...the world in pieces

Christians all, your Lord is coming, hope for peace is now at hand.

Let there be no hesitation, walk in faith where life demands.

Bear the word that God has given; share the birth that stirs your soul.

Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ will come and make you whole.

---Jim Miller, 1993

“What do you want from me?!” This question, borne of frustration, whispered in fury or shouted in rage. This question, from a student in over his head and floundering in an advanced academic class. This question, from an uncommunicative spouse during a couples counseling session crackling with tension. This question, from a sleep-deprived, wound-tight new mother, desperate to know why the tiny baby she loves refuses to be comforted.

And we, too. We who claim Christ. We who pray for a world at peace and, instead, survey a world in pieces. We who stand helpless, empty hands curling uselessly into fists as we are tempted, ourselves, to go to pieces. We stand, fists curled, feeling helpless, and clueless, and cry into the broken world, “What do you want from me?!”

And from the silence…answers. Walk in faith, don’t hesitate. Carry with you the word God gave you. Share the nativity story that still lights you up. Can you do these things? They are part of your breathe-in-breathe-out, after all, your being. The world wants you…to be fully you.

And Christ will come, and in the coming, the world in pieces will find peace.

...the wholeness, after

I thank You, Lord, for each new day, for meadows white with dew,

for the sun’s warm hand upon the earth, for skies of endless blue,

for fruit and flower, for lamb and leaf, for every bird that sings,

with grateful heart I thank You, Lord, for all these simple things.

---Mary Kay Beall, 1991

Chaos is built of complexity. It is busy-ness, and noise, and frenetic motion, and confused grasping. It is layers of responsibility and burden. It is a multiplicity of demands—those from within, those from without. It is the rushing, and the doing, and the chasing, and the getting. And it is the emptiness, after. The echoing emptiness, too, can be chaos.

Gratitude is crafted of simplicity. It is pause, and breath, and gaze, and attending. It is unhurried presence in the face of a rushing culture. It is listening for the highest call. It is the abiding, and the being, and the discovering, and the acknowledging. And it is the wholeness, after. The echoing wholeness, too, can be gratitude.

Intentionally choosing simplicity over complexity may guide us in the way of wholeness rather than emptiness. And choosing gratitude over chaos may remake our lives as offering –every heartbeat, every breath.

...into my brokenness

Jesus, the name that calms my fears, that bids my sorrows cease;

‘tis music in the sinner’s ears; ‘tis life and health and peace.

He speaks, and listening to His voice, new life the dead receive;

the mournful broken hearts rejoice, the humble poor believe.

---Charles Wesley, 1739

I don’t like admitting it. It doesn’t make me proud, isn’t the sort of admission that I’d want engraved on a plaque or cross-stitched on a pillow. But because I don’t like it doesn’t make it any less true: I’ve been battling the way of the world lately, and the world is winning. I mean, I am beat. If you are not seeing the scars, it must be because I’m dressing right. I am just weary and worn with the meanness that seems to be around every corner, waiting to pounce on the weak or unsuspecting. And the weariness feels cumulative and exponential, building on itself like a runaway snowball (children, remind me to tell you about ‘snowballs’ from the good old days).

In my weariness, it is so easy to forget. To forget to listen for the voice that is always whispering life into the stillness. To forget to listen for the presence that is always calling into the absence. To forget to listen for the joy that is always singing into the despair. To forget to listen for the voice of my brother Savior speaking wholeness into my brokenness.

But, oh. When I remember. The mournful, broken hearts rejoice…

...seeking the city

Where cross the crowded ways of life,

Where sound the cries of race and clan,

Above the noise of selfish strife

We hear your voice, O Son of Man!

In haunts of wretchedness and need,

On shadowed thresholds dark with fears,

From paths where hide the lures of greed

We catch the vision of your tears.

The cup of water given for you

Still holds the freshness of your grace;

Yet long these multitudes to view

The strong compassion of your face.

O Master, from the mountainside,

Make haste to heal these hearts of pain;

Among these restless throngs abide,

O tread the city’s streets again;

Till all the world shall learn your love

And follow where your feet have trod:

Till glorious from your heaven above

Shall come the city of our God.

---Frank Mason North, 1903

What a privilege we have today, to experience this hymn, just over a century old. It presents a great contrast between two cities --- one earthly, one the city of God. In this verse, I can almost feel the dank walls of the city closing in on me: narrow alleys with doorways leading to shadowy rooms; streets crowded with strangers passing, eyes down; threat of danger holding in the stale air like a threadbare blanket. Wretchedness, greed, fear, the noise of selfish strife, lurk around each corner and haunt each boulevard.

