Eid al-Adha

This week we had a five-day vacation, including the weekend, to celebrate Eid al-Adha. The holiday celebrates when Abraham was spared killing his son because God stayed his hand and provided a ram instead. People celebrate the holiday by buying and killing a sheep for a big feast with family and guests.

A city full of sheep for a week, all making their sounds and smells, and suddenly, Monday afternoon, things get very quiet. (I have heard people refer to it as the silence of the lambs, but I don’t know if they were joking.) After the slaughter, the streets are littered with sheep remains, next to dumpsters or smoldering in small fires. I walked past a few burning sheep heads, and accidentally kicked a smoking ram’s horn. You know how in the middle of the night, you go downstairs for something, and step on a Lego brick? Well, this was way weirder than that. Bad comparison.

This story of Abraham and Ishmael (Abraham and Isaac in Judeo-Christian tradition) is not an atonement story in Islam. Like most of my life right now, I don't understand. I don't understand how atonement doesn't enter into it. [What I think I understand is that] Islam says the story is about Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice even that which was precious to him*, and how we all should be willing to give what Allah asks, like the sheep gives its own life to God.

To me, the story of Abraham and his son is largely about foreshadowing the coming of Jesus’ sacrifice, the sacrifice of the lamb and Son, who would take away the sins of the world. I got to be reminded of that with every bleating of sheep from over the wall.

*Islam is no closer than Christianity to condoning, let alone promoting child sacrifice, so we agree on that big time.

Ready For School?

Yes, sure. No, not really.

It's almost unfair that school-centered jobs have so much build-up before beginning. In late July, back-to-school "sales" begin, and right on cue this question begins to circulate. I have nothing against the question, let me be clear.

The truth is this: I feel like a different person in the summertime. I let down my guard and say yes to doing things. During the school year, I am focused on a whole different set of joys and challenges. It's like crossing a border into another country. Not good or bad, really, but entirely different. The comparison doesn't stand.

I suppose the point is that neither the summertime nor the school year are paradise in their own right. The only paradise is where Christ is.

Check this out:
"Anchor" by Beautiful Eulogy and Josh Garrels

Disposable Packaging (parts II, III, and IV)

You say "Glorious," I say "Sparkly"

I wish you could have been there for Sunday's service two weeks ago, because it was all about disposable packaging.* Pastor titled the sermon, "Don't Save the Veils."** Moses was in God's presence for a while, and his face was radiant. But after a few days, that radiance began to fade, and he felt (perhaps) shame as the glory left him. So he covered his face with a veil.

Moses himself was not glorious, that stuttering, murdering, shepherd. The radiance was the glory of being in the presence of God. God chooses to use inglorious people, disposable packaging, to contain and reflect his presence, because in our weakness, he is stronger. The less impressive our clay pot is, the more beautiful is the glory that radiates from the contents inside.

This week three people asked me how I was, and waited for an answer, to which I confessed an embarrassing truth: "I just... I don't feel... sparkly this week. You know? Like my sparkle is... just... blah."

One friend considered this, and somberly answered, "No. I can't say I've ever felt 'sparkly'."

Another more inquisitive soul asked, "What is your sparkle, exactly?" Of course I don't know the answer to that one. It just is sparkly. It's how I feel about myself.

And another said, "You're just tired. It'll come back," to which my inner self responded, "A-HA! So you agree that I'm not sparkly! Jerk."

But there's hope for my sparkle to return, because it's not me. "[W]henever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, who with unveiled faces, reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit."

And until my sparkle returns, I'll take comfort here, in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10, where Paul boasts in his weakness, because,"when I am weak, then I am strong." In this passage, Paul [is crazy and] rejoices in his sufferings and deprivations, because God gets to show Himself to the world in those situations. Paul is glad that he's shown up to be the mere human (read, gifted animal) that he is, and that God gets to be God in those unbalanced situations.

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Hannah and Mary: Clay Pots Filled with Glory

Hannah and Mary were humble clay pots, entrusted to carry children who were blessed and purposed by God. They sing similar songs # about God filling the empty with good things. Mary says, "He has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on, all generations will call me blessed, because the Mighty One has done great things for me-- holy is his name."

