I can't believe its a third day of writing in my blog, last year I only wrote two entry's...what is it about this week? After re-reading my recent blog called "Unless a Seed Dies", at the last couple of sentences, my mind began to whirl, remembering yesterday afternoon. My office is in an small inner city church building, the tenants that know me, know where I am most days and if they want to chat or have a problem, they know where to come. As Housing Resource Coordinator for 3 project areas, there are alot of suites/tenants that need help with bed bug issues, arrears, hoarding or just trying to understand "the system" and its many requirements and loads of paperwork to stay housed.
I was at the table with a young man on the verge of eviction because he didn't know he had to get in forms for a subsidy for his rent, his late charge were growing. He came in excited because his E.I. budget letter came in...step one...we have about 6 more steps to go. I.D., Heatlth Card, tax info., wow....all that needed to get accomplished. Here's a guy who spends 70% of his time in bed, 20% finding and doing mild drugs, and 10% playing video games. Who knows when he eats, goes to the bathroom, or actually goes outside? Yipes. Anyways, we are talking baby steps here.
So I'm getting up, to Google the MB Health number for Stan and then in walks a guy who looks familiar. Teen Challenge? Woody's House? Couldn't place him, but he has a hungry,desperate look and bee-lines for the pastors office. Ok, I thought, I'll let the pastor take care of it. I went about my business, while eyeing Stan, hoping he wasn't going to leave from the boring process of paperwork and the other eye on the new guy, waving papers around and explaining something to the pastor. What is it about paper work?? I hate it too, so much red tape to get people some help and then wait, wait, wait, while debt grows, emotional havoc is played out and hope dies.
Stan is taken care of, and he leaves, the pastor comes over with the new guy and says, maybe you can help him? I nod, (like I know what I'm doing, but I don't) and it suddenly dawns on me that this guy was slated for evicition, claiming that he paid his $1600 rent bill but actually didn't. His name is Clarence, I remembered him peeking out of his door way many months ago, eyes dark, to take the envelope I was handing him...a demand for payment or eviction. We didn't talk, but he looked trapped, alone and hunted. Now he was here, waving papers for a court date that my company set up to justify eviction, and asking if we had any food. He was so hungry on so many levels. I looked up, seemed like the pastor disappeared..."Thank GOD!", he was probably thinking. What a wild coincidence that he came in now, not knowing this was my office...he wanted and needed help. The main thing he wanted is food, I searched the church cupboards and they were bare. I assured him that I knew where he lived, that I'd drop off something later for him...his medicated eyes stared at me for a moment, and he held out his huge hand and said thank you. What does a disciple do, I wondered, sit that "Greek" down and say wait here (show whose boss), consult with pastor, phone a food bank, (protocol) and love bomb that guy with another paper with a phone number of somewhere he could go to tomorrow to have a soup and sandwich..."now don't get in trouble!"
I'm saying this because I've done that before, many pastors and well meaning Christians do this all the time, if they happen to be in that space with a truely hungry, medicated, inner city type person. Clarence left with a promise that I'd be by later with something. Remembering the seed dying part of the Scripture, I later hefted a back pack of Zoodles, instant noodles, smokies, soup and carrots..grabbed my house keys and dog and went into the wierd cold rainy weather of Winnipeg. Yuck, just go, you promised. He doesn't live far, I rang his door bell and he came down in his sweats and hairy chest and a half smile...I handed him the soup, he said thanks and made to go up stairs...wait, there's more! Feeling like Santa, I kept handing him bags and cans and packages...what a blast! For one moment and for many more after, I felt like I had bashed through the barrier. That wall that we love bomb over and hope that somebody is helped, or feels like coming to church because of it. I bashed through, and stepped out into the muddy, rainy evening as if nothing happened. And as if Everything had happened
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Oscar Nails It
tOscar Romero wrote,
“It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view. The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts: it is beyond our vision. We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is the Lord’s work. Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us. No sermon says all that should be said. No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession brings perfection. No pastoral visit brings wholeness. No program accomplishes the Church’s mission. No set of goals and objectives includes everything. That is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one day will grow. We water seeds already planted knowing they hold future promise. We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that affects far beyond our capabilities. We cannot do everything and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it very, very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the Master Builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future that is not our own.”
