Myth-ing out

Life is hard. It's so good to have wonderful friends and family who are there and who care. Sometimes, though, friends and family have no idea how to do that.

It's amazing to me how many of God's people miss out on opportunities to step alongside someone and help them through a rough patch, or a dark and lonely valley, just because of preconceived notions - or what I call myths - about basic things like life, death, God's will, and prayer. These myths, expressed in ways intended to comfort, actually do the opposite in many cases. 

Take, for example, the person who is terminally ill. Their family is dealing with the hard facts that they may not have much time left with their loved one. I have heard all kinds of things said to the families (and to the sick person) and quite frankly, many of them do more harm than good. 

Here's one example. One of the things I have heard people say is that "it's never too late; God may still reach in to heal, so keep on believing." While this is true, and it could happen, first of all, why would you push for a return to this earth when Heaven is so much better than here? And what gives human beings the right to dictate what God's will might be for that individual or family? Secondly, telling the family to keep on believing is kind of an insult. Think about it. If there were any more prayers to be prayed, if there was any more faith to be exercised, don't you think they've already tried praying and believing every single waking moment? Isn't this experience hard enough without the family living with not only grief, but guilt and shame you placed on them because they feel they somehow didn't do enough to keep their loved one with them?

Here's another myth - the assumption that the person has already died, it's just a matter of when they stop breathing. Kind of cruel, isn't it? but people couch it in religious terminology like "Praying for peace for you and yours at this difficult time." All it really means is that (a) the person is a goner, in the mind of the person saying this, and (b) the person giving condolences distances themselves emotionally and is spouting platitudes, which are polite, meaningless noises that they think people are supposed to say when someone is grieving. "Feel better," is what this amounts to, but the person almost always has no intention of being around before the grieving one feels better.

Photo "Sadness Woman In Friend's
Arms" by David Castillo Dominici
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

A third (and this one is completely false): "God must need another angel." People don't become angels; that would be a demotion. (Look it up. Angels long to have the relationship with God that we do by second birthright.) That's the first myth. The second myth is the implication that God TAKES someone away from us, which is the farthest from the truth. When a loved one passes away, God WELCOMES them Home. They immediately step into the next phase of Eternity - a richness of life and joy that we can only barely begin to comprehend. And He is WITH the people who are left behind, available for them to weep hot tears or sit in stony, silent, excruciating heart-pain, or anything in between, for as long as they need to. His patience, love, and kindness is measureless and strong.


I get why people say these things. They say them because human beings were never created for separation. People feel uncomfortable with the word goodbye, when they know that the goodbye is for what might be a very long time. That's as it should be, really. But my point is that those people who are going to be left behind need as much help and support as we can give them, in a real and tangible way. Are we really helping them by telling them these things? Or are we just helping ourselves feel better by convincing ourselves we've done our bit? Where will we really be when the harsh reality of life without their loved one hits them like a ton of bricks? Hiding safe behind our platitudes, or walking the valley with them - in person - so they can lean on us when they need to? 

I am talking to myself just as much as I am to anyone else. Even though I have known the loss of many dear ones, every time is at least as hard, and every time is different. I know that the terminal illness or loss of a loved one is messy, and it can be very uncomfortable to witness up close; believe me when I say that the person undergoing such an experience would love to be able to NOT witness it. But people sometimes need that other witness, that person who sits with them or hugs them without saying a word, whose presence is there, comforting without the need to say anything. Sometimes that means going for a piece of pie and an iced tea, sometimes it means inviting them over for an evening, sometimes it means letting them talk and letting them cry - and crying with them - and sometimes it even means sitting with them in the hospital ward rest area and missing your favorite sitcom.

It might be inconvenient. It might be uncomfortable. But to do any less would be missing - and mything - out.

Waking Up

Winter's long sleep is reaching the twilight hour before the dawn, when we're not even sure if there is a change happening, except ... except ... the geese have returned.  The trees - still leafless and silent - are budding.  Female mourning doves are returning, and the males waiting for them have taken to billing and trying to chase them down one at a time. The daylight lingers just a little bit longer. Rain melts away snowbanks - imperceptibly at first, then more noticeably as the earth awakens.  The grass - if it shows at all - is still brown and wilted, but as if by magic, gradually appears green moss and the first stirrings of the lichen that will eventually bear the muted purple tones of heather.  

Photo "Blooming Snowdrops In The Spring"
courtesy of radnatt at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Those who know me best know that I hate winter: the cold, the piercing damp wind, the lack of light, the ice and slippery footing, the bulky clothing, and how it feels like it never seems to end. Every year, though my head knows it will, my heart wonders if it will EVER end. 

This morning, a snowbank, which had stubbornly persisted the last two months outside our picture window, was suddenly gone after a soaking drizzle kept at it all night.  Beneath it, I was surprised to see tiny one-inch sprigs of green: thin sword-like leaves bearing, in a place or two, another layer of foliage that had a tinge of purple to it, a promise of a bud soon to form. "Crocus," I breathed, noting my own sudden, internal sprig of ... what was it? happiness?  Hope? I couldn't quite tell which it was... 

A few feet away, like tiny rolled up cones of forest green paper, tulip plants were sprouting from beneath the mixture of soil and wet maple leaves from last fall, half-decomposed maple leaves I had forgotten were there until the snowbank was gone. They were about three inches above the soil, so I realized that they had been slowly growing beneath the snowbank - and with the rain, the snowbank slowly rolled back like a heavy velvet curtain at a live theater performance.  