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A Prayer

Your glory will shine in the humblest, ugliest faces, and make them beautiful.
Your glory will cover the least melodic, grating voices, and make their song rise to the heavens.
Your glory will fill the barren woman, and give her many children.
Your glory will bring down the proud, and lift up the humble.
Your glory will fill the whole earth, of this we can be sure.

You have chosen the weak of this world to confound the strong. Blessed are the poor in spirit, the meek, the mourners, the lost, desperate, and hopeless, the insulted and grieved, because your ear is attentive to their cries, and great is their reward in heaven.

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Notes

* You can listen online  (maybe start around 55 minutes), but know that it was better in person. There is so much more happening than just what is spoken, especially the moments after everyone is dismissed. People start to mill around, a few people may leave right away (they probably have friends coming over for lunch, and need to make sure their house hasn't burned down because their electric is a little finicky and the crock pot may have caused a power surge (okay, I don't even know if that's possible)).

** (but he is German, and "veils" sounds like "whales" and it's a whole German/English pun that people groaned at mostly, but that was actually the funniest thing to happen in my life all week). 

# Here's one such song, "Holy is Your Name (Magnificat)," one of the most beautiful renderings of the Magnificat I've heard, written by David Haas, performed here by Mark Haas.

Hopes for Heaven

In "The Matrix," the computers created a paradise for people. But the people knew something was wrong. And many killed themselves, unable to reconcile the incongruity of their sense of inner wrongness with the rightness around them. I hear an insatiable crying out to be whole and holy.

We all cry for wholeness and holiness.

When people say heaven is going to be boring - oh, my - how deceiving such a picture can be: harps and separate clouds, and white robes. Please.

I would bet that heaven will have work: good, difficult, satisfying work. We will work together, never lonely no matter where we go. If we walk somewhere without a friend by our side, the trees themselves will be our companions, so intimate will be our connection to the world around us. We will have no fear, and no more darkness, for we know that the Lamb on the throne will be the light of the city. And when we have been tired out by our work, we will lie at the foot of pine trees, on beds of fragrant pine-needles, and take our fill of satisfying rest. And wake up again, as in the arms of a lover, attentive and quiet. And the day begins.

We will live in knowing (and every moment, knowing) where we belong and whose we are. And we will climb high mountains where the air does not thin. And we will dive to great depths where the pressure will not damage our brains, which will finally think clearly, and our eyes will finally see fully.

The difference - and it is too great not to be spoken! - is that our sense of inner wrongness: our shame, greed, pride, fear, moodiness, lust, will all be cleaned away. In its place will be a song of love to the One who gave everything he had. A song of love to the one who was shamed for love.

Advice to Jess

I was recently privileged to be asked for advice from a younger friend for three areas of her life:
1. not getting along with my brother,
2. doing my devotions with God, and
3. talking when it's not my turn to speak.
I share my response here in order to, first and foremost, demonstrate to all how good I am at giving advice. (Ask me anything. I'll change your life.) And secondly, to be able find these thoughts again, for myself, in my own struggles.

To the first, dear Jess, not getting along with your brother, I have to ask: what are you afraid of? I think my sisters often don't get along because they are afraid. One is afraid that the other will ask too much of her, and that by complying with the request (to change the channel, to borrow shoes, to spend time helping with a chore), the one will be left with less for herself. Of course, it's true at first, giving and helping another person can be difficult or exhausting, leaving us with less for ourselves. But loving Christ isn't about what we can hold back for ourselves. By the way, I struggle here, too. I often think my family is an exception to serving others: they'd be so much easier to love if they weren't related to me!

Regarding your second question, doing devotions with God, I have a brief testimony. In high school I was very regimented with my devotional times. I am glad I was so disciplined. I learned much, and I relied on that strength throughout the day, the week, etc. But it became a stumbling block for me. It became a measurement by which I would judge others. Oh Jess, there have to be at least 25 passages in the Bible talking about how wrong that mindset is.

