Retreating into the Word of God

Social justice issues interest me. I read a lot about world poverty, environmental responsibility, the LGBTQ community. I am a follower of Christ, and I am interested in these things the way my husband is interested in science articles--God wired us with a certain bent, and we are called to surrender to Him so that we can use our bent to build up His body (see 1 Corinthians 12:4-11). I had resolved to take a break from all my issues reading, however, because I have been growing weary. Retreat is sometimes necessary for renewal.

Then SCOTUS ruled on same-sex marriage, and my Facebook page lit up with rainbows and conservatives. I am so weary of the same Scriptures: the ones addressing homosexuality countered by Matthew 7:1, "Do not judge[insert exclamation mark, although the text has a comma]." I am constantly being told to "read my whole Bible," which I do. And frankly, right now, it is all that I want to read.

One of my favorite verses is Romans 12:1-2, which I memorized when I first became a Christian. Let me pause and say this: I chose to be a Christian. I don't believe we ever have a Christian nation. Our nation can enact laws that honor God, but we are not some blessed, chosen people as Americans, where as a group we safely position ourselves before the Almighty and everything is hunky-dory. I can hear some of you arguing--it will have to wait for another time.

I chose this path, which Jesus describes as narrow, which few find (Matthew 7:13-14). Christians will likely always be the minority in the culture in which we live. The Christian life is not easy, which is why we gather with other believers to be encouraged: "Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn 'a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law--a man's enemies will be the members of his own household'" (Matthew 10:34-36...another verse you don't hear quoted very often).

So I have been meditating on Romans 12:1-2. I am hungry for spiritual renewal, and this passage is foundational:

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God--this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will.

Paul is speaking to believers (not the world, not all Americans, but me, and those like me who have chosen to be disciples of Jesus). Because we have received God's mercy, paid for on the cross, where Christ physically suffered, we should give Him our bodies, even if it's physically uncomfortable. The second verse says that we should renew our minds.

Do you want to know God's will? Start with your body and your mind.

My body has been abused lately, in two specific ways: I drink too much coffee, and I have pushed myself beyond any slim imagining of rest. I have taken on too much work. I have never been good at resting, but this last semester, it is as if God let me pursue my own natural bent, and wow, am I messed up. I desperately need to learn about Sabbath, which is addressed in the Law, the Prophets, and the New Testament. The Christian life does not always look pleasant to outsiders because it involves discipline. It doesn't always look pleasant to the Christian--because it involves discipline. Ugh.

I need the discipline of drinking more water, instead of having coffee in the afternoon.

I need to rest, and I really have no idea what that looks like. Jeremiah 6:16 says, "This is what the Lord says: "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. But you said, ‘We will not walk in it.’" Ouch. Richard Foster's Celebration of Discipline is my starting point for finding "the ancient paths" of my faith. Perhaps I will read the chapter on Solitude...but I seem to have given away my copy.

And the first step I need to take in renewing my mind is to not dislike the discipline so much. I want to draw closer to God; this is how to do it. Stop griping! Be glad that there is a way, a visible path, and start walking. Anyone who has dieted or started an exercise routine knows the first hurdle is the resolve to begin. That's me, resolving to change my thinking, to rejoice in God's way, to not give in to my own whiney-ness.

So this post is entirely for me. Those on my Facebook who are yelling at Christians to read our own Bible, the whole thing--well, here I am. This is what it looks like. And while I do not expect the world to see or understand me, I am grateful for those believers who are walking this same path. Thank you, brothers and sisters, for your encouragement and fellowship.

Game Over and the pillow fort

I am not one of those Christians who pours over Revelation and has a map on the wall about the end times. I have indeed studied Revelation, and I have opinions, but it is not one of my hobbies.

That said, I can't wait for Game Over. I have a greater sense of purpose than ever before in my life, and I am convinced that God has work for me still to do, but my heart is with Paul when he says, "I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far, but it is more necessary [for one or two people] that I remain in the body" (Philippians 1:23-24).