I stayed at my position in the window, kneeling on an armchair with my nose pressed up against the glass, for a few minutes.  I drank in the sight, reveling in the tiny slivers of color, until my knees told the rest of me that it was time to get back on my feet.  Yet, a few times throughout the day, I have returned to my perch to check and see whether the buds have shown any sign of maturing.  My soul needs this gentle, delicate whisper of promise, a distant echo of God's own rich voice.  Too long my soul has just been "hanging on" waiting for better times, for more daylight moments in which to soak in nourishment as the leaves soak in the sun's rays. It is as if my soul has joined the Earth in its trip around the sun; it is now in a better position to benefit from the warmth that was always there all along. 

I, like the Earth, the plants, the birds, the trees, and the grass, am waking up. Winter is finally giving way - even if only a little - to the persistent hopefulness of spring.  The longer, darker nights are shortening.  I am more aware of the Light. It is good; He is good.

Escaping the siege

I've been trying to figure out what these past few months has felt like.  In late summer/ early fall, we decided as a couple (after much agonizing) to leave the church.  Not just OUR church, THE church... by which I mean the organized, religious system that calls itself the church.  

I can't begin to describe the growing dissatisfaction that we had felt the last few years while we ran faster and faster on the hamster wheel of performance, always wondering if we were doing enough, feeling guilty and blaming ourselves if our prayers were unanswered, and frankly, feeling embarrassed to invite people in - where we knew they would find what we had - another, deeper level of rejection - where hurting people thrive on pushing hurting people away.  

It's equally as difficult to describe the pulling that we felt toward a deeper and more intimate relationship with Jesus - a call to simplicity, to receiving His love and loving Him back. More and more we saw the futility of our involvement in a system that values nickels and noses, attempts to control its members through shame, fear, and judgment.  Rather than build bridges to those who embrace lifestyles or choices with which they do not agree, this system builds walls to keep them out.

As I pondered this last night, a little story from 2nd Kings 7 came to my mind.  There were these guys living on the outskirts of town - walled in and afraid to leave because "the enemy" was out there. Or so they believed.  The town was under siege.  Food was scarce and deadly expensive; they had even taken to eating bird poop and charging money for it!!  People were getting desperate, even to the point of devouring their children... it was horrible.  Anyway, these guys near the gate were outcasts - they were lepers.  They were not welcome in society, but they could not leave the town because after all, they were members of the community. 

Finally, these guys got fed up (pun not intended).  They figured, "Well, the enemy camp is out there - and it most likely has food.  If we go and surrender to the enemy, they might accept our surrender, and let us live (at least we would get something to eat) and if they kill us, we would have died a lot more slowly inside the wall."  So ... they left ... hearts in their throats.  Desperate.  It was a desperate move made by desperate people.

Meanwhile, the Arameans outside (many hundreds of them) were literally hearing things - and got it into their heads that the king whose town they were besieging had hired people to come and attack them.  So they split!!  Enter the lepers .... who found meals half-eaten, left in haste ... and they could not believe their fortune!  They ate, found money and put that away, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves!  

Photo "Buffet Set On Heated Trays Ready To Eat"
courtesy of jk1995 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Eventually, they looked at one another and said, "Hey, let's tell someone about this!  This is such good news that we cannot help sharing it - the enemy is gone, and our neighbours can get out of their prison!"  So that is what they did.  By the end of the day, prices were back down to normal, and there was not one hungry person in town. 

I think the reason that I thought about those guys inside the wall, the ones who were so up against it that they left to take their chances outside, was because that was - and is - (in some ways) our story.  There was no sustenance for us in all that protection and so-called safety.  We were starving to death.  We saw a few atrocities, people turning on each other, but most of the time it was just a slow, lingering death of the soul: adherents trying to keep people from straying, unhappy and/or self-righteous people trapped by their own acceptance of things the way they were, with no desire strong enough for something more, no desire that would cause them to question their reason for being there and doing what they were doing.  So many people around us were living in fear, in a siege mentality (us versus them) and distrusting anything against which they had been indoctrinated, hell-bent (yes, that was intentional) on obeying the rules and excluding those who didn't. 

And it was like that everywhere. We had attended dozens of assemblies and it was the same wherever we went.  We had tried to fit in, but in every single place, we were eventually relegated to the role of the leper.  Either because we were not of a certain social or economic stratum, or because we were introverted, or because we were not linked with the founding families of the particular assembly we were in, we were slowly but surely kept at arm's length, treated like ... like lepers.  

But our isolation only gave us more time to think, to ponder how, in a community that stated that it followed the teachings of the One who is Love personified, the behaviour of its members was anything but - and we were as affected by this phenomenon as the next member. There were occasional bright spots, surprising us with kindness and caring (but only when someone died). Or there were brief periods associated with the arrival and ministry of people who seemed to hear from God, and for a time, we thought things might change.  But inevitably, they went on to greener pastures, and we were back to the same old thing. We wondered if things would ever change for good.

We compared the characteristics of this organization to those of the organism that the church was designed to be (as described in the book of Acts) and we could find nothing in common between the two!  "Is this all there is?" we asked ourselves.  "Is this the abundant life?"  If it was - we surely wanted a refund.... and if it wasn't ... then what were we doing? was there any way out?  Time and time again we tried to conform ourselves to what was expected, rededicate ourselves, and influence the system from the inside out.  And over and over again, we depleted our limited emotional resources; every time, we died a little more.  

Frustration grew.  Countless times we returned from church-based events stressed, exhausted, and - well - angry.   Sermons (both from the pulpit and in unofficial settings) from various people were little more than steam blown off by those frustrated with the people who sat back and never tried, so all we heard was, "You're not doing enough, not believing enough, not giving enough, not praying enough, not holy enough, not evangelical (or missional, or social justice-minded) enough ..." and the list went on.  I remember turning to my husband at one point near the end of that part of our journey and saying, "If I want to be yelled at and taken on a guilt trip, I'll go visit my mother."   

