...gathering beside the flood

So now let peace and justice be never far apart,

but flowing like a river for every thirsty heart.

These two shall be united, a mighty flowing stream,

upon whose banks we gather to work and pray and dream.

---Ken Medema, 2003

One thing I’ve noticed lately…peace does not have a very powerful reputation. In an age where even our words are weaponized, the idea that peace could be strong, or courageous, salvific in a world of self-made chaos—such an idea is foreign, unsettling, maybe even a little bit radical.

Now it’s true, that there can be an uneasy peace-and-quiet sort of peace overlaid like a coverlet on a reality of fear and hatred and warring. That creepy sort of quiet from suspense movies, right before the villain bounds out from his hiding place to hatch his dastardly plan on his poor, doomed, should-have-known-better victim.

But there is a powerful peace, and it is real. This peace is rooted in justice—justice that seeks the good of the village, and the equitable treatment of neighbor. When this steady, seeking justice and this powerful, persistent peace join streams, their rolling becomes a massive force that is transformative and healing. Beside that flood we can gather, and dream a new way to live together.

Because empowered peace can change the world.

...out of our huts

Strengthened by this glimpse of glory, fearful lest our faith decline,

We, like Peter, find it tempting to remain and build a shrine.

But true worship gives us courage to proclaim what we profess,

That our daily lives may prove us people of the God we bless.

---Carl P. Daw, 1988

We look, in these days, for worship that ‘wows’ us, worship that impresses, that astounds. We want to be fed, enraptured, thunderstruck. We want to wish to stay forever, to keep coming back for more, to never ‘let this feeling end’. We want ‘this’, always.

We want, in some strange way, to build a hut, to pull God in through the doorway, to hide away this glittering holiness, this shimmering lightness, all for us, for all time.

But see here. Worship is no glittering destination, no rapturous ‘fix’ for the faithful. Worship, rather, is challenging, inspiring, transformative. And, once transformed, a worshiping people are a working people, compelled by our transformation to lift up what is fallen, to bind up what is broken, to lighten what is burdensome, to reconcile what is torn. 

Out of the huts with us. It is time to let transformation do its work. To live as people of God.

...stretched, and squeezed

I don't know if it is the time of life in which I find myself, or the vocation into which I seem to have fallen, or maybe it is just me. But whether as an adult with experience, a parent of young adult children, or a case manager facilitating teens with troubled histories, I seem to spend a lot of time thinking about, and listening for, and offering thoughts on love.

What does love do in a life? Can we pick it up and lay it down, like a tool or an activity? Does it light up our lives, always? Is it sweet? Does love always look the same in every circumstance? What does love ask, demand, require of us? What are we allowed to ask of love? 

I have found that from time to time love squeezes. Sometimes this feels reassuringly close, sometimes uncomfortably constricting. Is it while I am growing into love? Is it support until I am confident enough to live full in love? I have been wrapped snug in love, and I've been bruised by it.

For me, the knowledge that has become bedrock truth to me over years is that love stretches. It abides in a heart that contains it; but through the very exercise of it, love expands. And the heart stretches. And that enlarged space contains more and more compassion, and more and more passion for goodness in the lives of others. And I know this to be a wholly good transformation of the heart. But there are times that the stretching will ache, too.

The Advent heart, home to Love, continually shaped by love. Stretched, and squeezed.

...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.

...to not need you

Sister, let me be your servant, let me be as Christ to you;

pray that I may have the grace to let you be my servant, too.

Brother, let me be your servant, let me be as Christ to you;

pray that I may have the grace to let you be my servant, too.

---Richard Gillard, 1974

Lord, make me useful. How can I help? What can I do for you?

How quick we are as a people to offer, and (generally) follow through with, help, assistance, and support to those around us in need. And that is awesome. And while we may argue with Joey Tribbiani of Friends fame over whether there is any truly selfless good deed (“Look, there’s no unselfish good deeds, sorry.”), most of us would agree that serving others makes the world a kinder, gentler place. We are quick to offer to friends, family, and even strangers the hand of help, as Charlie Puth sings in his well-known song:

            I’m only one call away, I’ll be there to save the day,

            Superman got nothing on me, I’m only one call away.

What I am not as good at, and I bet the same could be said for you, is allowing someone the gift of being servant to me in my need. I would do nearly anything to not need you. And that, friends, is a crying shame. Because when I keep you from serving me in my need (and it is there, let’s not kid each other) I don’t just rob myself of the aid and comfort you are glad to offer me as your sister. I also fail to exercise the grace of allowing you to be a servant, to participate in your own transformation into the likeness of Christ. All because I would swear with my last breath that I’m just fine.

Let us be each other’s servants. And let us allow others the holy privilege of serving us. This grace…it’s a mutual dance, never meant as a solo.

...unleash transformation!

The love of Jesus calls us in swiftly changing days,

To be God’s co-creators in new and wondrous ways;

That God with men and women may so transform the earth,

That love and peace and justice may give God’s kingdom birth.

