...wrong every time, Palm Sunday edition

Christ’s is no earthly kingdom; it comes from heaven above.

His rule secures our freedom, and justice, truth, and love.

Hope, peace, and joy our treasure, God’s love above all measure,

Hosanna to the Lord, for He fulfills God’s word!

--Mikael Franzen, trans. Philip M. Young

What do you mean?

--Justin Bieber

Not that kind of kingdom. Not that kind of king.

Those who followed Jesus when he walked the paths and skirted the shores of the Holy Land so long ago got it wrong. They looked for power (as they understood power), might (mainly military and political), the overturning of Roman rule and the restoration of the rightful place of the people of God (top of the heap). It was the lore on their lips, the dream in their hearts, the birthright they claimed. Now was the time, and Jesus was their man/king/savior.

We still get it wrong today. Every time we long for power more than compassion. Every time we ransom the welfare of ‘the least of these’ for another rung on society’s ladder. Every time we trade the deep divine undercurrent of joy for the cheap fleeting thrill of victory. Every time we look to Jesus as a vendor to supply us our momentary desires rather than the Vine to connect us to the source that is truly Life.

Because Christ’s is not that kind of kingdom. And Jesus is not that kind of king. 

Don’t look for that, here.

...prayer, with skin on

Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?

Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?

Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?

Will you let Me answer prayer in you and you in Me?

--John L. Bell and Graham A Maule, 1987

What would be the impact on a life of ‘leaving self behind’? What transformations could happen from walking away from the mirror, and looking out the window, then walking out the door? How might old patterns be broken and rebuilt through new pathways of truly selfless service?

In this hymn full of questions, challenges arise. Two of the most challenging questions are set loose in this verse. Is the way we care for people affected by the demeanor of the needy? Can we care for both those to whom we are naturally drawn, and to those who may annoy, anger, or repulse us--showing the generous love of a God who loves us fully at our most unloveable? This question has me returning to take a look in that mirror I was talking about earlier.

Likewise, how prepared are we to be outcast for how fully, and how freely, we love? I have been challenged to see how very many times in the gospels that Jesus faced resistance and anger--not for restricting his circle of love, care, and acceptance; but for the times he drew his circle outlandishly wide. Are we ready to love so deep and wide that our lives send people (even people that look like ‘our people’) running for cover…and throwing stones?

And what if all of this turned out to be what prayer looks like, with skin on?

...love pitches a tent

Love divine, all loves excelling, joy of heaven to earth come down,

Fix in us Thy humble dwelling: all Thy faithful mercies crown.

Jesus, Thou art all compassion, pure, unbounded love Thou art;

Visit us with Thy salvation; enter every trembling heart.

---Charles Wesley, 1747

You a camper? I am…was…have been…wouldn’t mind being again. I grew up camping with my folks and brother, both in tents and in a way-cool pop-top VW van camper that seemed in my teen years to have all the comforts of, well, almost-home. For those of you familiar with the groovy contraptions, my sleep spot was the hammock hung over the front seats (because I sleep curled up anyway---perfect). Tim slept in the pop top. We have slept in that van in every sort of weather (including a surprise tropical storm), and even in someone’s front yard outside Baton Rouge by mistake (another story for another day)! Our longest trip was a 5 week jaunt out west, as far as Glacier National Park and back, most of the trip toting a genuine tumbleweed (don’t ask) that took up much of our precious free space. Dad even drove straight through the night to get us from Oklahoma to the AHS parking lot in time for Mr. Goff’s band camp to begin (‘cause didn’t nobody miss band camp).

Shortest camping trip? A bit shorter. Counting car time, it lasted 4 hours. Henry and I were the parents of a toddler, and looking forward to passing on a joy of camping adventure to Sam. The itinerary went something like this: plan, pack, check for approximately 2 days; load up the car with tons of stuff (camping, little kid, pregnant lady, etc.); drive just across the state line to FDR State Park in Pine Mtn GA; unload tons of stuff in the dark (yeah, those of you who camp, or have kids, or watch comedy movies, or read Greek tragedies---you know where this is going); set a lit kerosene lantern safely (haha) out of reach on the picnic table while assembling the 347 pieces of the new family-size tent; listen in horror as prized first-born son screams in agony after grasping the hot kerosene lantern; cuddle child, bandage hand, sing songs, hang lantern on tree, mutter under breath, try to continue with the joy of camping adventure; give the whole thing up; do everything in reverse; arrive back home---4 hours later. Even with this less-than-stellar start, we enjoyed some good times in the woods over the years following.

