mowing

So I went out and mowed my grass today for the first time this spring...or I should say I mowed my weeds.   I'm actually not sure if there was a single blade of grass in the entire yard.  Now when you have a yard full of weeds there are several strategies you might adopt to remedy the situation: you can decide just to live with them, or you can ignore them and hope they will go away, or you can mow them short and try to make it look like they aren't there, or you can try to get rid of them completely.  One of the things about weeds is, that if you decide to adopt the cutting them short strategy, you can actually make your yard look pretty good from a distance.  So much so that you really can't tell the difference between the two...I mean they're both green, right?  The problem is that weeds have a tendency to spread and, if you allow them to, they will take over your entire yard, leaving the grass no room to grow.  Therefore something needs to be done to eliminate the weeds entirely; they have to die in order to make fruitful space for the grass to live.  If you just deal with the problem on the surface, you are fighting a losing battle...they will grow right back with a vengeance.

This week I've been reading a lot about dying, and it's necessity in this mysterious journey of living life in Christ.  In fact, the subject is all over the pages of Scripture.  Whether it's unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies it remains only a single seed...but if it dies it produces many seeds or you have died and your life is now hidden with Christ in God or we died to sin, how can we live in sin any longer, all of these point to the fact that life in Christ requires something to die in order for something to be raised to new life.  In other words, in God's economy, death always precedes, and leads to, resurrection.  The point of dying then is not in the dying itself, but in the new life the dying makes room for.  The old/false self must die in order to make room for the new/true self to live.  My problem comes when I try to adopt the same strategy with the old/false self that I employ with the weeds in my yard.  If I decide to just live with it, or to ignore it, or try to cut it off at the surface, or try to make it look better, you can rest assured that the old/false self will not go away, but will grow back just the way my yard full of weeds does. The old/false self must die, I must allow God to kill it completely; to rip it up by the roots.  For only when I allow God to mercifully put this old/false self to death will there ever be any room, or hope, for the true/new self to live and to thrive within me.

a companion for the journey

This prayer has been a great companion for me during this journey through Lent, as I face the challenge within of dying (taking off, letting go, etc.) to all that is false and embracing (living into/becoming) all that is true and right and good.  Maybe you will find it to be the same...

You, O Christ, are my wealth.  All those things I thought I couldn't live without "dissolve" in a glance from you.  They are nothing when considered in the larger light of your intimate presence.  How difficult it has been to come to this moment!  The moment of letting go!  I. who have learned so well to hoard, grasp, clutch, and control!  Now I want only to be grasped by you.  All my possessions are empty when they become obstacles to my union with you.  O Glance of God, prepare my heart for the Great Surrender.  Enable me to surrender my ego self so that I may put on Christ.  Then I will begin enjoying heaven on earth.  Amen. (Abide by Macrina Wiederkehr)

lingerings

As last night has lingered on in my Spirit a little a few things have come to the surface...

-my arrogance, agenda, and insecurity often get in the way of me being able to both recognize and receive good and beautiful things from God that might come in a little different form than I am used to.

-In the life I was leading this time last year, I wouldn't have been able to be both places.  Life would have kept me spinning in my own little world, consumed, and unaware that there are equally beautiful worlds out there, where equally beautiful things are going on.  I am grateful for this space and this time...it expands my seeing.

-I am unnecessary...Young Life (just like the rest of the world) is getting along just fine without me...and that's a thing of beauty as well.

a thing of beauty

Ok, so I had a night tonight that I cannot not write about.  But I have to warn you that I am not at all sure what to think—much less say—about it yet…other than the fact that it was absolutely beautiful. 

I have a friend named Tony that is a youth director at a very large Independent Baptist church in my community.  Tony and I have known each other for about a year and during that time I have really grown to love and respect him.  I have also become incredibly grateful for who he is and what he does.  As a part of his job at the church he runs something called Teens for Christ bible clubs in each of the high schools and middle schools in the entire county!  A monumental task!  But one he does with such great energy and care; as well as an incredibly positive and passionate spirit.  Well tonight Tony and his church had a Teens for Christ Crusade in the auditorium at our high school and Tony asked me to come.  As I said, I really love and admire Tony and wanted to go and support my friend…and I am so glad I did.

I have another friend named Justin, who is one of my dearest friends in the world.  Justin and I have known each other for about 10 years and walked a lot of life, and faith, and ministry together.  Justin is a brother, an intimate friend, a partner, and so much more.  As a matter of fact I’m not sure I have enough words to tell you about our relationship…suffice it to say he is a true gift to me!  Well Justin was speaking at a Young Life club for 4-5 high schools in our part of town tonight as well.  It was the kick off for the camp sign-ups for these five schools and the hope was that it would provide some life and momentum to the ministry in each of these schools as they try to get kids signed up for summer camp—which it certainly did!!!  It was an absolutely wonderful YL club, and an absolutely wonderful message as well.