And the siege mentality!  That idea that the world is a horrible place and the people in it are against us permeated everything.  We were told that certain people with certain lifestyles or beliefs were not to be trusted, or at best they were deluded and needed to be converted.  Instead of reaching out to people, we were encouraged to lobby local school boards, write to politicians, sign petitions, support groups known for heavy-handed prejudicial treatment of certain minority groups, and decry perfectly legal medical procedures (if horrific to our sensibilities and beliefs) and vehemently condemn those who chose to undergo them.  In doing so, we were unwittingly contributing to their mistrust of the church and ensuring that they would not come to us for help when they needed a listening ear.  

Photo "Ruined House"
courtesy of sattva at
www.freedigitaphotos.net

All around us, the walls were crumbling.  More and more, we were seeing how our participation in this organization was counter-productive to the values of love, acceptance, and gentleness that Jesus taught and that we espoused.  We got closer and closer to the gate of this impoverished and starving community.  "Just hang on. It will get better," people said.  "Revival is just around the corner." We bought it for years ... until we didn't. 

And when we made the break, it had to be clean.  We left; we did not look back. We left our assembly, and we left the system. 

And you know, we expected to feel guilty... or afraid, or nervous for what we would do or where God would lead us next (if anywhere)... but all we felt was relief.  There was relief.  As the weeks passed, we remarked how much less stressful Sundays were, how much we enjoyed being able to rest instead of tearing our hair out and banging our heads against a brick wall for five hours or more almost every weekend. Our relationship with our daughter deepened. God set up contacts with people in His timing, and we had such precious times with them, times that we never would have had if we hadn't ventured outside the gate.   

There are times that we wonder if we did the right thing.  There are times when we miss frequent contact with people, wonderful people.  But we know that we were having our souls sucked out of us by the system.  Outside, we may not have found any bountiful banquet yet, but we can detect the faint odor of food, and we know we'll eventually find it.  And you can bet that as soon as we do, it will be way too good to keep to ourselves.

In between

I'm neither here nor there, neither in the groove nor out of it, neither on the road nor aimlessly wandering. 

I am in between. 

It's an empty place - a quiet space - almost a vacuum. Between what I have known and what I will know, I am in that curious state of nothingness that begs for an answer, a voice, an activity, anything to fill that void. 

It is a dangerous place - an eerie space - more silent than a whisper, and just as elusive. It's uncomfortable. I am tempted to go back to what was, what I knew, not because it is a better place, but simply because I know it, and I know what to expect. Yet because I know what to expect, I dread moving backward in that all-too-familiar direction. Too long I have wallowed in its mediocrity and sameness. Yet the future - bright and glittering- is unreachable, shiny, taunting me with its promises of a better life, whatever that means. 

It looks as though I am stuck here - here in the present, here in the in-between. Here the echoes of what was ... are too loud, and the promise of what will be ... is too far off to provide any satisfaction. 

This is the void. This is the awkward silence, the silence of 'becoming'. 

It is empty ... and dangerous ... and absolutely essential. Here I can ask myself the tough questions from which I have been hiding. Who am I? Why am I here? Is this all there is? Is what I have known all that will ever be? Can I not hope for something more? Will I ever stop feeling so lifeless? Where is the joy I was promised? Can I ever learn to listen for - and hear - that still small Voice again? 

Other voices clamour around me to fill that silence with uplifting music, with many words, with groanings and fervent prayer, with busy-work. Yet the only sound my soul makes is that of a small, frightened child - so frightened that she dare not make a sound or she will be discovered. I hear the rapid beating of my own heart, as if I have stepped off a cliff with no assurance that anything will be there to keep me from falling to my death. There are moments of abject terror - of a panic so great that it steals my breath from my lungs.

The questions continue, go deeper, persist in spite of the pleadings of some part of me for them to stop. But they don't. Where did the Light go? Will I ever see it again? Why is it that others seem so satisfied with the status quo ... and I do not? Do I really know what it is that I am looking for? If I don't, then how will I know it when I see it? (Or WILL I see it?) 

This hurts. It's painful. I can't describe it well enough; only those who have been here will understand. I can talk to them, and they can encourage me to persevere, but it seems I can't make anyone else understand. "Why are you so dissatisfied?" I hear them say in my mind. "Why are you putting yourself through this?"

Nobody wants to hear about this place. They want me to be as I was, or they want me to be as I will be. They are just as uncomfortable with this awkward place in my life as I am - perhaps even more so. Everyone wants the finished product, something recognizable, something to point to and either pray for or praise God for. Not this. Not the transition. Not the uncertainty. Not the pain. Oh most definitely not the pain. 

I know that so many will not understand.  This fact tears at the fabric of my being, for I have spent my whole life trying to do whatever I could to make people approve of me, to like me, to hear me, to understand me. Yet I know - I KNOW - that so many people will think that I am sick, or sad, or crazy, or backslidden, or ... or whatever they will think. Yet I am so desperate for answers that I must face the monster of "What will people think?" and put it to death in my life. I must exist in this place of emptiness, of the void, no matter what people think.

This, THIS is in between. This is not comfortable. Yet it's all I know right now. Like the caterpillar in its chrysalis, I am being de-consructed; the person I was is no longer the person I am. I am being changed; into what, I do not know. It is too soon to tell. I am only beginning.

All I know for sure is that it will be different. Just how different, or what form it will take, is completely unknown to me. The only One who knows is the One who compelled me to enter this place, this space where all else fades away ... except change.

...it happens

A friend of mine is going through a very trying time lately.

There are the family tensions that sometimes occur when a new generation makes choices the older one wouldn't; that is to be expected at times. 

But this is more. 

Two family members from opposite generations (a grown child and an aged parent) are both in hospital for various reasons. Both are fighting for their lives; one has had surgery and the other is facing it. It leaves my friend (and most anyone) grappling with the same questions Job faced - if God is good, why am I suffering? Why do horrible things happen to people who are putting God first? 