---Herbert O'Driscoll, 1989

“What are you waiting for?” “Don’t just stand there --- DO something!” “Get a move on!” We are all familiar with these statements, or with sentiments like them, but maybe not related to the coming of the kingdom of God. When it comes to the kingdom, if you are like me, the verb that most readily comes to mind is ‘wait’. Now, on a scale of 1 to #makeithappen, ‘wait’ would seem to rate pretty low when it comes to action. Is there a way to wait and take action simultaneously?

As I have listened to news today---not so different from other days---of a troubled teen shooting two children and a teacher at an elementary school, of yet another man of color shot and killed while surrounded by law enforcement, of humanitarian efforts in an already shell-shocked country being utterly destroyed by impersonal bombings---I pray for justice, and wonder where love has got to in this hard world. But I drank my tea this morning out of a mug traced with the answer. It says, “What does the Lord require of you?” And I know the answer, and you know the answer. And it is not just to pray for justice, or to wish for love. Micah 6:8 is not a #sitidlyby kind of watchword. This verse enlivens how active our participation is to be in ushering in the new kingdom --- we are invited, compelled really, to be partners with God in unleashing love, peace, and justice in society to pave the way for the coming kingdom!

What does the Lord require of you, but to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?

Wait on the Lord. But don’t just sit there!

...transformed, not done

In the bread of life here given, we become what we receive.

In the cup of love here offered, affirm what we believe.

In the word of God proclaimed here, the good news of truth is heard.

In the telling of the stories, be open to God’s word.

---James Chepponis, 2002

Been there. Done that. I admit it. I am the first to make the jaded comment, or, on choking it back, to think it. This again? Or maybe, like Yogi Berra, It’s like deja-vu, all over again. And it’s kind of true.

Each time we gather and take communion, there is a familiarity to the elements, a sense of ritual in the setting. If I’m not careful, I can coast through the serving of the elements, the doing this in remembrance, on autopilot. If I am not present in the moment and attending to the story of my friend Jesus’ sacrificial love for me, a high holy moment can be, instead, just another holy snack pack and some pretty mumbling.

And those Bible stories? For heaven’s sake, I’ve been coming to church now for, well, for a long time. I have heard them all. Twice. What good does it do me, really, to be here with you, listening to the stories again? To sit and listen to the same old words and phrases over and over, till they are so burned into my soul that I could tell them myself? To know them so well that the words spring, unbidden, to my mind at unlikely times during the week? What good are a bunch of stories?

I have to be careful. I wouldn’t want to mix up being transformed with being done. Because being transformed? That could take a lifetime.

...that's my sister

Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord told him where to go to find a man named Saul, who'd been praying, and seen in a vision that a man named Ananias would lay hands on him and restore his sight.
But Ananias had heard the news about Saul already, how much evil he'd done the believers in Jerusalem, and how he had come to Damascus armed with authority from the chief priests to bind any and all who called themselves by Christ's name. There must be some misunderstanding about Ananias' task!
"Go on, Ananias," said the Lord, "for he is the one I've chosen to bring my name before Gentiles, and Israelites, and powers. I'll be the one to show him the suffering he'll endure for my name."
So Ananias went, and found the house where Saul was waiting, and laid his hands on him, and said, "Brother Saul..."
---Acts 9:10-17a (para. laca)

On what must have been the only true perfect day of spring, in the only patch of green in downtown Birmingham Alabama, it became clear to me.

Ananias went to Saul and 'brothered' him, while Saul still had Ananias' arrest warrant in his pocket, while Saul still held the power of life and death in his hands. Acknowledging Saul's kinship at a time before Ananias had reason to trust it created the kinship, paved the way for family.

Because I'll tell you right now, there are blind scholars, blind leaders, blind saints. Blind transformational giants, even.

But no one leads a family from the outside.

And until 'Saul' was 'Brother', he was no one.

There's your healing. There's your miracle.  There's your seismic shift. Because one Spirit-prompted human risked it, family formed in a new way that day. And every day since then.

In the face of evidence to the contrary, Ananias spoke the life-giving word. "Brother."

And in the absence of evidence, in that patch of green, a three-year-old girl with round cheeks and a broken butterfly headband came running to me, arms wide to embrace a friendly-looking, teary-eyed stranger under a tree ---

And spoke a life-giving word. "That's my sister."

There's your miracle.

...faint or full

Does sadness fill my mind? A solace here I find,

May Jesus Christ be praised!

Or fades my earthly bliss? My comfort still is this,

May Jesus Christ be praised!

---Katholisches Gesangbuch, 1828

Probably none of us, if we live long enough, will avoid the deep ache of sadness. Some may be fortunate, and experience only brief periods of “fadedness”. Others, through life circumstance or brain chemistry, may slog through long terms of depression and sadness. And, because Jesus walked this life fully human, we can surmise that he experienced every emotion common to humanity, including the dark cloud of sadness. This thought is so comforting to me --- to know that I can experience nothing that my Savior has not experienced first. And out of that comfort can come praise. In my darkest moment, I can cling to Christ, and sing my anguished, confused, joyful song of praise, faint or full though it may be.

May Jesus Christ be praised, and may praise do its transformative work in the world, and in me.