Today, this is my focus, to do the little things well and the hard things trust that He will give me faith that its all part of the big picture. I am so glad Oscar decided to do the the little things well, and entrusted the rest to our faithful Creator....in his death, much hope and life was unleashed.
“It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view. The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts: it is beyond our vision. We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is the Lord’s work. Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us. No sermon says all that should be said. No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession brings perfection. No pastoral visit brings wholeness. No program accomplishes the Church’s mission. No set of goals and objectives includes everything. That is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one day will grow. We water seeds already planted knowing they hold future promise. We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that affects far beyond our capabilities. We cannot do everything and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it very, very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the Master Builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future that is not our own.”
Today, this is my focus, to do the little things well and the hard things trust that He will give me faith that its all part of the big picture. I am so glad Oscar decided to do the the little things well, and entrusted the rest to our faithful Creator....in his death, much hope and life was unleashed.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Unless a Seed Dies....
I scanned the selection of potluck foods on the table. Some of this curry stuff, some egg salad, a bun with jam on it and two scoops of good look'n chili. I poured some lemonade into a pink plastic cup (that changes to purple with cold liquid in it) and went to sit down next to a few people chatting around a table. Conversations were filling the room, smiles, laughter, nods and smacking lips. The Little Flowers gathering was in full swing this Sunday night.
When we were done eating, we sang a few songs and prayed for each other. Our reading from John 12 was looked at. Gentiles coming to meet with Jesus but Andrew and Philip checking with Jesus. He says something kind of weird, like if a kernel of wheat falls to the ground it dies, it remains a single seed, but if it dies, it produces many seeds. Why would he bring this up, when the point is that there is some "outsiders" wanting to talk to him. Why didn't the disciples just bring them over to Jesus, was there protocol? Maybe there was red tape to seeing the big guy, not just anyone who waltzed over could think he could talk to the Master any ol' time. Andrew and Philp were just doing their duty, right? Make those Greek boys wait over there, maybe we'll let 'em wait for awhile just to let them know whose boss.
So Jesus talks about being glorified, seeds and losing your life to save it. Nothing to do with Greeks, right? But at the end, he says "where I am, my servants are...my Father will honor the one who serves me". The Jews at the time were sure that the Messiah would usher in the new kingdom of God, save them from the boots of the oppressors (aka "outsiders") and put them on the throne to rule all the other kingdoms. The despised to delivered to being in charge, in three easy steps. What is this of dying and seeds and serving? Maybe the Greeks were there to offer their services to Jesus, or wanted to hang out with the man who seemed to be doing some real cool stuff...they wanted in on it too.
Somehow their visit was the catalyst for a conversation that drew in the whole crowd, and even a voice from heaven! This whole topic to me, last night, opened up an understanding. In some kind of spiritual superiority we often tell those who want to come close to Jesus to just chill, wait over there...we'll let you know when its ok to come disturb him. Those who think they know what is going on, are brought up short by what Jesus says...I have come to die and be glorified, you guys don't have the whole picture! People from nations are going to come to serve and die and be glorified with me. Open the gates, men, the welcome extends to all....and in our context that means anyone who wants to meet with Him can and no one should put obstacles in the way to prevent it. Not doctrine, judgement, policies, a type of prayer or program.
What we have done in the name of Jesus is exclude the outsider, and throw love bombs and ethics and morality pamphlets over the wall and when one does actually surrender we welcome them to come be part of the club, and maybe even meet Jesus the club leader, if they are good enough. That is how a lot of evangelism methods are conceived, what is the best love bomb and how can we hook them into what we've got? Jesus would say to this scene, "excuse me", (pushing away the gospel tract cannons and eager 'Love Our City for Jesus' t-shirts)," let's take you, Andy and see if you would go down with me to Langside, to knock on that rooming house door and see how Bill is doing. On the brink of going to jail, girlfriend dumped him and skin itchy from bed bug bites. Hey, let's stop at Timmy's for a double, double for him...I know he'd like that."
Including Bill in grace is glorifying Jesus, but how many disciples are up for that? Or including the young gay evangelical that is torn by his love for Jesus and rejection from the church? Or the alcoholic who plays worship songs and hymns for his buddies but is not allowed to lift up the One he loves at the next door Gospel Hall? I know these are concepts that may cause concern for many who read it. But you know the point? Let those who want to serve me, be with me.....and if a few of those come together in love for the God-man, they will learn and grow and serve and forgive and change.....who knows where it could go? Jesus-ward, I bet. Unless a seed dies.....