Luckily for me, Tony’s crusade started at 6:30 and was over by 8:10 and the YL club Justin was speaking at was about ¼ of a mile away from the high school and started at 8:00…which was perfect, I could make it to both.  I had braced myself for the differences in the two…and they were indeed different in significant ways.  As a matter of fact, on the surface, they were worlds different.  But what I wasn’t particularly prepared for was how similar they were. 

As I parked my car and walked to the Teens for Christ Crusade I was met in the parking lot by incredibly kind people that were genuinely glad that I was there.  And as I approached the school to enter the auditorium I met wave after wave of more incredibly kind and genuinely glad people that made it obvious to me that this event was being put together by an entire community— a purposeful and passionate community.  Everything was thought through and set up with vision, purpose, and intention.  Once inside the meeting, the thing that captured me most was not the difference in style or flavor compared to what I was used to, but the passion.  The people, both on the stage and on the floor (with the kids) were passionate about these kids hearing the incredible news of God’s great love for them in Christ.  And as I sat in my seat and watched it all unfold; as I heard the message, and saw kids giving their hearts to Jesus, tears streamed down my cheeks.  It was so beautiful…so very different than what I was used to…and so beautiful.  I went up afterward and told my friend Tony how proud I was of him and how grateful I was for who he was and how he is giving his life away.  And as I went to my car the gratitude continued to overflow…so grateful that I had gotten to share a wonderful night with a wonderful friend.

So I got in my car, and I drove less than 2 minutes down the road to the Barn, where, by now, the YL club was in full swing.  I got there at about 8:15 and saw that all of the kids were already inside—as I thought they would be—and in the middle of club.  As I walked to the door I was captured by what I saw outside, and had to stop to drink it all in.  Just outside the Barn doors, on the tennis court and the grassy lawn, was an intricate set-up of wonderful activities that had obviously just been abandoned as everyone rushed in to begin club.  There were cornhole boards, games, balls, Frisbees, refreshments, sign-up tables…things that just moments before had been in full use by various groups of kids and leaders.  It was everything you needed, or could imagine necessary, for the perfect atmosphere; wonderfully and intentionally set up to provide just the right space for kids to feel safe, cared for, and at home.  And as I looked in the doors of club I saw a very different looking room, in some ways, from the one I had seen just moments earlier, but with some striking similarities.  It was a room full of kids dressed a little differently than the ones before and engaged in activities that were a little different than the ones before, but I couldn’t get past what was the same.  Sitting beside these kids were their YL leaders—and entire community of them—all of whom were intentionally passionate about their high school friends hearing the incredible news of God’s great love for them in Christ.  I pulled up a rocking chair just outside the open back door and took it all in….and it was simply beautiful.  And as Justin spoke to them about the amazing love of Jesus, once again tears began to stream down my cheeks…and once again I began to overflow with gratitude, that in one night I had the privilege of seeing two different mission communities, led by two different wonderful friends, loving Jesus and loving high school kids in two very different, but beautifully similar ways.  Thanks be to God!

pilgrimage

Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.
As they pass through the Valley of Weeping,
they make it a place of springs;
the autumn rains also cover it with pools.
They go from strength to strength,
till each appears before God in Zion.

(Psalm 84:5-7)

This Lenten journey is very much a pilgrimage.  It is the time where we, like Jesus, set our face to go to Jerusalem (Luke 9:51 ESV).  It is a journey to the cross; a journey that passes through the Valley of Weeping, but ultimately ends up at a place of springs—of new life, of resurrection.  So what does it look like to set my heart on this pilgrimage?  Does it mean to follow wherever the hard and lonely path may lead, trusting that Jesus knows the way to life?  Does it mean to embrace, rather than avoid or deny, the struggle and pain and brokenness of the season—and my own heart—knowing that this is the soil in which new life is born?  Does it mean simply putting one foot in front of the other as we willingly follow our Savior into a scary and vulnerable land—the land of denying ourselves, taking up our cross, and following him?  Does it mean being stripped down to the core of who we really are, and who He really is, in order that we may really become all that He desires us to be?  Does it mean a putting off of all that is false within us, in order to put on all that is genuinely true?  Does it mean the putting to death of the false self, that we may live and be the true self we were intended/created/dreamt to be?  If that is indeed what it means, then by all means, O Lord, set my heart of pilgrimage—as you set your face to go to Jerusalem—that I may really know, and really love, you and you alone.

lent

Lent begins tomorrow.  It is that hard, but incredibly good season that begins the most sacred part of the Christian year.  It is the time where we journey with Christ to the cross.  It is the time where we see both the enormous cost of our sin, and the enormous love of our Savior.  It is the season where we celebrate the incredible mystery that life always follows death; resurrection always comes after crucifixion.  It is a time where we celebrate the truth that, for God’s people, suffering and sadness and pain and brokenness—and death—do not have the final word, but life (God) does.  Thus, it is a season where we are invited by God to “come and die, that we may live."