One day, my mentor/counselor friends told me to stop doing devotions indefinitely. Just. Stop. Because my heart was not burdened for others and motivated by love, but I was burdened under an expectation for myself, and obligation to DO in the presence of God. Self-righteousness.

Ever since, I believe I have drawn nearer to the heart of God. I don't mean to say that disciplined and regular time with God each day is bad. It's a wonderful way to live in the light: the structure holds even when our emotions have taken a day off. But for me, the guild of not doing it, the guilt of missing a day was clearly showing me how my devotional time had become a law. And, well, the law is fulfilled in Christ's death. By knowing Him, accepting Him, we're free from that guilt. All that to say, for me, for a while, I had to forget "daily devotion" to remember Christ.

On to your third dilemma: speaking out of turn. I have very little to tell you here. In fact, I might just as well ask you for advice. This is one of my chief difficulties. But, and perhaps this recognition alone is helpful, I think I know why I always want to speak: again, I'm afraid. I'm afraid people will think I'm not following the conversation if I'm not contributing something, or that they'll forget I'm in the room. That is all just pride and fear working together to make me obnoxious. I hope you find your answer, and then share it with me!

A Story I Never Tire of Hearing

Just a few days ago, Peter had done the unthinkable: he had betrayed his best friend, after years of swearing undying allegiance. In an impetuous moment, he had thrown it all away and denied even knowing the guy. Then the man was killed. And Peter would never get to say I'm sorry, never get to explain himself. And what would he say, anyway? He has no answer even for himself. He hates himself. His mind trails back to that strange encounter and his heart stirs into thumping: the Son of God was alive again. And then gone, disappeared before he could talk to him. Perhaps it was not important to the Lord, but Peter knows he cannot stand it until Jesus tells him face-to-face that he has forgiven him.

He has to find something to do with his hands, to stop the endless thinking: he tells his friends he's going out, and they all know where he's going. Peter always goes fishing when he's troubled.

They tag along: they put in a night's worth of half-hearted work, and have nothing to show for it. John looks at the sweating and straining Peter, shaking his head. He's gonna pull a muscle at that rate. But John says nothing, because when your heart is empty, and your mind directionless, your mouth is empty, too. Your hands pull at nets in mechanical motions.

The sun begins to rise.

They descry a figure on shore, tending a small fire. He yells to them, "friends, have you caught anything?"

"Nothing," John replies.

"Throw your nets to the other side of the boat!"

James chuckles, even as Peter and John tug at the net to comply. Why not? They cast the nets to the right, closer to the figure.

It seems only a moment until their net is pulling on the boat's side, alive with their catch. Had all the fish congregated to this place, to see their friend on the shore?

John looks at Peter, eyes wide with his sudden excitement, "it's the Lord," he says.

Peter bolts upright. He grabs his long garment and jumps into the water. John looks at his friend, now swimming with quick uneven strokes to Jesus: he remembers another moment, so long ago now, when Jesus had come to Peter in the boat on the lake, but by walking. Now Peter, swimming or walking, would come to the Lord.

John looks at James. With a great laugh, they take the oars and haul the fish to shore.

A Plea

Oh come, come, Emmanuel.

I think I need you more and more the older I get.

I need you, Jesus, more than hot cocoa, fake snow, real snow, a good show, caroling, stockings on the mantel, and tea lights in the window.

What perverse part of me ever supposed that those things matter, that without them, I am somehow missing out on Christmas?

No, what I need and what I got was dirty hay, a draughty cave, and the Savior of the world.

Come, Emmanuel.

Notebook Exploration

These are from fall of 2007, my one semester at Houghton College.

I found this haiku in the front of my notebook for advanced composition with Dr. Susan Bruxvoort Lipscomb:

If at first you

Can't count to five syllables,

You're probably me.

