Well

When we are overrun with all we’ve yet to do, and particularly with all that we realize we’ll never get to do,

When we recognize that what we’ve envisioned is not what has come to pass,

When we’re forced to face down (at last) the truth that we can not control our kids or our marriage or our job or our reputation or the economy, or – basically – anything at all,

When fear stalks us and gloom hounds us,

We need to hear the good blessing from St. Julian:

All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.


Amen.

September 30, 2011 in Words and Rabble with 0 Comments

Autumn Joys

The crisp morning air teases, hints at what’s coming. We watch the colors come afire on Carter’s Mountain, signal that we best get ourselves up into the orchards for the Gala and the Fuji and the Red Delicious and the Golden Delicious and the HoneyCrisp and the (praise the Almighty!) CandyCrisp. Miska puts oranges and cinnamon simmering on the stove, drawing Colliers from the four corners of the house, curious.

Saturday pigskin. Winn’s Texas chili. Tossing the football with the boys. Fireplace. More reason to snuggle. The joys of autumn.

September 28, 2011 in A Family Man, Words and Rabble with 4 Comments

Hollow Hunger {a hillside sermon}

Blessings on the hungry {Jesus}

On Mondays, All Souls serves breakfast at The Haven, our local day shelter. Today, we had scrambled eggs, cinnamon oatmeal and assorted breads, along with the usual homemade granola and yogurt. Some enter hungry for a meal, and hopefully they leave filled. What I’ve discovered, however, is that we all enter hungry for something. Hungry for a job. Hungry for a friend. Hungry for even an inch of space from the noise. Hungry for the pain to stop. Hungry to be told we matter. Hungry for the husband to stop hitting. All this has made me wonder what hunger I carried with me as I entered those doors this morning. I’m still considering it.

And Jesus said, “blessings on those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”

Righteousness is one of those big words we throw around, so big and (for a few) so common that we don’t really hear it anymore. To be righteous means to be right. And some of us, worn weary by all that is wrong, are starved for things to be right. We won’t deny what we know: our world is not well. Things are not right. And we live each day with this hollowness, the hollowness of hope unfulfilled.

Righteousness can also be translated justice. We long for God to step in and make justice in our world, to plead the cause of those who are trampled, marginalized and wronged. No child should ever be abandoned. No village should ever be ripped apart by civil war. No young girl should ever have her dad send her out into the night for a twenty dollar bill. We want God to do something. We live with a gnawing ache, the injustice everywhere.

We are the poor, and we long for our poverty to be finished. We mourn for others or for ourselves — and we long for our tears to be dried. We are humbled or powerless, and we hope for the day when we aren’t dismissed or when we actually have something to show for all our effort. We are hungry. We are thirsty.

And to all of us with empty bellies or hollow hearts, Jesus says, “blessings on you – you will inherit God’s kingdom.” God has no intentions of leaving us empty, of leaving us abandoned, of leaving us at all. Jesus’ audacious promise is that the Kingdom of God is the place where the wrong is righted, where the hungry have plenty, where justice and goodness own the day.

I know what I’m hungry for. I’m hungry to believe that promise. I’m hungry to hope in something other than myself.


Those who follow Jesus grow hungry and thirsty on the way. They are longing for the forgiveness of all sin, for complete renewal, for the renewal too of the earth and the full establishment of God’s law. They are still involved in the world’s curse, and affected by its sin. He whom they follow must die accursed and on the cross, with a desperate cry for righteousness on his lips: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” But the disciple is not above the master, he follows in his steps. Happy are they who have the promise that they shall be filled, for the righteousness they receive will be no empty promise, but real satisfaction. {Dietrich Bonhoeffer}

September 26, 2011 in Through a Glass Darkly with 3 Comments

She Said Yes

Fourteen years ago (yesterday), Miska said yes. I giggled my way through most of the ceremony, an annoying (and quite manly, I might add) nervous response. The first few minutes, Miska thought my giggles were endearing. Ten minutes later, not so much.

We had a morning wedding and couldn’t wait to get on the road. Off on our honeymoon. It’s been a long road from there to here. I’ve been surprised by some of the detours and cul-de-sacs. But I’m thankful for every mile, even the hard ones.

Fourteen years later, the moments I most crave are our Fridays together. Just the two of us, thanks to the City of Charlottesville’s generosity (via the public school system) in watching our boys. We walk. We talk. Some Fridays, we grab Naan bread from the local bakery. We may watch a movie or take a nap. The day is a prayer. I love those Friday sabbaths, and I love the evenings on our balcony, after the boys are in bed. Tea in hand, Carter Mountain in full view. Sunlight fades, and love blooms.

There isn’t a person in this world I love more. There isn’t a person on this wide globe I respect more or believe in more. This I’m certain of: if you don’t know her, you are missing out on one of God’s good and beautiful gifts.