When we were done eating, we sang a few songs and prayed for each other. Our reading from John 12 was looked at. Gentiles coming to meet with Jesus but Andrew and Philip checking with Jesus. He says something kind of weird, like if a kernel of wheat falls to the ground it dies, it remains a single seed, but if it dies, it produces many seeds. Why would he bring this up, when the point is that there is some "outsiders" wanting to talk to him. Why didn't the disciples just bring them over to Jesus, was there protocol? Maybe there was red tape to seeing the big guy, not just anyone who waltzed over could think he could talk to the Master any ol' time. Andrew and Philp were just doing their duty, right? Make those Greek boys wait over there, maybe we'll let 'em wait for awhile just to let them know whose boss.
So Jesus talks about being glorified, seeds and losing your life to save it. Nothing to do with Greeks, right? But at the end, he says "where I am, my servants are...my Father will honor the one who serves me". The Jews at the time were sure that the Messiah would usher in the new kingdom of God, save them from the boots of the oppressors (aka "outsiders") and put them on the throne to rule all the other kingdoms. The despised to delivered to being in charge, in three easy steps. What is this of dying and seeds and serving? Maybe the Greeks were there to offer their services to Jesus, or wanted to hang out with the man who seemed to be doing some real cool stuff...they wanted in on it too.
Somehow their visit was the catalyst for a conversation that drew in the whole crowd, and even a voice from heaven! This whole topic to me, last night, opened up an understanding. In some kind of spiritual superiority we often tell those who want to come close to Jesus to just chill, wait over there...we'll let you know when its ok to come disturb him. Those who think they know what is going on, are brought up short by what Jesus says...I have come to die and be glorified, you guys don't have the whole picture! People from nations are going to come to serve and die and be glorified with me. Open the gates, men, the welcome extends to all....and in our context that means anyone who wants to meet with Him can and no one should put obstacles in the way to prevent it. Not doctrine, judgement, policies, a type of prayer or program.
What we have done in the name of Jesus is exclude the outsider, and throw love bombs and ethics and morality pamphlets over the wall and when one does actually surrender we welcome them to come be part of the club, and maybe even meet Jesus the club leader, if they are good enough. That is how a lot of evangelism methods are conceived, what is the best love bomb and how can we hook them into what we've got? Jesus would say to this scene, "excuse me", (pushing away the gospel tract cannons and eager 'Love Our City for Jesus' t-shirts)," let's take you, Andy and see if you would go down with me to Langside, to knock on that rooming house door and see how Bill is doing. On the brink of going to jail, girlfriend dumped him and skin itchy from bed bug bites. Hey, let's stop at Timmy's for a double, double for him...I know he'd like that."
Including Bill in grace is glorifying Jesus, but how many disciples are up for that? Or including the young gay evangelical that is torn by his love for Jesus and rejection from the church? Or the alcoholic who plays worship songs and hymns for his buddies but is not allowed to lift up the One he loves at the next door Gospel Hall? I know these are concepts that may cause concern for many who read it. But you know the point? Let those who want to serve me, be with me.....and if a few of those come together in love for the God-man, they will learn and grow and serve and forgive and change.....who knows where it could go? Jesus-ward, I bet. Unless a seed dies.....
Sunday, January 18, 2015
In Bed With Bruce
This morning (and many mornings since Christmas) I've been snuggling up to Bruce. Warm and inviting, he is not shy with sharing his life with me, stories of his past, struggles, joys and cries of injustice. He is intimate, but holds back just enough that I want to know more, and feel deeply as he does for those he loves and to those who have lost greatly. If you're wondering if I've changed partners lately, no, Steve and I are still deeply involved as husband and wife and snuggle regularly to prove it. I'm talking about Bruce Cockburn's new memoir, "Rumours of Glory" which I received as a Christmas gift from Steve. It seems to have come at a crucial time, as I have been struggling with a spiritual "rummage sale" for about a year now, what goes? What stays? What is my bottom line in life? Questions of addictions, grace, ugliness, waste, violence, loneliness...in me and in my friends, and those I work with. Early morning panic, as I head out the door for another round of bed bug work, hoarding issues and those behind on rent and those who are about to get the boot for fighting another tenant. Will it be alright today, will I be alright? Can I take one more day of questions, with no answers? It eats away at me, at my faith, at all I have believed since I was a little church girl.