Getting to see Jesus means that I can stop striving in half-darkness. 1 Corinthians 13 says that someday I will know as I am known, fully, face to face, not a dim glimpse in a foggy mirror. And I know that I will have failed him, come up short, but his love for me is compelling. I am not afraid to be found wanting--of course I will. That's why I am clothed in the righteousness of Christ; my own clothes are tattered.

I am like a child trying to keep a pillow fort together. When Jesus comes, I get to drop all of my blocks and attempts and run to him: "I am so glad you're here! I think I've really messed things up."

And he will set all things right: my heart, my thinking, the world, his church.

So, Lord, I'm going to get up again today, and I am going to try. And I will talk about you and seek your face and walk in your Spirit. But I am genuinely grateful that all of this is almost over. Come soon.

(The picture of the pillow fort I copied from Steve Ezra's blog. I didn't ask him; he's a Christian, so I hope he forgives me. This is me, bungling through life again. I also grabbed the sky photo from someone--I don't even have a credit for that one. Please come, Jesus. I am such a wreck.)

My messy house

My house is a disaster. I would take a photo, but it couldn't capture the level of disorganization. Not only are there dust bunnies in the hallway and crusty stuff under my contact lens case, but things are simply out of place. Groceries not unpacked; school papers and books and assignments scattered over multiple surfaces; daily tasks shoved into corners and mounding with a layer of quiet panic. And of course, my daughter's shoes have been multiplying like rabbits near the garage door.

This photo isn't mine-but you get the idea.

I do not always live in such chaos, but if you have any window into my life this last semester, you know it was insane. My house is simply evidence of a life lived too fast, too full. I don't regret it--although now, I must recover from it.

As I was straightening the bed this morning, I thought about how housework gives me time for meditation. Restoring and refreshing this environment allows my soul to ponder and rest to the steady lapping of my hands.

Ironically, I don't think I would want to live in a clean house all the time.

I love the concept, and I may repent of actually writing that down, but messiness is appealing to me. I get the pleasure of cleanliness. For a few hours after we've had company over, I delight in being able to see the kitchen countertops, the vacuum track marks in the carpet, the smell of furniture polish.

But if I lived in a clean house, I would be most comfortable with...comfort. I would be comfortable with you when you are cleaned up and presentable, with a whiff of polish about you. And honestly, I like being part of the messiness of people. I like the examine the crusty layer that piles up under this belief, the pain shoved off in a corner, the cares that multiply like shoes from a shopping addict. If you clean up before you come see me, you are honestly not very interesting.

It is still my goal to clean the stupid house. But it won't stay that way, because I want to be comfortable when God sends me into messiness. And if you want to come over while I clean the dishes, I will make us coffee.

One big blessing

Often, I will think about Scripture, getting some notion in my head of what it says--and unless I have memorized it, sometimes my "gist" is simply wrong. Recently, I've been studying the beatitudes. In the back burner of my brain, I had begun to think of them as Jesus' words to the downtrodden. Of course, this sermon begins, "Blessed are the poor in spirit..." and it probably goes on to hold up the underdog. Right?

I also thought that Jesus was speaking to different groups of "poor" people. Going back to the Word itself is always a correction for me. Listen to whom Jesus is blessing: the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek (always a bad rap, the meek), those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted.

This doesn't really sound like a social justice list. In fact, it almost sounds like Jesus is talking to...His followers. You and me. And when he says "bless you," just like a good parent, he is telling us something about how we should be.

"Poor in spirit" means not puffed up, not having it all together. It's comforting to me that I can come to Jesus in my spiritual mess, and he's okay with that.

"Those who mourn." In recent years, I have found myself grieving: sad with the sin in our poor, broken world, sad with the posturing and missteps of the people I identify with (the church). This Christ-following thing is hard, and it sometimes makes me feel out of step with everyone: church culture, American culture, all of it. Grief has elements of denial, anger, sadness, and bargaining. I think I do all of that.