And Christ himself visits these streets, never shrinking from the pain and need. Weeping while he walks, aching for the hurting world he loves, but fully giving himself to its brokenness. And while we are Christ’s people in this brokedown city, we walk and weep like our brother Savior.

But there is another city, another city than the one we manage to create when left to our own devices. This city is inhabited with love, and these streets, too, are paved with the footfalls of Jesus; walking in them, living in the rare air of compassion, we put our hands to the wheel to co-create the Kingdom with our Savior. The cup of cold water still holds the freshness of grace; we tread the streets together, Christ among us, on his face “strong compassion.”

Seeking the City…

...you must remember this

I just took a look at my phone's reminders list. That's a lie. I just added another reminder to it.

That makes...155.

...I think I may be doing this wrong.

You may as well know, there are things that I 'collect'. I like that better than 'hoard'. But I think words are piled higher than anything else, in my rooms, my mind, and obviously, in my apps. But I realize that no one can keep up with a running list of 155 reminders on a to-do list. And one of the items on that list is to get some help getting organized (why, yes, I *do* realize how ridiculous that idea sounds, thank you). 

It makes me feel a little less guilty to find that I am in good company, with my mile-long list, and my piles of words, and my unreasonable expectations. The people of Israel needed some guidance, and Moses came down the mountain (twice, but that's another story for another day) with Ten Easy Rules for Being the People of God in the Big World. There were guidelines for living in relationship with God, and guidelines for living in community with others. Now, the people right off weren't doing a super job with those Ten, but nevertheless they commenced to creating more, and more, and more items for their list. They ended up with over 600 items on their list of laws (I am feeling better about myself already...<pats self on back>), and plunged into a continual cycle of perpetual rule-breaking, guilt, and occasional excuses.

"Which Rule do you say is the most important to keep, Teacher?" The question posed to Jesus sounds like a choose-one-of-the-600+ kind of carnival game, but Jesus wasn't playing. The thing is, he was human; and he knew no one could hold space in their head, much less their heart, for that many words, that many rules, at once. No one could remember so much information parsed out that way.

But Jesus remembered another commandment or two from the lore of the people, and he knew it would organize everything, make the confusing tangle of 'should's (and let's be honest, mostly 'shouldn't's) an attainable inclination of the spirit.

"Love God with everything in you, with your wholeness. And love your neighbor and yourself with care and grace. Can you remember these things? Sure! If you can focus your life, each day, on making these reality, you will keep the law, you will."

And two things? A reminder list with two items is a reminder list I could learn to love.

Remember. 

...gritty and pretty

I spent a few quiet moments last evening sitting still in my music room, in the dark, staring into the twinkly white lights of the big Christmas tree. I was transfixed, watching the tiny lights glint off beloved figures of angels and miniature musical instruments, each ornament holding memory of place and time. Plus, I was too exhausted to move, so the sitting still felt pretty inevitable. 

Everything was so sparkly...so perfect...so pretty.

Reluctantly I got up to make my interview list for today's site visit, walked into the darkened den to get my file case...and ran full force into the tall, heavy, still-boxed-up Christmas tree for the den! Flipping on the light, I remembered that the entire room was pretty full of decoration boxes, yet to be unpacked. I had wrestled them down from the storage on Saturday, and there they sat, mostly.

My holiday home is a combination of gritty and pretty. Matter of fact, so is my life. How about yours?

Jesus was born into a world of beauty and of cruelty, wealth and poverty, ease and strife. As he grew, he didn't shrink from either gritty or pretty--he made himself at home in the midst of what real life brought.

Jesus took on the wholeness of being human--gritty, pretty, all the plainness in between--and lived in our rooms. The ones with the decorated trees, and the ones with unpacked boxes.

In Paths of Peace

Through war-torn streets where hope is dead,

Fly bombs and anger ‘round our heads.

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through homes where love cannot to be found,

And violence spreads the fear around,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through lands where food just will not grow,

And streams of water never flow,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through minds where illness takes first place,

And wholeness longs for any space,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through challenges of this our time,

Through rage, neglect, greed’s paradigm,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

When things seem worst, we hear the song

Hope sings above the din of wrong:

The song of One who hears our plea.

Christ guides our feet in paths of peace.