Opening the pages of his final chapters this morning, I can see that he has taken all this experience, angst, travel and poetry put into music and summarized a life that feels a little bit like mine. More mystery then answers, more finding light to faze out the darkness, the healing of holding a loving hand then letting the acid of shaking hands with the devil eat our skin away....he says:
"People who maintain a relationship with the Divine - no matter the religion or sect or specified belief system- will bear a special burden. It's the burden of healing that is needed after our poor stewardship of this blessed earth and of each other. Between the dogmatism of fear based fundamentalism and the Battlestar Galactica new-aginess of Hollywood, down there in the cracks, there is room, there is a necessity, for the sharing of real, personal and experiential knowledge of God-of love. That is our mission should we choose to accept it: to get that experience, to be fueled by that love, and to go forth and share whatever insights and inspiration we may have gained, while simultaneously supporting our communities and families in all ways feasible. We don't need to worry about making converts. If we go out there shining with the light of God and brimming with love, it will be noticed. A door will be opened for the spirit to walk through."
There is room, there is a necessity....down there in the cracks. I am still mucking about in the cracks, my cry for relief and healing for the deep pain I discover there, hopefully is making it up to the Divine. I know one thing, it is changing me down to the core, and I wait in the darkness for the answer of love to trickle into my deep place and onto our dry and dusty planet.
Opening the pages of his final chapters this morning, I can see that he has taken all this experience, angst, travel and poetry put into music and summarized a life that feels a little bit like mine. More mystery then answers, more finding light to faze out the darkness, the healing of holding a loving hand then letting the acid of shaking hands with the devil eat our skin away....he says:
"People who maintain a relationship with the Divine - no matter the religion or sect or specified belief system- will bear a special burden. It's the burden of healing that is needed after our poor stewardship of this blessed earth and of each other. Between the dogmatism of fear based fundamentalism and the Battlestar Galactica new-aginess of Hollywood, down there in the cracks, there is room, there is a necessity, for the sharing of real, personal and experiential knowledge of God-of love. That is our mission should we choose to accept it: to get that experience, to be fueled by that love, and to go forth and share whatever insights and inspiration we may have gained, while simultaneously supporting our communities and families in all ways feasible. We don't need to worry about making converts. If we go out there shining with the light of God and brimming with love, it will be noticed. A door will be opened for the spirit to walk through."
There is room, there is a necessity....down there in the cracks. I am still mucking about in the cracks, my cry for relief and healing for the deep pain I discover there, hopefully is making it up to the Divine. I know one thing, it is changing me down to the core, and I wait in the darkness for the answer of love to trickle into my deep place and onto our dry and dusty planet.
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Princess
I watched the cars line up in front of my neighbor friend's house....2 police cars, 3-4 shiny civilian cars with ladies driving them and also watched as they got out and went inside. And when they all filed out. I wasn't sure if I should get involved but the catch in my heart beat meant that they were there to "apprehend" her children. All 6 of them. I wrestled with talking to the lady standing by her car, but wanted them (CFS) to know that "that lady" had a friend that cared to know what was going on. So I went up to her..."Hi, I'm a friend of the woman that lives in the place you just went into, is everything alright?" She looked at me and smiled but said in an incredulous voice, "That place there?" and she pointed to the house. "Yes, I know her and her kids and wondered if everything was ok." She gave me a look of wonder (like who would ever be THAT ladies friend?) and said, "Oh we are looking for her grand-child". Ok, like Marge has 2 grandbabies and one on the way, not living in her house, something doesn't fit here....and what about all the cars?
I let that slide and went home and phoned Marge. She was out driving 5 kids around and didn't know the bustling entourage in front of her house was there. After she came home, she asked me to stick around while her native CFS worker came by, to explain what was going on. As I sat on the step with her 8 year old daughter Natasha and her new kitten Princess, I wondered if I'd be seeing her kids gathered up in the next few days and taken to various homes or hotels. Her house had slowly become a pit, with letting in the wrong crowd of kids hang out there, her landlady doesn't care to do repairs and cockroaches, bed bugs and mice were entrenching themselves in walls, cupboards and the basement. We have helped her many times, but because of the neglect and overwhelming circumstances, CFS had been called to investigate.