"The meek." Sometimes, because I follow Jesus, who describes himself as Truth, I can get pretty puffed up. Jesus says, "Hey, dear child, you are blessed when you are meek." Sigh. What, again, is meekness?

"Hunger and thirst after righteousness." As someone who loves to study, this blessing has always appealed to me. But as I get older, I am challenged more and more on what it means to love people, what it means to reconcile people to God as an ambassador, what it means to be in the world but not of it. Many things in me have to die in order to be right before God. I do want that, and it is comforting that my Lord says I will be filled.

"The merciful." How many stories does Jesus tell about forgiveness? I have been forgiven much; I know this. May my face always be full of mercy to anyone who sees me in their journey towards God. He shows me mercy; I get to be merciful.

"The pure in heart." This one is hard for me. When I think of the beatitudes as speaking to separate groups, I can imagine the Pure In Heart sitting off to the side, with little harps and white robes. I know I don't qualify. My soul is steeped in sarcasm and intelligent wit, sometimes a little too worldly. But if these words of Christ are a blessing for all of his children, then I am called to purity. Now I'm circling back to poor in spirit, mourning, meek, hunger and thirst...

"The peacemakers." Paul says we are ambassadors for the gospel; we are called to help others make peace with God. Lest we get in our own little cocoon and think all this righteousness is for ourselves, remember: there is a world of hurting people who need to know the love of God. Jesus reminds me I am blessed as a peacemaker--he is sending me out.

"The persecuted." As he sends me out, it's not always going to go very well. Who says to their followers, hey, this thing won't always be successful, but cheer up, you come from a long line of hated people. Even more ironic: I find these words very comforting. And it reminds me to respond to a hostile world with meekness, poverty of spirit, mercy...see the loop?

Jesus looks straight at me in this sermon. He tells me that there is a reward. There is comfort. There is a payoff. There is mercy. I will see him. I will be called his child. I am not alone.

To see the Beatitudes of Jesus, read Matthew 5:1-12.

See the sign

Recently, I substituted for one of my fellow adjuncts at the college where I work. She had arranged for a speaker in her Introduction to Christianity course, and he was explaining to the very young adults about the work he supervises at the Gospel Light Mission with the homeless. The topic of panhandling came up, and he gave an account of his interaction with the beggars in his city. He then said, "You must rely on God to speak to you when you see someone panhandling. I don't know their situation; they may really need the money. Let God lead you."

I interjected my own experience with panhandling and begging in Tulsa. Almost every time I drive my daughter to school, there is someone holding a sign as we exit the highway: "Anything helps. God bless." I have talked with a few of these people (many are regulars, moving around the city in milder weather), and my acquaintance with them has led me to think this is not how I want to invest my dollars.

I also relayed to the students an experience I once had at a gas station. While I was filling my car, there was a woman at the pump behind me. She had two small children in car seats; she was getting gas just like me. I had the strongest impression from God that I should give her $20. I did. She was moved to tears and thanked me; I simply said, "God bless you," and went on with my day.

As I was finishing my story, a student on the back row loudly whispered, "She's the substitute," obviously in response to the query, who is this woman and why is she talking to us? But even if my story meant nothing to the class, it crystallized a message in my own heart.

The speaker had admonished us to let God lead. And yet I often make decisions based on whatever people ask of me. I have come dangerously close to the end of myself in all I have to do this semester. I cannot ever remember being so busy. And I still find it hard to say no.

While telling about my experience with panhandling, I realized: God is capable of asking me to give away my money (and likewise, my time and energy). People will always be holding up signs, but God directs me when there are no signs present. The cardboard sign is the individual's request; it is not God's voice.

This week, when someone has asked something of me, I have pictured them as standing on the corner of Sheridan and the expressway exit, holding a cardboard sign. It helps me differentiate between the noise of a needy world, and my Father's voice. I trust Him to use me, in ways that He knows best. I need to be careful not to spread myself so thin, acting on my own energy and my own best thinking, that I can neither hear Him nor act when He speaks.