I've heard the platitudes flying thick and fast, and here's the thing about platitudes: they're only true to a certain point ... and they do not allow for people to experience the pain of what they are going through. 

It's harder to say nothing and just hug a person than it is to resort to pithy, sometimes sappy statements that are aimed at fixing the person's feelings. The problem with that is this: people feel what they feel. They NEED to feel what they feel. Trying to take that away from people is counterproductive.

Especially unhelpful is the tendency to use Scripture in that way. I can't count the number of times people have quoted Romans 8:28 to me... trying to tell me that everything will work out fine because God will take the bad and make it turn out good. And while there is a sense in which this can be true (and might I say 'not necessarily' because what has happened, has happened) it is not the full intent of the passage, because it is often quoted without verse 29: "For those whom God foreknew, He predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son..." The two verses taken together tell us that the "good" that God causes all things to work together for is actually not the "good" that we think, but rather, it is being transformed into the image of Jesus. 

Photo "Father And Daughter" by
David Castillo Dominici at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And it doesn't say that God is causing the bad thing that has happened. It says that IN all things, good and bad (as we interpret them) God weaves together and causes the Good (of being transformed into Jesus' likeness) to happen in our lives. This is different from the 'everything happens for a reason' sentiment ... which is another of those two-dimensional sayings I've heard from the time I was very young. 

A "reason" implies intention. God does not INTEND for tragedies to happen. 

They. just. happen. 

However, He can and will use anything ... ANYTHING ... to achieve His goal - to love us into looking more and more like our co-regent, Jesus.  Why? because He knows better than anyone that the only way for us to be supremely happy is to live the way that Jesus did, in total dependence on His Spirit, feeling the full gamut of human emotion, yes, and knowing that He is leading us even when we don't "sense" it.

When we go through hard times, when we face tragedy, our first inclination is to hide our faces, to run away, to curl into a fetal position and rock, to cover our eyes or our ears and shut down. But He calls - and His call is like a trusted parent - or friend, if that works better for some folks - pulling our hands away from our faces and encouraging us to look into His eyes, to remember that "He's got this." He so longs for us to remember that He cares, that He feels our pain, that He understands our grief, that He knows what it is to be rejected. 

He really does. His arms are open wide, inviting us to come nearer.

When we, in the midst of our anguish, respond to that invitation and choose to look into His eyes, His presence transforms us - little by little. His love and light infuse us with comfort and peace. He strengthens us when we feel the weakest and most vulnerable. He catches us when we fall. There is no judgment, no reprimand; He just says, "Here, let Me hold you up. Let Me carry that for you. Let Me handle that; it's too heavy. Rest here in My arms."  

There is no shame in that. There is no need to feel like we are "less than" ... when we are in need of help, it is available to us. It is ALWAYS available. 

Yes, "...it happens."  But that is okay, because "...it" didn't take Him by surprise. 

And He's not going anywhere. 
Count on it.

Lessons from butterflies

I had the opportunity to use the word metamorphosis today, (the process by which a caterpillar becomes a butterfly) which got me to thinking about that process, and about butterflies in general.

As I pondered this wonder of God's creation, I began to understand some lessons about life and faith that parallel the life cycle of this common - but usually welcome - insect. Some of them might seem pretty basic, but bear with me.

All butterflies start out as caterpillars. Even though their destiny is to fly, butterflies begin life from eggs laid by adult butterflies, and you'd think that the hatchlings would resemble - at least somewhat - the finished product. 

Photo "Monarch Caterpillar" courtesy of
Lisa McDonald at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

They don't. They're fat, squirmy, earth-bound critters that think of nothing but eating the next piece of greenery. And the next.

Just so, the expression "God has no grandchildren" can apply here. Just because you are a child of God doesn't mean that your children are. They must each come to faith the same way - through a personal experience of rebirth by the Spirit of God. Every single person is a born sinner.

The caterpillar's entire existence is geared toward consumption. It consumes food almost all of the time! Its entire focus is downward, toward the business of survival: the next bite, the next leaf, the next plant. Yet even this limited existence serves a purpose - it will help the caterpillar have enough physical resources (or building blocks, if you wish) when it eventually has to stop eating and form its cocoon, or chrysalis. Every experience in our lives, even the ones we've had prior to becoming Christians, has the potential of being a tool to help us or to help someone else later on.

When the time is right, the caterpillar knows. Each individual caterpillar knows when it is ready to enter the next stage of its life - the transformational stage. It doesn't know that this is what will take place. It just knows that it needs to go to a protected spot and do something other than eat. No other organism can make that decision (if you can call it that); the little critter just KNOWS. The Holy Spirit is the only One who can bring someone to Jesus. All the "witnessing" in the world, all the singing, programs, manipulation or whatever you can name, will not bring even ONE person into the Kingdom of God. That moment is holy; it belongs to God and to Him alone... and it is extremely personal.

Once the process starts, there is no going back. Driven by forces of instinct, the caterpillar envelops itself into its cocoon ... and a process begins that is irrevocable. There is only one possible outcome: a butterfly will emerge. Let's also keep in mind that the caterpillar is not aware of the changes that are happening. It can't see what it's becoming. These two thoughts give hope to those of us who have no idea what God is doing in us, can't see a clear path, and wonder if anything is even happening. God will finish what He started, and He will make something beautiful come out of what seems like chaos, even if we don't have a clue what that something beautiful is.

