew the needy party or not.

Today was a blast from the past, when our new Pastor and his wife showed up for a quick visit. Although this is probably their busiest day of the week, and they have six children of their own, they made time to drive way out here into the sticks to bring us communion, and a lasagna dinner. Actually, we suspect, THEIR lasagna dinner. And not just the most fantastic, mouthwatering lasagna, but bread, and salad, and doughnuts! Tons of big fat greasy doughnuts! The whole time I was overstuffing myself on this unexpected bounty, I felt loved and cared for. How can food do that? How do we tie ourselves with cords of love to another, by serving them food? It's a mystery of spiritual proportions. Well, maybe it isn't the Trinity, but it is pretty amazing.

Going to Church

I really miss going to church. I know that part of the sacrifice involved with being part of this ministry means not being able to attend church much of the time. It also means not being able to be plugged in at church ever. I think it must be like being a jungle missionary. It's not like they can jump in a canoe and head out to the local worship services. They aren't necessarily surrounded by a community of mature believers who can help them "charge their batteries." But it's hard. You don't realize how much of a sacrifice it is until you're into it for awhile. It takes its toll on the children.

Next week the retreat season is concluded, and I startled the children with the announcement that next week, going to church will recommence. Next comes the painful decision of where to go to church. For a couple of years now, we've been attending a charming little congregation of kind folk. But our new adopted daughters are not part of that in the least. They came as the winter retreat season began, and have only been out to Christmas services. The rest of the time it has been Bible study at camp, family worship, and morning or evening prayer. So now we have to decide how to take them to a church where most of what is preached and practiced is incongruent with who we are and how we practice our faith. But it's never easy to break ties and make changes. The easy route would be to continue as we have been going for these couple of years... letting church be an unimportant part of our lives. It's startling to realize that this is indeed true. And it is even truer for our children, because we long for worship, and community, and accountability. They don't even know how to miss it.