Natasha's kitty was becoming anxious to explore and she held on to it tightly. "Do you think they will take us away today?" Natasha asked me. "No, it doesn't look like it will be today", I wondered how I would handle this awful subject. "Well, if they do..." she looked at me with clear, beautiful brown eyes, "what will happen to Princess?" "I don't know, she might wonder around and get lost." I said. Letting the conversation unfold, she said, "Oh, I don't want Princess to get lost". "How about if when you have to leave, you bring her to me and I'll care for her till you get back", I said. She looked at me with a smile, "Ok! I'll pick her up when we get back."
The conversation inside with the CFS worker was ending and the man stepped outside on the porch. As I got up to get out of the way, Natasha shoved Princess into my arms and looked sternly at me. I held the kitty as Marge, the CFS worker and I chatted a bit and he left. No kids in tow, not the day of reckoning that we all thought. I gave Princess back to Natasha and said, "I'll bring you some kitty food. It looks like that's it for the day and I have to make my boys some supper." She bundled the little kitten back in her arms and we looked at each other, like sharing a secret but not a very happy one.
Going home, it took me awhile to detox from that little episode. Praying, thinking, wondering how it will all go for these kids and their mom, trying to keep things together. Her confidence in me was reassuring, that she does have someone in this crazy scene that will take care of what is hers, while she faces the unknown.
I now throw what is mine, into the lap of the One I've trusted and know He is faithful till the end for both Natasha and me.
I let that slide and went home and phoned Marge. She was out driving 5 kids around and didn't know the bustling entourage in front of her house was there. After she came home, she asked me to stick around while her native CFS worker came by, to explain what was going on. As I sat on the step with her 8 year old daughter Natasha and her new kitten Princess, I wondered if I'd be seeing her kids gathered up in the next few days and taken to various homes or hotels. Her house had slowly become a pit, with letting in the wrong crowd of kids hang out there, her landlady doesn't care to do repairs and cockroaches, bed bugs and mice were entrenching themselves in walls, cupboards and the basement. We have helped her many times, but because of the neglect and overwhelming circumstances, CFS had been called to investigate.
Natasha's kitty was becoming anxious to explore and she held on to it tightly. "Do you think they will take us away today?" Natasha asked me. "No, it doesn't look like it will be today", I wondered how I would handle this awful subject. "Well, if they do..." she looked at me with clear, beautiful brown eyes, "what will happen to Princess?" "I don't know, she might wonder around and get lost." I said. Letting the conversation unfold, she said, "Oh, I don't want Princess to get lost". "How about if when you have to leave, you bring her to me and I'll care for her till you get back", I said. She looked at me with a smile, "Ok! I'll pick her up when we get back."
The conversation inside with the CFS worker was ending and the man stepped outside on the porch. As I got up to get out of the way, Natasha shoved Princess into my arms and looked sternly at me. I held the kitty as Marge, the CFS worker and I chatted a bit and he left. No kids in tow, not the day of reckoning that we all thought. I gave Princess back to Natasha and said, "I'll bring you some kitty food. It looks like that's it for the day and I have to make my boys some supper." She bundled the little kitten back in her arms and we looked at each other, like sharing a secret but not a very happy one.
Going home, it took me awhile to detox from that little episode. Praying, thinking, wondering how it will all go for these kids and their mom, trying to keep things together. Her confidence in me was reassuring, that she does have someone in this crazy scene that will take care of what is hers, while she faces the unknown.
I now throw what is mine, into the lap of the One I've trusted and know He is faithful till the end for both Natasha and me.