Everything the caterpillar is, is fundamentally changed.  Many people are not aware of this, but the process of metamorphosis changes the caterpillar into a gelatin-like soup of cells and organic molecules. In essence, the caterpillar is de-constructed down to the level of the cells themselves. It ceases to be what it was ... and it is then re-created into the form of a butterfly. Over the space of a few weeks, (which in most species is a significant portion of its lifespan) this old creation is re-created into something it has never been before. This reminds me of the verse in 2 Corinthians 5 that talks about us being new creations in Christ Jesus: "...the old is past; the new has come!" (vs 17)  While we may not feel regenerated, we are. While we may not feel holy; God declares us as such - in fact, the courage of Scripture says, "He has made Him [Jesus] to be sin for us, [He] who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him [Jesus]!!" (vs 21)

It takes as long as it takes. The process of realizing all the facets of that new life, that new nature, might take a while, but it happens. And although - for the chrysalis - it might happen in a cluster of chrysalises, each process is individual, and it will take as long as it takes. The same is true in the spiritual realm. While it is true that we need others in the body of Christ, the most important relationship there is happens in the secret place, where the Spirit of God transforms us from the inside out.

This is not the time for pouring into someone else's life. Starting to "minister" too soon is one of the top reasons that I've seen that explains why people in ministry burn (or fizzle) out. I sometimes remind myself that Paul the apostle had to go to Arabia for 3 years and "unlearn" all of the mind-sets that he had as a Pharisee before he could be used by God in the Church. 

Photo "Monarch Butterfly" provided by
Liz Noffsinger at
www.freedigitalphotoa.net

When it's time to emerge, it's time. After the butterfly is fully formed, it is time to come out of the cocoon. This is not a comfortable process, and nobody can help with it, or the creature will not be able to fly properly or reach its food source, and will therefore starve to death. The struggle of emerging from the chrysalis is essential, as is the resting period following it. Only then can the necessary internal juices flow into the wings and harden them; at first the wings are soft, wet, floppy, and small. The waiting allows the power to transfer from within to where it is needed. 

The shell that was so important before, the boundary of the transforming creature's world, has already served its purpose after the wings harden. It can be discarded. There are no limits now. The butterfly is free, learning to ride the air currents and feed on totally different food, covering more distance in one minute than it did for its entire existence before beginning the process. 

It will act like a butterfly because it IS a butterfly. A caterpillar can no more act like a butterfly than a pig can act like an eagle. And it would be ludicrous for a butterfly to act like a caterpillar. That isn't what a butterfly is anymore. 

This is a metaphor, a picture, of the completeness of our transformation as believers, whether we are aware of it or not. I won't belabor the point by drawing the obvious parallels; I will only say that they are there - and that God will do what He said He would: in gazing on His glory, we will be transformed - just like a butterfly is transformed - into the image of Jesus by the Holy Spirit who lives within us (2 Cor 3:18). And where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom (vs 17).

The Frustration Factor

"Ever get frustrated with God?" someone asked. "I bet He gets frustrated with you..." 

Huh. There's a thought.

The definition of frustration is the anger one feels when a desired goal is thwarted. 

So yeah, we get frustrated with God. A LOT. We pray for something to happen; it doesn't. We want something else not to happen and we pray for protection; it happens anyway. Someone is sick and we pray for that person to be healed; they die. It's frustrating when you don't get what you want, when God doesn't act in predictable ways.  [That's a whole other blog post (and then some) in itself!!]

Frustration is a daily companion of those in leadership in the church. They are in a certain place in God (after all, their whole lives are about pursuing that place right? and to do what they do every moment of every day, they have to have some serious Jesus on tap, right?) and they want their parishoners to achieve that place as well, to be more involved in the church, to get out into their communities and make a difference. And yet, that doesn't happen - at least not to the degree that they might like. 

Life happens. Their people hurt. And they hurt each other. Or they become so jaded that they give up trying. It's frustrating for leaders, who might define themselves in terms of how well their flock is doing. And sometimes that frustration comes through in statements that are either openly or covertly designed to produce that change that they want to see in people. "Can't I get an Amen here?" .... "What's the matter with you people? You see that the prayer room is empty; we need revival, let's hop to it and pray!" (Oh don't even get me going on guilt trips.) 

That kind of frustration comes from looking at what other people are doing in their lives, not on focusing on what God is doing in my life. Too many of us try to (and I have said this before but it bears repeating) try to BE the Holy Spirit. That is, we try to do His job: convicting people of the error of their ways, convincing other believers to live holy lives. It isn't our place to do that. It's the Holy Spirit's job. 

As to whether God gets frustrated with us, my Bible tells me that He knows the end from the beginning. He has things all planned out. He can't get frustrated in that sense, because He knows what we're going to do before we do it. He is intimately concerned with our spiritual well-being, yes, but frustrated? Not in the sense that we can be.

Photo "Bible" courtesy of
Arvind Balaraman at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

As I read throughout scripture, I find that there is only one instance in which the word "frustrate" appears that is linked to how God feels, and it has to do with "frustrating the grace of God." (Galatians 2:21) So .... let's think about that for a second. Frustrating the grace of God. Hmmm. So God freely gives us His grace through what Jesus accomplished once for all for us on the cross.  As such, He intends for us to live in that grace, that place of total acceptance in Jesus (not in rules and conditions and regulations) - in a growing intimate relationship with Him, in gratitude and love toward Him, and from that love we will naturally be spilling over into the lives of the people with whom we come in contact. Sound about right? So what happens to frustrate that grace? 

Adding stuff to it (like rules, like conditions, like fear-mongering) frustrates it. (By fear-mongering I mean things like, "God will take away His gift if you don't toe the line...") Adding stuff is what the Galatians tried to do. Galatians 2:21 says, "I do not frustrate the grace of God. For if right standing with God came by obeying the Law, then Christ died for nothing."  

Putting limits on grace frustrates it. Saying, "Yes, but" frustrates grace. Shame frustrates grace. All the things we hear our leaders getting frustrated about ... actually frustrate the grace of God. He wanted - wants - us to live in freedom, not in bondage. Not the kind of freedom that abuses or takes advantage of the One who gave it (because if we do that, then we haven't understood how deep His grace is!!), but in the kind of freedom that realizes how great His love is, and loves Him in return ... and wouldn't DREAM of hurting His great, loving heart. 