Over these years, we’ve had several stretches where love was hard, not easy. We had to say yes again and again. I plan on speaking that simple, powerful word ’til death do us part.

 

September 21, 2011 in A Family Man with 5 Comments

Daring, Humbled Ones {a hillside sermon}

Blessings on the meek. {Jesus}

We live in a university town, home to a historic and prestigious academic institution that has traded titles (Best Public University) with UC Berkley the last 11 or 12 years. There’s a lot of smart people here. A lot. I love it, truly do. Important ideas. Fascinating discussions. Intriguing people. But stick around long enough, and you will notice the temptation to sound smarter than you actually are, to drop names of esoteric philosophers you don’t really understand and use words you haven’t exactly figured out yet. Not that I’ve ever done this, mind you – but I know people who have.

I’m a pastor. And you might find this hard to believe (or not), but pastors feel the compulsion to climb the totem pole just like everyone else. We have our matrix for success, though these days it’s often unspoken because someone finally realized how crass it is to actually say you’re measuring the Kingdom of God by seats filled and dollars gathered. We see other churches grow and other pastors become the superstars while we dawdle along — and we awake in the middle of the night, ravaged by the fear that we are failures. Not that I’ve ever done this, mind you – but I know pastors who have.

I’m a writer. I don’t even need to go into it. The cliches are true; we are tortured souls. You put your words to paper, sending them out into the wide world with fingers crossed that they’ll be received, if not (dare we admit) cherished. And months later, the resounding silence has squashed all that. Now, you’re just begging the great publishing gods to not let it go out of print before its first birthday. And then you see the blogosphere blow up with some schmuck’s flash of brilliance. He said something revolutionary like “Be nice to people” – and he offered his sagacity with all the artfulness of a South of the Border billboard. Overnight, he’s got 4 buzillion twitter followers and blog commenters – and you know this because you’ve counted. Everything turns green. Not that I’ve ever done this…

We exhaust ourselves with all these wranglings because we do not believe that when we are humbled (and this is the meaning of meek) that the mercy of God will be enough for us. To be meek is to be gentle. A gentle man. A gentle woman. We are free to be gentle with others because we recognize God is gentle with us. We have nothing to prove. We are whoever and whatever God has given us to be. And we offer the same freedom to others.

When we release the demand to get what’s ours, when we drop our shoulders and lower our guard and simply live the truth of who we are – we can trust that the God of all kindness will hold us together. We don’t have to pry our life out of other’s scattered opinions and perceptions of us. We are free to be tamed by God, to surrender to God’s good care.

Peterson’s rendering of this beatitude invites us to take a risk – and to breathe easy: You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are – no more, no less.

September 19, 2011 in Through a Glass Darkly with 6 Comments

Mad Men

Miska and I, ever late to the party, have begun watching Mad Men. We’re into the second season, and I’ve yet to find a character I truly like. Early on, I asked Miska what she thought the symbolism was during each episode’s opening montage — that suited imaged falling, falling, falling. A couple nights ago, Miska figured it out. “He’s dropping into the moral abyss.” Bingo.

The writing is sharp. The set dead-on. A far cry from the same show, different channel gloom of most network drivel, Mad Men offers true craft, nuanced stories and dialogue that makes you want to actually listen to what the characters are saying. For television, that’s no small feat.
Still, there’s no character I really want to know, certainly nobody I’d like my sons to know. I’m watching Mad Men, but I realize I’m missing Friday Night Lights.

September 15, 2011 in Words and Rabble with 8 Comments

For Those Who Mourn {a hillside sermon}

Blessings on the mourners. {Jesus}

I live with a woman who’s made friends with tears. And I tell you, Miska’s tears are one of the most powerful and beautiful things about her. When Miska and I first married, she rarely cried. I do remember that night during our first month in our first apartment, when we were still sleeping on a twenty-year-old hand-me-down mattress and box springs plopped on the floor. So many emotions, so raw. The tears came, but that was rare.

A couple years later, Miska began her grad program in counseling. She started to pay attention to her story; and she learned to pay attention to other’s stories. Miska is one of those rare people who truly listens, who hears you. Her tears signal strength, not frailty. A courageous woman, this wife of mine. She bears other’s sorrows and has become well acquainted with grief. She takes in other’s joy and weeps for all the beauty she sees. If you’ve never told your story to another and felt the sheer presence of someone’s tears over you, with you – well, I pray someday you receive that gift.

Of course, tears aren’t the only way to mourn (or express gratitude for beauty). But however one mourns, the mourner is not one we’d think of as blessed. The mourner is the one who knows the weight of things, the one who’s mistakes have brought him low, the one who can’t get over the loss, the one who carries another’s pain. The mourner lives with acute awareness of all the things we’ve lost in our world, all the places where we’ve gone wrong.