When I read the line in this verse of Charles Wesley's wonderful hymn---‘fix in us Thy humble dwelling’---I can’t help but think back to those years of pitching tents in the woods with little kids in tow. There was a time in our collective faith memory where pitching a tent figures pretty prominently, too. When the people of Israel wandered in the wild places, they packed the ‘tent of meeting’ with them, inviting God’s presence among them even in (or especially in) their wandering.

For us today, the cry of our hearts is that the God of Love would pitch a tent in us---among us, and within us. Imagine the ways we might experience transformation, with the tent of love fixed in our souls.

Visit us with your salvation, Divine Love. Fix your dwelling in us.

...pass-through gifts

I then shall live as one who’s learned compassion;

I’ve been so loved that I’ll risk loving too.

I know how fear builds walls instead of bridges;

I dare to see another’s point of view.

And when relationships demand commitment,

then I’ll be there to care and follow through.

---Gloria Gaither, 1981

Pat Benatar sang it, and there are times I almost believe it.

            Love is a battlefield.

There are so many ways to get burned. To get let down. To fall short. To do the hurting. To walk away. To run.

Thank God. No, really…thank God, for being our teacher in love, as in all things. Because we learn compassion from the creator of compassion. Because we pattern commitment from our model of steadfast love. Because we have watched our brother-Savior tear down the walls of fear that divide, we’ve heard stories of bridges of understanding spanning deep chasms. We have read the stories, too, of God’s love offered to an indifferent world, and of the patience and kindness offered even in the face of that indifference.

Fear whispers, “There are so many ways for love to go wrong.”

Thank God for the pass-through gifts of such compassion and understanding

...wait and work

Are you a do-er? Or a be-er? Do you make things happen, or watch to see what happens? 

Advent is pretty big on waiting. Each year, we wait anew for the story to unfold--the prophets' words, the angels' whispers, the shepherds' trusting quest, the magis' calculations and dogged pilgrimage from away, the brave mother, her faith-filled fiance, the hush of the stable. And over it all, that star, silent, beckoning. The world holds its breath, waiting on the time to be right, nearly past right, for the Baby.

And there is another Advent waiting, another yearning. Again the prophets' words, this time about the birth of a world remade, a world replete with justice, compassion, peace. A world where war and weeping, where betrayal and disregard, where enriching some by injuring others, are faint and fading memories. The world holds its breath, waiting on the time to be right, nearly past right, for the realm the Baby, grown,  promised was near at hand, within us.

But this is no idle waiting. This waiting comes with hammer and nail, with shoe leather and caring hands. Waiting for the realm of heaven to be made manifest is no 'sit back and watch' sort of waiting. It is active waiting, waiting with your work clothes on. It is catching a vision of the realm of heaven, and risking your current status, privilege, advantage to usher that realm into being. To be co-laborers with God in welcoming the household of love, enough for all the world.

This, too, is Advent. Wait, and work.

...don't look for that, here

Christ’s is no earthly kingdom; it comes from heaven above.

His rule secures our freedom, and justice, truth, and love.

Hope, peace, and joy our treasure, God’s love above all measure,

Hosanna to the Lord, for He fulfills God’s word!

---Mikael Franzen, 1800's, tr. Philip M. Young, 2005

Not that kind of kingdom. Not that kind of king.

Those who followed Jesus when he walked the paths and skirted the shores of the Holy Land so long ago got it wrong. They looked for power (as they understood power), might (mainly military), the overturning of Roman rule and the restoration of the rightful place of the people of God (top of the heap). It was the lore on their lips, the dream in their hearts, the birthright they claimed. Now was the time, and Jesus was their man/king/savior.

We still get it wrong today. Every time we long for power more than compassion. Every time we ransom the welfare of ‘the least of these’ for another rung on the social ladder. Every time we trade the divine undercurrent of joy for cheap momentary happiness. Every time we look to Jesus as a vendor to supply us our momentary desires rather than the Vine to connect us to the life that is truly Life.