I found this letter to God in the back of my notebook for English literature survey with Dr. Wardwell. That was the best class I have ever taken. During finals, I was pacing the lengths of the bookshelves memorizing slices of poetry and their authors. When I wrote this letter, I had just taken a long look at Gulliver's Travels and was about to move on to The Rape of the Lock. But my mind stopped. So I began:

I want to tell You all about it by a shimmering stream, beneath a cerulean sky. But I have a light brown study carrel with a light that hums next to a window and a heater. And I have a very serious amount of studying to do for my final in two days. But, God, I'm just so SO--! I want to tell You under a starry sky, with the world beneath You and I together. We'd watch each star as it watched us, and You'd tell me a secret and I would make You laugh.

But I have a hundred (or two dozen) goodbyes to make. And who knows for how long it will be? One year? This lifetime? All eternity? Jesus only You could know... I'm just so--! So mad and clueless, expectant and helpless. So scared and tired, excited and weary. And not busy. Like I should be.

Even though I walk the shores, all the mountains, town after town, one city, then another, even though I see Your creation right beside all that of man, I will always listen for Your voice. It always calls me here. To begin again at the beginning, while I'm in the middle of everything busy, getting ready to make a change. I'll start with You. And I'll end with You.

Hebrews 10:39

"But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved."

So persevere. It's a matter of identity. We are the kind of people who believe and are saved. Just like runners first have to think of themselves as runners before completing a marathon, or an artist must call herself an artist before completing a masterpiece. We are perseverers. Holding out and fighting through is what we do.

Where I'm From

(This was an assignment based on the poem by George Ella Lyon: http://www.georgeellalyon.com/where.html )

I am from Waynesboro,
Pennsylvania,
the United States
of America,
the Central Mountains,
specifically the valleys.
I am rural
but not boots
raised on a farm.
Instead, sneakers
worn down from sidewalks.

I am from Nancy and Ralph,
Helen and David.
Babysitters who were family,
and family who were strangers.
From teachers and nurses

people trying to be faithful.
From church seats to pews to folding chairs--
One Jesus.

I am from early mornings and toaster breakfasts,
mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade chicken soup,
leftovers, and no recipes. Mismatched dishes, a
cluttered kitchen table, a TV on in another room.

I am from the cinema in winter, park in summer--
sunburns and freckles, chapped lips and runny noses--
snowfights and long walks to school with a delay.

I am from the sunset, quiet evening, iced tea,
prowling cat in the bushes of a fading day.
From the back porch overlooking a slanted field;
the field filled up,
now it's Crown Circle.

I am from tears and hope,
shouting and laughter,
trial and defense,
discord and peace.

Thinking About Church Membership

I don't think I get it. Insofar as church must handle sums of money and decide what to do with it, I understand having official members. But what makes me a member? Is it attending a class and standing in front of a group and saying out loud that I am one of them? It seems to me the very moment someone quantifies this answer, the Holy Spirit has moved beyond it.

How do I recognize a church member? I want to equate "church member" exactly with "Christ-follower". Why would these ever be separated? I recognize Christ-followers most when they're interacting with one another, praying or singing or serving someone in need. I can recognize a Christ-follower when he/she is accountable to a group, under someone's authority, patient in affliction, joyful in hope... In order to be continuous and consistent in our lives, I think believers must live accountably as part of a church. I advocate that we continue to meet together, and all the more, as we see the Day approaching! But I am more than a little confused as to qualifications for church membership. What is more, official church membership seems superfluous after having been baptized into Christ's body.

I suspect that membership in a particular part of the body of Christ (a local church) is really recognizable by relationships. But I feel I am treading on ground too high for me when I think about the Church.

I asked my housemates about official church membership. Joella's response: "The devil is in the details."

Hace dos años

Y todavía te recuerdo bien, niño. Viniste a mi lado, habías estado borracho o algo. Me preguntaste, "?me quieres?"
Te dije, "no. No te quiero." Pero esto fue antes de saber que significaba 'te quiero' y como se relataba al frase 'te amo.' Niño, te amo como Cristo me ama. Lo siento que no podía decirte en tu propio idioma. No se donde estas. Pero si estés en la calle todavía, que el Señor te contara de su amor. Es suficiente aun para ti. Y testifica mucho mejor que yo.