I have yet to see anyone who fully understands and has embraced the grace of God for him or her personally, who has walked away in frustration and disgust. I have yet to see anyone who truly grasped for himself or herself all that Jesus did for us to purchase salvation for us, who then stayed in a sinful state and flaunted it, claiming he or she was "under grace." And yet ... I see people all the time who think that there is something they can do to add to or keep what Jesus died to freely give us, who crash and burn in fear and frustration, and they wonder why ... and end up thinking that "they weren't trying hard enough." As if anyone could match what Jesus did for us!  

The way of grace is rest. The way of grace is peace and free of strife. The things we desire are already ours in Jesus; all we need do (if we call that doing) is believe. That's it. It's as simple as that. What is hard (and the Word calls this "labouring to enter into that rest" in Hebrews 4:11) is staying in this good news of believing - because it is so much easier on our heads if we start sorting and putting into baskets, categorizing and religifying everything. Once we start doing that, the life that Jesus died to give us gathers dust. Rather, let's remember that this "hope of the gospel" is what we hold to, not some set of behavioral goals. If we add rules and behavior to it, it might LOOK like the end result, but it will be the cart before the horse. Best to put the horse first, and then the cart will naturally follow ... and I'll wager it will get farther. See what I mean:  "He has now reconciled you in His fleshly body through death, in order to present you before Him holy and blameless and beyond reproach - if indeed you continue in the faith firmly established and steadfast, and not moved away from the hope of the gospel that you have heard..." (Col. 1: 22-23)

Consider Him

I love God's people. I do. The last few months especially, I've come to appreciate how incredibly amazing they can be: loving, supportive, generous, and compassionate. 

Sometimes, though, the "other side" of people raises its head and I find myself wondering what happened. People have their own agendas, their own "stuff" ... and sometimes that stuff gets in the way of good relationships. 

The hard truth is that because human beings are human beings, there are going to be situations where someone is going to get hurt. I understand that. I've hurt people before. And I've been hurt before. It happens. 

That doesn't mean it hurts any less or that the feelings are not valid. 

Lately there's been a situation where I have been feeling rejected and lied to, something that keeps happening with annoying regularity and which hurts. every. time. It happened again this week. Every time it happens, it feels like someone has struck me in the face. I feel rejected, undervalued and dismissed all over again. And every time I need to "deal" and find some peace in the situation because quite frankly, I don't see it ever changing. Call that a lack of faith if you want to, but it's also a whole lot of experience talking. 

Today as I sat in church (why is it that these things come to a head on Communion Sundays?) struggling with this recurring situation which was making me feel so worthless, I heard my pastor say (as he was introducing Communion) "He came to His own, and His own received Him not." (John 1:11)

Huh, I thought. Wait a sec. Jesus' own people rejected Him, dismissed Him, and ended up being responsible for His crucifixion. 

Not that my situation even comes close to His ... but then again, that's the point isn't it? The point is that He came here to make a way for humans to know God. And humans weren't interested in Him or in His mission, only in their own agendas and interpretations of why He was here. The Bible tells us that Jesus was "in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin." (Heb. 4:15) He went through all of that so that He could relate to our suffering. There is absolutely NOTHING I can go through, nothing that can happen to me or no emotion that I can feel, that He has not gone through or felt. 

He understands. 

Photo "Stained-glass Church Windows"
courtesy of franky242 at www.freedigitalphotos.net

"Consider Him who endured such contradiction of sinners against Himself, lest you be weary and faint in your minds." (Heb. 12:3)

We like to pretty it up, make it seem less gruesome than it really was, but the cross was a pretty awful place - the most barbaric form of execution ever known to humankind up until that time in the history of the world. The scourging itself was enough to kill someone, but Jesus was made of stern stuff physically (carpenter by trade, walked at least 30 miles a day), so to the cross He went, already weakened by loss of blood and barely recognizable as human.  The very people He came to help had turned on Him. Even His best friends deserted Him when it looked like the tide of popular opinion was against Him. How horrifyingly wrenching! And to top it all off, He the One Person that mattered most to Him ... His Father ... would turn His back on Jesus. 

And I think MY problems are big. 

Needless to say I had to have a conversation with Him today about this thing I had considered to be so hurtful. And I thanked Him for understanding, and for being patient with me. I realize that the situation is probably never going to go away, and I might need to have that conversation over and over again with Him. But that's okay. 

He understands.

The Relatable Jesus

You know, I've seen so much in my lifetime that passes for the way Christians think they are supposed to act and speak. This has produced a subculture where a certain lingo or jargon starts to overtake the person's interactions with people. I've seen them tilt at windmills and go on crusades to try to make other people behave according to Christian principles when quite frankly, it's only an illusion that we live in a "Christian society." All the while, some Christians will hang out together and shut out the world, developing a "siege mentality" (us vs them) and reject anything and anyone that doesn't look like them.  

At the same time, I've watched unbelievers laugh up their sleeves at such believers for years and years, (and learn to discount everything that every Christian tells them). And I've watched those same believers be mystified by that reaction (or worse yet, chalk the reaction up to 'persecution' and keep behaving in the same way). 

And even the term "unbelievers" is so ... prejudiced, isn't it? It panders to the myth that there are only two types of people in the world - people who are 'believers' (i.e., fundamentalist Christians) and people who aren't. 

Which brings me to the topic of this post. 