Lent is a forty-day period (not including Sundays) that is meant to echo the forty days Jesus spent in the desert; as well as the forty days Moses spent on the mountain (with God).  It begins on Ash Wednesday and concludes on Easter Sunday. Sundays are not included in the forty-day count because every Sunday is a joyful celebration of our Lord's resurrection—a Little Easter.  The word Lent is derived from the Old English lencten, which means “spring”; that transitional time between late winter and early summer in which our world begins to wake up from its slumber and come to life once again. 

Ash Wednesday (from the Latin Dies Cinerum, meaning "Day of Ashes") is the first day of Lent. On this day, we focus intensely on our utter and complete sinfulness and the necessity of Christ's suffering and death to purchase our salvation.  Ashes are referred to often in the Old Testament as a sign of sorrow, mourning, repentance, and mortality (2 Samuel 13:19; Esther 4:1-3; Job 42:6; and Jeremiah 6:26). Many churches use ashes during Ash Wednesday services as part of a rite called the Imposition of Ashes. According to this custom, ashes (traditionally made by burning palm fronds used on Palm Sunday of the previous year) are mixed with a small amount of olive oil and applied to the forehead of each worshipper. The smudge mark made by the dirty ashes is a powerful reminder that we are all going to die; because death is the high cost of our sin. The fact that the ashes are placed on our foreheads in the sign of the cross focuses our hearts on Jesus, the only way to forgiveness, salvation, and life eternal. 

So as we begin this holy journey to the cross, here's hoping that your Lenten season is rich and meaningful.

a new normal

you let men ride over our heads;
we went through fire and through water;
yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance.

(Psalm 66:12)

You let it happen—this riding over our heads—whoever or whatever it may have been.  You didn’t cause it…but you could have stopped it.  I mean, I know it doesn’t happen every day, but I have seen you spring into action and miraculously come to someone’s aid or defense; come to protect or deliver.  And yet, for some reason, in this case you didn’t.  You allowed it.  Does that mean you sat idly by and watched?  Or does it mean that—although the brokenness of this world is its cause—that you are big enough to bring beauty out of the tragedy?  You saw it coming, and let it stand, because of what you knew it would do within us.  You knew that the groaning it would produce would have an effect on us like nothing else could or would.  So where exactly were you when we were going through the fire; being consumed by the agonizing flames of grief or sadness or mourning or pain?  What were you doing while the mighty waters rushed over us and swept us away; as we struggled and fought to survive—to keep our heads above water?  Were you with us in some mysteriously hidden way that we were not able to completely comprehend at the time?  Were you in the midst of the fire with us; shielding us from the fury of the flames?  Were you in the middle of the raging currents beside us; holding and sustaining us—keeping us afloat?  After all, you know what the groaning is like; in fact, you know it like no other.  Did it break your heart to have to watch the riding over us unfold; to know the depths of the pain we were going through, and not intervene?  How hard that must have been for you.

When we are in the midst of the groan it is hellish.  It is hard to believe, or even consent to the fact that something good might possibly result from the chaos and brokenness.  Much less to think that it could be some strange path to a place called abundance—that is almost unimaginable.  Yet all of us, on the backside of the riding over, usually have to admit that something took place within us—or among us—that could have happened no other way.  We would never have chosen the path in a million years—not then, and most likely not again—but we can’t deny the beauty of the new place at which we eventually arrived.  How in the world did we get here?  Who would’ve imagined that the groans and cries and tears and struggle would have brought us to this place; this place where our hearts have been both broken and expanded, where our souls have been both crushed and deepened beyond measure.  Who could’ve dreamt that the effect of the fire and of the water would have been to make us more like Jesus—he who suffers with and delivers; he who weeps over and heals?

There has been a lot of groaning going around lately.  It seems to be coming from every direction.  I guess it is true that “each one of us sits beside a pool of tears.” And it is so hard to watch the groaners groan and the mourners mourn and the strugglers struggle and not be able to do anything to help.  It is so tempting to try to come to the rescue, but rescue is not really possible, or even preferable…because something much deeper is going on.  In the words of Gerald May, “There is no way out, only through.”  Something deep and wonderful happens in the going through.  So we must resist the urge to provide an escape—if that were even possible—because the struggle, or the groaning, or the grief, or the pain is the very thing that is able to do a beautiful work within.  All there is for us to do is trust.  Trust that God really is in control.  Trust that God really is up to something, in spite of all appearances.  Trust that God really is big enough to sustain, to comfort, to deliver, to heal…and ultimately to transform.  Trust that through the fire and through the water lies a place of abundance.