Because Christ’s is not that kind of kingdom. And Jesus is not that kind of king. 

Don’t look for that, here.

...even our scars are lovely

In heavenly love abiding, no change my heart shall fear;

and safe is such confiding, for nothing changes here:

the storm may roar about me; my heart may low be laid;

but God is all around me, and can I be dismayed?

---Anna L. Waring, 1850

In their song 'Breakeven', The Script sing, 'I'm fallin' to pieces, 'cause when a heart breaks, no it don't break even.' And if I'm honest, I could raise a glass and sing along extra loud with that chorus...how about you? Experience crushes, the storm roars, my heart is 'laid low'. And I would swear I am falling apart.

And here's the thing: it's all true. When we choose to engage this broken world in love, heart in hand, otherwise unarmed...it. will. break. us. We cannot engage brokenness, I don't think, and remain whole, unchanged. The world will break us and, even when we heal, we will bear the scars of our wounds as reminders, and the sites of the breaks will ache on days when the cold and damp push against us like a late winter storm.

But, friends, hear the good news. In our brokenness, bearing the scars of love, we grow more and more to resemble our broken Brother, Jesus, who by his own choice entered the flow of everyday brokenness, and wears the scars of engaging wounded and wounding humanity in love and tender compassion. By his great love this God walks with us on our broken way, transforming our dismay into devotion, offering us the chance to see that even our scars are lovely.

...never stop changing

In the tongues of all the peoples may the message bless and heal,

As devout and patient scholars more and more its depths reveal.

Bless, O God, to wise and simple, all the truth of ageless worth,

Till all lands receive the witness and your knowledge fills the earth.

---Ferdinand Q. Blanchard, 1953

God’s word never changes. But, by God’s grace, God’s people continually do. In the brightness of new light, we see more and more truth. In the warmth of seasons’ turnings, we fathom new depths of wisdom. In the shared scholarship of community, we open ourselves to the prismatic understanding of our brothers and sisters.

So although God’s word is a constant, our approach to the word of God must never be still. We must seek always to find more justice, more compassion, more service, more healing and blessing for our hurting world in its pages. We owe it to our world. We owe it to the Word.

Never stop changing.

...one choice, one time

When you think of me, Otherness,
call to mind your mercy,
your compassion,
timeless, ageless.
Put away from you 
the memories of 
my missed marks, 
my rebelliousness;
see me through the lens of
your changeless love,
because you are love.
---Psalm 25:6-7 (para. laca)

When we think of someone, we have a choice. We can choose to think of them in light of who they are and what they have done. Or we can choose to evaluate them in light of who we are. This choice is a fundamental, bedrock decision for us.

Choose the former, and we will be making continual decisions based on circumstances beyond our control, overwhelmed with stimuli and variables. Each person will be judged on their choices and behaviors at every given moment, at every interaction with us. Whew.

Choose the latter, and we see others through the lens of our own compassion, and treat them accordingly. Consistently, compassionately. Based not on who they are, or what kind of mess they've gotten into, but on who we are, on our own depth of compassion. One choice, one time, acted on continually.

I choose continual compassion.

Creators of Justice and Joy

For everyone born, a place at the table, for everyone born, clean water and bread,
a shelter, a space, a safe place for growing, for everyone born, a star overhead; 
and God will delight when we are creators of justice and joy, compassion and peace!
---Shirley Erena Murray

You have probably said it, prayed it, whined it even. I know I have. 'God, where is the justice? Why must we live in such an unfair world? Why can't we all just get along?' For those times that I find myself in need of a 'Why, Lord?' intervention, this hymn hits home every time. Entitled 'For Everyone Born, a Place at the Table', this modern hymn by New Zealand hymnist Shirley Erena Murray turns all my questions upside down. For in this song, God is cheering us on, as we work for justice, as we seek to make this world a fair and safe place for all. God is delighting as we use our power as children of God as a force for good in this world --- for looking after the least, the lost, the littlest in the kingdom. When we as people of faith let loose a little more compassion in the world, a little more peace, a little more 'enough' for God's global family, that star overhead shines a little more brightly, guiding the way to the place where the Baby lies.

God will delight when we create justice in this world! Imagine a world where everyone born has enough, and God rejoices over us!