"White Mask" photo by podpad at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I don't remember ever reading about Jesus turning anyone away because that person was a drunk, a prostitute, a Roman collaborator (i.e., tax-collector), or non-Jewish, or who had hair that was too long (or short) or body odour. I don't recall Him leading protest marches, burning Roman bath-houses, heading up petitions, or insisting on a dress code. People who were looking for something more in their lives flocked to Him, and He loved them all. True, He didn't participate in their dysfunction, but He also didn't shut Himself away from them and reject them just because they didn't act or think like Him. He spoke the language of the common people. He told stories that people [and not just the elite few] could relate to; He didn't (although He could have) expound at length about the ills of His society. 

He accepted people. He really cared about them. About the only thing that He came out against was the very kind of thing that I was describing in the first couple of paragraphs of this post: hypocrisy, and cruelty in the name of God. 

He didn't come to change society. He didn't come to change systems. He came to love people, to show them what God was really like. You see, people in His day had gotten it into their heads that God was all about following rules and pounding you on the head if you didn't follow them. Jesus came to change all that. He came to make a way for people to have a relationship with God. Pure and simple. Not to solve the age-old question of how many angels can dance on the head of a pin (and why would they want to?) ... and not to exclude people on the basis of their differences. He came to demonstrate to the world what they never knew before He came: that God is love. He's not about punishment; He doesn't need to be appeased. Jesus appeased Him. Jesus took the punishment for us. Period. And that is the Good News.

Maybe it's time that Christians remembered that, because it seems that a lot of us have forgotten. We put on masks. We hide behind the denominational label, behind the church pews, and we take pot shots in frustration at the world and the people in it. We make ourselves unapproachable by the very things that we do that we think show others that we are dedicated followers of Jesus. 

Yet Jesus was the most relatable human being ever. 

If we are un-relatable, if people can't relate to us or don't want to be around us, it doesn't mean that we're "doing something right." It means that we are doing something wrong. We are (in our efforts to show the world that we're His) excluding them and pushing them away from our lives, ruining every opportunity to be the salt and light that Jesus said we already are just because we hang around Him. 

What I'm suggesting is not that we stop standing for what is right. What I AM suggesting is that we take a good, long, hard look at ourselves, that we open our hearts and ask God to show us how we are keeping or driving people away from Him by the way we act, the people we hang around with (and don't hang around with) and the language that we use without even being aware of it. If we ask Him to show us those blind spots and to make us more like He is, I think He will be delighted to show us - and love through us, mask-free - without us getting in the way.

God speaks

Today my husband and I had a rare treat - to be able to sit under the ministry of someone else with no expectation of us being "in ministry." It's a pleasure we have had to carve out for ourselves and which, truth be told, we plan to do again.

The worship was real, not hyped up - and the music that was the vehicle to worship was provided by just three people and their instruments and voices ... and the willingness and passion to be worshipers in spite of what everyone else did or said. 

And then came the time for the guy at the front to talk. His simple, easy manner made him relate-able ... and love oozed from every fiber of his being; it was irresistible. He spoke on God's desire to speak to us about us, about our families, about things in our experience, and sometimes even about other people. He outlined that it doesn't have to be more complicated or super-spiritual than just asking God to talk to us about what we need to hear. He stressed that the purpose of the kind of messages that God gives us through the Spirit is building up or encouragement, helping us draw nearer to God, and comforting us in our trials. Nothing negative or judgmental in that kind of message.

He gave us a small exercise to do at the end ... a exercise designed to practice what he had been talking about. He asked us to pray to God and request that God show us an object in the room and talk to us about ourselves through that object. And then to open our spiritual ears and listen to what He had to say.

It was one of the most powerful experiences I've had spiritually in a long time. 

"Mandolin" photo courtesy of
lamnee at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

As I looked around the room, expecting God to speak to me through some thing or things, my eyes were drawn to a couple of the instruments that had been used in worship earlier, sitting side by side - a mandolin and a violin. Each was on its stand, waiting for someone to pick it up and use it ... or put it away. I dwelt on the construction of the instrument, what the various parts did, and how the instrument as a whole produced sound.

And God started to speak to me.

I was acutely aware that each instrument was a masterpiece and that each part was designed to enhance the particular sound of the instrument. The neck of the mandolin, for example, was straight and true, and was held in its right place by a steel rod that - though invisible - ensured that the strings did not easily go out of tune. Though small, the whole instrument produced a high, pleasing sound that complimented the lower, more bass sounds in the guitar and the worship leader's voice. It played its part - and when it was not being used, it waited, still in tune in case its owner picked it up. It - in and of itself - was powerless to produce those sounds. Yet it was made to be held, to be cradled close to the heart, and to sing its own song in its own voice when in the Master's hands. That trueness - that in-tune readiness, that powerlessness, was the lesson of the mandolin for me, as well as was the deep luster of several layers of lacquer over the stained wood - all contributing to the richness of the instrument. 

Thanks to kongsky at
www.freedigitalphotos.net
for his photo, "Beautiful Violin"

When I considered the violin sitting next to it on its stand, those lessons repeated themselves ... along with one other. 

I love wood. I love how the richness of the grain comes out when it is stained and how it can be burnished bright to make it shine. Nowhere is this more true than in the craftsmanship in the violin. Intricate carving, expert modeling inside and out, and the beautiful wood's character - personified in the full, aching voice - all make the violin one of my favorite voices in the orchestra. 

This time though, my eyes were drawn to the slits in the wood - to what are known as the f-holes. They are sliced into the thinly planed and shaped body of the violin at strategic points, visible to all, and if this cutting is not done exactly right, it could shatter it.  The violin (if it had feelings) could view such an experience as wounding, marring, even mutilation. There is nothing that can fill those holes; once there, there is no going back. 

And yet, if not for the holes, the sound that came forth (if it came forth at all) would be muffled, muted, even stifled. It is the vibration of the strings against the bow, resonating through the holes into the depths of the instrument and back out again, that gives it its remarkably sweet, expressive, full voice. In a very real way, it is the wounding that enriches the message that the violin speaks. This truth reached down into that wounded place in me and made me understand that it is the "holes" in me that make me God's special instrument to tell His message in ways that I can only begin to imagine and could barely believe. 