Some might call the mourners sentimental. Some might hurry them along the “stages of grief.” The mourners are the people we learn to work around, to acknowledge but keep on the edges where they won’t bother anyone.

But when Jesus announces the kingdom of God, he throws his arms open wide and speaks these words. Blessed. Blessings on you who mourn, on you who know the sting of grief. To you who can never escape the tears, for you or for others. God is here. And you are blessed.

September 12, 2011 in Through a Glass Darkly with 0 Comments

On the Anniversary of 09/11

Ten years ago today, I was driving into downtown Denver, heading to my office at Schwab. I was dialed into the same news station that always accompanied my drive. Updates came staccato-style. What a tragedy – this malfunctioned plane (or was it pilot error?) that had set one of the Towers ablaze. Then I remember the somber panic of the announcer: This was not an accident. A second plane has just hit the second Tower.

I walked into the fourth floor of the Schwab building. The room was normally a-chatter with brokers doing broker business. But we were all huddled around the TV monitors hanging ever fifteen feet or so from the ceiling. Normally, we had CNBC’s coverage of the market’s pre-bell hype. We watched the flame and ash, the people diving out of windows. We worried about our colleagues in our Trade Center office – had they escaped?

We went to war, or three. Lives have been saved, I’m sure. Lives have also been lost, far more civilians than on that horrid day. What has come of us? Today, I wonder what we’ve learned as a people. What have I learned?

Lord, have mercy on us.

September 11, 2011 in Words and Rabble with 0 Comments

Go Looking for It

Joy will surprise you, sneak up on you like a quick-hit kiss. I’m thankful joy comes when we least expect it, when we least deserve it. Some of us tilt toward the sour side, and we need a disruptive shock of laughter or foolishness to punch us in the seat of the pants. Having two boys is good for this. Well, sometimes – let’s be honest.

That said, being surprised is not enough. We need to look for joy, scout it out. I say it’s good to be greedy on this score. The more joy you receive, the more you can give away. And God knows we need more joy in this world.

September 8, 2011 in Words and Rabble with 4 Comments

Ridiculous Blessings {a hillside sermon}

Blessed are the poor. {Jesus}

Blessed are the sat upon, spat upon, ratted on. {Paul Simon}

No matter the continent or century, we agree: the destitute and impoverished among us are the oppressed, not the privileged. The poor are beaten down by the man, undone by their addictions or overwhelmed by unjust systems. However we might describe the downtrodden, they are most certainly not blessed.

Yet Jesus leads off his litany of blessing in his sermon on the hill, the sermon launching revolutions and befuddling readers, with these odd words: blessed are the poor. Is Jesus glossing human sorrow with sentimentality? Has Jesus surrendered to an inner, “spiritualized” idealism, making a clean break from reality, from the poverty staring him in the face? Has Jesus lost his ever-loving mind?

Some have wondered if Jesus’ words minimize the plight of the poor, as if those under the heels of economic strain should stop bitching and thank their lucky stars they have received such an odd mercy. It hurts, but it build character says the cliche. Of course, few of us want to get in line for this brand of supposed mercy. Odd, isn’t it, how we can twist words so that the one who came (as the old prophet Isaiah said) to “bring good news to the poor” sounds darn close to a callous robber baron.

Jesus, of course, has no idyllic vision of poverty. Jesus is not suggesting that the hungry boy trapped in the slums simply surrender to squaller because – doesn’t he know?? — he’s blessed. Rather, Jesus announces the presence and power of God’s Kingdom, that reality that unseats and overturns every other reality, by proclaiming that the very ones gathered round him (the sick, the diseased, the outcast) who were in every way poor were welcomed, were desired and would by God’s grace be blessed, made well. As Glenn Stassen said, “The poor are blessed, not because their virtue is perfect but because God especially does want to rescue the poor.”

Matthew casts a wider net, telling us that all who are “poor in spirit” are blessed. Poverty makes it round to all of us. The poor in spirit includes all of us who are humbled. All of us who think we have nothing, are nothing. All of us who have slammed up against our limitations or another’s ridicule. All of us who feel small and insignificant. All of us who have been crushed by disappointment or shame. All of us who have been ignored or dismissed.

In one way or the other, at some point or another — and if we possess the courage to be honest — each of us will discover ourselves situated firmly in the company of the poor. We will be among those whom no one mistakes for an expert, who have no wide following, who fail to make the list marked elite. We are the silly ones, the bumbling ones. No one would come to us for an endorsement or to raise cash. We have little power. We are a poor fool.

And strangest of truths, Jesus announces to us in our impoverished place, the Kingdom is yours. Welcome. Blessed.

September 6, 2011 in Through a Glass Darkly with 0 Comments

Page 10 of 39« First...«89101112»2030...Last »