Monday, June 16, 2014
Bannock and Wine
"Aw"!! The computer screen indicated a serious game going on, his character blasting away at the others on the screen..."why do we need to go over there? It's only going to be the three of us, nobody is going to come in this rain anyway!" The screen lit up with an explosion, and he was back in the game. My son didn't hear my explanation as the headphones were back in place and his fingers dittoing rapidly on the keyboard. I thought my answer was a good one, even if there is three of us, we have decided to give that time up to pray, study and have communion as a sign of what Jesus has done, is doing and will do, in us and in the neighborhood. **sigh**
My prayer was that Woody's Worship today would be another indication that Jesus refused to give up the neighborhood, as was his lonely lady disciple (aka: me). Steve was out of town, my good buddy wasn't answering his phone, the kids were "occupied" and it was raining. So on went the 'too big' galoshes (really they were huge rubber boots), my rain jacket and debit card to go to Safeway to buy the grape juice for communion and to photo copy the song pages. I felt so martyred for my faith, a little like Stephen in Acts 6 and 7 that I was going to preach about in an hour. I was being harangued and mocked by my son, pelted by rain drops like stones and made to walk a whole block, like Christ heading to the cross.
It didn't even get better at our worship hour. Everyone actually showed up (HA! In your face son!) but in between the preaching and the communion, I forgot the tune of the "great song" I was going to teach and had to read it instead, plus sit in between my 16 and 17 year old because the of the quiet rucus going on with their flip flops. Can you hear another **sigh** of martyrdom?
Is this what it is to bring Jesus into a struggling neighborhood? Why do I have to struggle too? At least let me remember the song tune!! At least inject my child with the wonder of inner-city ministry and smilingly turn to me and say "right on mom! Let's go worship Jesus and declare his Kingdom in this god-forsaken drug den street!!" Just writing that makes me wonder what got into me to even think that it would be easy and others would be patting me on the back with encouragement. I don't think I have a clue what real martyrdom is, let alone spell it. The real guy Stephen, who was stoned, could tell us what it means....and he'd probably say it just takes a heart filled with the wonder of His Spirit, hands that spread wide to the widows and the orphans and a mouth that will not stop talking of his justice and peace, the failure of legalism and glory of seeing Jesus sitting at the right hand of His Father. A surrender to what He wants, when He wants it and love dripping out all over the place.
In this little space of time and neighborhood, I am inspired and humbled by this story. We eat the bannock and drink the wine, because we are broken, needy and crying out for his forgiveness and peace, for his presence and power. Disciples not giving up in seeing the Kingdom come.
My prayer was that Woody's Worship today would be another indication that Jesus refused to give up the neighborhood, as was his lonely lady disciple (aka: me). Steve was out of town, my good buddy wasn't answering his phone, the kids were "occupied" and it was raining. So on went the 'too big' galoshes (really they were huge rubber boots), my rain jacket and debit card to go to Safeway to buy the grape juice for communion and to photo copy the song pages. I felt so martyred for my faith, a little like Stephen in Acts 6 and 7 that I was going to preach about in an hour. I was being harangued and mocked by my son, pelted by rain drops like stones and made to walk a whole block, like Christ heading to the cross.
It didn't even get better at our worship hour. Everyone actually showed up (HA! In your face son!) but in between the preaching and the communion, I forgot the tune of the "great song" I was going to teach and had to read it instead, plus sit in between my 16 and 17 year old because the of the quiet rucus going on with their flip flops. Can you hear another **sigh** of martyrdom?
Is this what it is to bring Jesus into a struggling neighborhood? Why do I have to struggle too? At least let me remember the song tune!! At least inject my child with the wonder of inner-city ministry and smilingly turn to me and say "right on mom! Let's go worship Jesus and declare his Kingdom in this god-forsaken drug den street!!" Just writing that makes me wonder what got into me to even think that it would be easy and others would be patting me on the back with encouragement. I don't think I have a clue what real martyrdom is, let alone spell it. The real guy Stephen, who was stoned, could tell us what it means....and he'd probably say it just takes a heart filled with the wonder of His Spirit, hands that spread wide to the widows and the orphans and a mouth that will not stop talking of his justice and peace, the failure of legalism and glory of seeing Jesus sitting at the right hand of His Father. A surrender to what He wants, when He wants it and love dripping out all over the place.
In this little space of time and neighborhood, I am inspired and humbled by this story. We eat the bannock and drink the wine, because we are broken, needy and crying out for his forgiveness and peace, for his presence and power. Disciples not giving up in seeing the Kingdom come.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Get On the Bus!