Thank You, God.  I needed to hear that.

Goat-herds and shepherds

There is one major difference between a goat-herd and a shepherd, other than the fact that one herds goats and the other herds sheep. (For the purpose of NOT making this post difficult to read by putting a lot of references in to "his or her" - I'll just say "his" - you can assume I also mean "her" if that's what floats your boat.)

It's the manner in which each gets his charges to go where they need to be.  

A young goat-herd motivates his charges to move.

The goat-herd positions himself somewhere to the rear of the group and uses his stick to whack the goats on the side or the backside to drive them in the direction he wants them to go. His means of motivating his goats is external. Basically, he tells them with his stick, "You're not where you should be. Go there. Do that. Stop doing this." 

The shepherd, on the other hand, goes ahead of his flock. He calls to them and moves forward. The sheep trust him and follow willingly. He carries a stick, but it has a crook in the top to rescue the sheep who's caught in a thorn-bush, to hook around its neck or under a leg to pull it to safety. The other end - the rod end - is to ward off enemies; its use is for punishment. Rarely if ever does the shepherd use the rod on his sheep. His way of making the sheep go where he wants is by going there himself first, and they will want to follow; he doesn't have to whack them. They learn to trust the staff as an extension of his loving care for them, and be grateful that the shepherd is there to protect them from the predators with his rod.

In the church, a problem arises when shepherds, entrusted with the care of their flock, act like goat-herds. A sheep treated like a goat will end up acting like a goat: rebellious, inattentive, mistrusting, and stubborn. 

It is indeed frustrating to see people floundering around in their own free will and heading into danger zones. It is frustrating to see empty prayer rooms and altars full of bless-me Christians, overworked people in ministries with nobody to give them any respite, folks with seemingly nothing better to do than criticize those who ARE working their tails off, and interpersonal conflicts that nobody seems to want to resolve, each thinking that it's the other's responsibility to make the first move. The natural tendency is to want to yell at them, shake them, do something to make them behave themselves so that the desired result is produced. The problem is that for the most part, that kind of approach is met with even more of the same. People will become more stubborn, more needy, more selfish. It's the push-push-back reaction. 

It takes something of the divine to launch out in front instead, and show the way, to trust the results to God. For, as if I had to spell it out, it is not the shepherd's job to "make" his flock do anything. Effecting change in someone is not anyone's job but One - the One who is even now interceding on our behalf and who groans within each of us to transform us into better people from the inside out. Leading is a labor of love. And it's also an exercise in trust - trusting God and also trusting the people who are being led. Intimidation, sarcasm, and shame are weapons ... and not ever to be used on the flock. 

Lean on the staff

May I go a step further here and say a personal word about the notion that many leaders have regarding leadership? I am not merely speaking to pastors here. I am also talking to anyone in a position of leadership, from a church ministry to a parent to a coach.

One of the most powerful statements I ever heard from a pastor was this, "Don't be afraid to lead with a limp." He talked about Jacob - the time when he wrestled with someone a lot stronger than he was (who turned out to be what most Bible scholars call a "pre-incarnation manifestation of Jesus") and would not let go until He blessed him. This powerful being touched him in his hip (and blessed him when he would not let go even then, changing his name to Israël), and ever afterward, Jacob walked with a limp. It was a reminder to him that once God touches your life, you are never the same again. But it is also a reminder to us that vulnerability doesn't make you a weaker person; it makes you a stronger one because people see your desire to follow the Master even when it is hard, even when you can't do it as well as someone else might. 

That vulnerability keeps you humble, keeps you depending on God instead of relying on your own strength.  It prevents you from being arrogant and judgmental. 

Paul knew about this too ... most intimately!! He called his "thorn in the flesh" a "messenger of Satan to buffet me." Yet we learn from the book of Job that nothing happens without God's okay. So, when Paul asked that this hindrance be removed, God said NO. It was a sure bet that Paul's thorn in the flesh (whatever it was) hampered his efforts, limited his ability to do what he thought he "should" be doing. (See my series on "shoulds and oughtas" for an in-depth discussion of that whole topic, search for it on Get Unwrapped!) But God wasn't interested in how MUCH Paul did FOR Him but in how much HE could do in PAUL. Bingo. Here is the crux of the matter. God is only interested in conforming us into the image of His Son Jesus (Romans 8:29) and if the truth were told, THAT is the "good" that He causes all things to work together for (vs. 28). 

It's okay if the sheep see you limping, leaning on the staff once in a while. It helps them identify with you. Gone are the days when ministers, parents, and leaders needed to project the image of invulnerability, of "having it all together." That kind of image smacks of authoritarianism ... and makes the rest of us feel as though there's something wrong with us when we get tired, or bored, or frustrated with ourselves, when in fact, those feelings are perfectly normal and human. Or it might make us feel resentful that you seem to expect us to be carbon copies of you, when that's not necessarily what God has called us to be. Perhaps.

I would venture to say that the limp, the vulnerability, the weakness of which you are so ashamed, makes you a better leader. It gives you compassion. It helps you remember that the process of self-improvement ... or sanctification if you want to call it that ... is just that - a process. It isn't a destination and it is no human's responsibility to produce that in anyone else's life. It is an outflow of a relationship with God that bursts out of its little box and takes over more and more of an individual's life. It spills out over all other relationships: with self, with others. It is not your responsibility to make that happen. Quite frankly, it is God's.  He's been doing it for a very long time. He's probably qualified. ;)

So perhaps it's better to follow the Good Shepherd, pay attention to your own spiritual growth, and just live your life. He'll take care of the rest. And along the way, some people might see you following Him, and they might do the same, in a way that is unique to them. 

So much the better.