Where are your accusers

It always intrigues me when God asks a question. It can't be because he needs information, as if there is something unknown to him lurking inside of me. In part, questions force us to participate in the conversation, to look for the answer and give our best guess to the Master. Something in us doesn't respond as well to a droning lecture.

Questions invite.

In John 8:1-11, there is a story of a woman caught in adultery. (Complete sidenote: because this is a rare disputed passage in the Biblical cannon, I researched the topic a bit. If you are interested in puzzling out why scholars debate its inclusion in Scripture, this article was helpful to me.) She is brought before Jesus with the expectation that he will condemn her, command her to be stoned as the Law requires.

After all, she was caught in the very act of adultery. All by herself. Uh huh, really.

Another article I read today talks about how carefully Jesus upheld the Law. He wasn't backed into a corner by the crowd; he stood up for what was right and judged fairly.

So this story may be a lovely tribute to the Law, but readers for centuries have loved it because it speaks of grace. Jesus didn't condemn her, and he surely knew she was guilty. He surely had the right to judge her; her heart was open to him. And yet, after such a public, humiliating spectacle, he says, "Neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin." Until Judgment Day, when we stand bared before a righteous God, we have the opportunity to repent, to turn toward him.

But Jesus also asks her a question. My translation says, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?" (v.10, NIV) The King James says, "Where are your accusers?"

The answer is "No one is here to condemn me." She is standing before Jesus, and all of the stone throwers have slipped away.

But what humiliating experience, to be caught in sin and dragged to a public trial. The experience wouldn't leave you easily. You would still see the people who accused you as you went to market, took your clothes to be washed, drew water from the well. And you would know that they are still accusing you in their heads (at least).

So when Jesus, at this pivotal moment, asks her a question, she is forced to answer: "No one accuses me." And the Righteous Judge, standing before her, sends her away with the command to live better. In that moment, Jesus plants his words in her head, the reminder, the truth she must cling to, as she goes on in her life.

Who is accusing you? How does the punishment/judgment/grace thing work in the life that we live?

Who is accusing you?
No one.
Neither do I. Go on, and live repentant.

What do you want

One of my favorite questions in the Bible was posed by Jesus to a blind beggar. The story is told in Luke 18:33-43. Jesus is walking towards Jerusalem, where he will be crucified. As he is approaching Jericho, a man calls out to him: "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" This man has no name; he is identified as "a blind beggar."

I wonder what my tag would be? Without a name, if I appeared in a story with Jesus, would I be "the harried housewife?" "A distracted mother?" When this man sat on the side of the road, anyone who saw him knew his flaws: he was blind; he was begging. He had needs that were glaring.

When he began calling out, the people around him rebuked him, told him to hush, but he shouted even more. I feel like that beggar this morning: Lord, I am in need. I need you. See me, Lord!

And Jesus says to the man, "What do you want me to do for you?"

Really, Jesus? The man is BLIND. Duh. What do you think he wants?? Why did Jesus ask this?

When I am desperate, when I am begging in a crowd for answers to the cry of my heart, I imagine Jesus looking at me and asking, "What do you want me to do for you?"

Would you have an answer? Do you know the one thing that you want from the Master, if he were standing before you and asked?

"I just want my life to be good." Very vague.
"I don't want to worry anymore." Very broad.
"I want to run away." Genuine, but is the cry of my heart really just a bed and breakfast somewhere?

The man answered, "Lord, I want to see." And Jesus said to him, "Receive your sight; your faith has healed you."

The man wanted to see, but he could already see his own need when he began calling out to the Lord. Jesus seemed to love people's clarity and boldness.

I personally do not look as messy as a blind beggar. I work to hold things together, so I am not so obviously needy. It would be a shame if all my efforts to not fall apart kept me hushed, kept me away from the side of the road.

I don't want to miss his question: "What do you want me to do for you?"