I love kids...especially when I finally join them in their age appropriate wave length and we connect. Eyes light up, imagination runs rampant, and we become co-conspirators in a huge game that only we two, or three or four...know. Last night was like this. It was in the middle of Steve's talk of a verse in Isaiah to our potluck group, about 8 neighbors who ate spaghetti together, carried around Marge's baby and chatted about our favorite topics. Well, lately, the 3-4 little ones (ages 3-5) have been hungry for action (and noisy!)...slamming doors, each other and "washing" dishes...and each other. Somehow I got this brain wave to get the 4 kid chairs in a line and play bus. "Get on board!" I said to them, not too loud so Steve's audience could focus on what he was saying. Instantly I had three customers, sitting in the chairs behind me. They looked at me expectantly. "How about McDonald's?" I asked them. Sure, they were game and off we rode. I must have been pretty animated, 2 neighbors watched me with grins and I wondered how I looked bumping around and pressing the "gas pedal" now and then, letting kids off. Hadn't thought of the adult factor!
For nearly half an hour we played, then they wanted to be the bus driver, then they put the baby in his carrying seat in front and laughed as they imagined him driving! I have not had the pleasure of "play" in its purest form, for a long time. I have actually been in a serious, troubled state...angry at filthy rooms and suites, at poverty mindsets, at uncaring society especially in a season of plenty. When good times and feelings roll, where you buy and don't count the cost...whether from duty or love, where vacations are gone on and those who can't vacate, stay and struggle in loneliness and often painful circumstances. I am heavy, I am guilty and limited. I am human...I want a vacation! I don't have all the answers! If I have to change one more bed bug trap, or consider one more tenant we have to evict because of it, I think I'll die! There are too many tensions, limits, agonizing decisions, people that need care. And yet, I think I hear His voice calling through it all. Last night it was a child's voice, "go sit down on the chair, I want to drive you to McDonald's". I had to laugh, McDonald's? When all the world is going to pot (lately literally, the smell is all over the place!), this 3 year old wants to drive me to McDonald's? What a wonder and a delight...I notice the baby is smiling so broadly, I can't help but be caught up in their "in the moment" delight. And she keeps driving, and the baby keeps smiling, and I lay down my cares for the rest of the evening and join in.
I just read a small story called "Sharon's Christmas Prayer" by John Shea, in the book "The Holy Longing" (Ronald Rolheiser). This is what I'm talking about;
For nearly half an hour we played, then they wanted to be the bus driver, then they put the baby in his carrying seat in front and laughed as they imagined him driving! I have not had the pleasure of "play" in its purest form, for a long time. I have actually been in a serious, troubled state...angry at filthy rooms and suites, at poverty mindsets, at uncaring society especially in a season of plenty. When good times and feelings roll, where you buy and don't count the cost...whether from duty or love, where vacations are gone on and those who can't vacate, stay and struggle in loneliness and often painful circumstances. I am heavy, I am guilty and limited. I am human...I want a vacation! I don't have all the answers! If I have to change one more bed bug trap, or consider one more tenant we have to evict because of it, I think I'll die! There are too many tensions, limits, agonizing decisions, people that need care. And yet, I think I hear His voice calling through it all. Last night it was a child's voice, "go sit down on the chair, I want to drive you to McDonald's". I had to laugh, McDonald's? When all the world is going to pot (lately literally, the smell is all over the place!), this 3 year old wants to drive me to McDonald's? What a wonder and a delight...I notice the baby is smiling so broadly, I can't help but be caught up in their "in the moment" delight. And she keeps driving, and the baby keeps smiling, and I lay down my cares for the rest of the evening and join in.
I just read a small story called "Sharon's Christmas Prayer" by John Shea, in the book "The Holy Longing" (Ronald Rolheiser). This is what I'm talking about;
She was five,
sure of the facts,
and recited them
with slow solemnity
convinced every word
was revelation.
She said
they were so poor
they had only peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
to eat
and they went a long way from home
without getting lost. The lady rode
a donkey, the man walked, and the baby
was inside the lady.
They had to stay in a stable
with an ox and an ass (hee, hee)
but the Three Rich Men found them
because a star lited the roof
Shepherds came and you could
pet the sheep but not feed them.
Then the baby was borned.
And do you know who he was?
Her quarter eyes inflated
to silver dollars.
The baby was God.
And she jumped in the air
whirled round, dove into the sofa
and buried her head under the cushion
which is the only proper response
to the Good News of the Incarnation.
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