While visiting a friend for a long weekend, I went for a jog at sea level. It was a perfect day to be out: sunny but not too hot with a cool breeze. I am extra appreciative of pleasant weather these days while Hurricane Harvey continues to batter Texas. Prayers abound for my Texan friends.
I have been wondering this summer if my difficulty breathing during excercise in my new mountain town - at 9,000+ feet - means I am still adjusting to the altitude or if I am simply unfit. Today I learned the former may be a factor but it's the latter that is more true! Running at sea level with all the oxygen proved to be a challenge as well. Even though it was tough to make my legs move forward at more than a walking pace, I kept going around the lake near my friend's home. I was encouraged by the many people and dogs of all ages and sizes who were also making their way around the lake, one step at a time, mostly with a smile on their face.
As I was pushing myself forward, I heard a runner approach and I tried to stay ahead of her for several minutes. Eventually, she caught and passed me. I was humbled to see it was a "they" passing me: an adult woman, pushing an infant in a stroller, ran by with no visible huffing, puffing, or sweat beads pouring out like my body was doing (for an hour after the run as well).
We exchanged a few encouraging words and soon she was out of sight. Way to go, bad-ass momma! But also: ugh! I felt badly for being such a slow-poke.
I mention this vignette here though this very thing has certainly happened to me multiple times before as a reminder to myself and anyone reading this that the important thing in seeking health is that I simply DO IT, not that I do it better or faster than others. Comparison and judgment is not helpful most of the time. Maybe comparing and contrasting my speed, distance and overall health today to the same measurements in 6 months or a year would be helpful but I need not begrudge the stroller-pushing lady for being a better athlete than me or think less of myself for being slow and a heavy-breather.
I choose now to let it serve as motivation. To help me get up and hit the pavement or trail tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. And slowly, I may become a bad-ass runner again, too. Humility leads to honest self-assessment which ideally leads to setting and pursuing goals. Hello to humility.
Tuesday, August 29, 2017
Thursday, August 24, 2017
Surprise on Straight Creek Trail #51
"The Lord directs the steps of the godly; He delights in every detail of their lives..."
Psalm 37:23
Today was a slow work day due to the hospital having a mere three patients in house. That meant I clocked out early and went home before lunch. In a brief pause between rain showers, I took my beloved canine out for a exploratory hike. I meant to take him on Tenderfoot Mountain trail but ended up accidentally on Straight Creek Trail #51. Considering the options in this county, it was a pretty boring hike (no major viewpoints and paralleled I-70 the whole time), but it was great for Jack with its access to the creek and gentle incline. As we were headed back to the car, I passed a lone hiker - the only other hiker out on this rainy day. He happened to be someone I just met and whose home I had been in one week ago in another town. In my car, I was carrying around a Thank-you letter addressed to him and his wife but had not yet mailed because I had no stamps. We stopped for a pleasant conversation about wild mushrooms, skiing, and his church group. I'm sure this will not be the last time our paths cross.
The incident got me thinking about how I have run into just the person I have wanted or needed to see multiple times while hiking in the woods, something I usually do for solitary reflection and quality time with my dog. A couple times that came to mind were in Connecticut. A few miles from the trailhead at my usual reservoir trail, I crossed paths with a young woman from my church whose family member had recently died. She was attending college in another state and I didn't know how to reach her directly. It meant so much to make a connection and be able to check in with how she was feeling in the midst of grief and transition.
Another time was in my last days of being a pastor in Connecticut. I had said goodbye to the congregation and was preparing the next day to begin a cross-country move. My partner and I took Jack to Cotton Hollow Reserve in Glastonbury for one last jaunt in the New England woods. There on what I recall was another rainy afternoon, we ran into the Sunday School director from my church, to whom I had not yet personally gotten to say goodbye. She and I had attempted to arrange a time for goodbyes and failed. And then we ended up at the same large rock in the same creek on the same trail at the same time. Maybe it was a coincidence, but the serendipity and oddness of our timing indicated something more was helping us out.
I believe that God invites us to be co-creators and has given us the precious and sometimes fraught gift of making decisions for our lives (aka free will). But I also believe God directs our steps in specific ways I cannot totally understand. There have been too many chance encounters in my life that were just what I needed or what the other person needed to think it's actually and only about chance. This happens in the hospital frequently in my pairing with patients and families. There are individuals and families who I know I was supposed to have met because of how much they impacted me, and hopefully, vice versa.
I'll close with a quote that a friend shared with me earlier today. While it only peripherally ties in with my story on the trail, it expresses well the experience of being gifted with a genuine, not-only-by-chance encounter with another human who gets you and whose life path intersects with yours.
"The real marriage of true minds is for any two people to possess a sense of humor or irony pitched in exactly the same key, so that their joint glances on any subject cross like interarching searchlights."
-Edith Wharton, A Backward Glance
Psalm 37:23
Today was a slow work day due to the hospital having a mere three patients in house. That meant I clocked out early and went home before lunch. In a brief pause between rain showers, I took my beloved canine out for a exploratory hike. I meant to take him on Tenderfoot Mountain trail but ended up accidentally on Straight Creek Trail #51. Considering the options in this county, it was a pretty boring hike (no major viewpoints and paralleled I-70 the whole time), but it was great for Jack with its access to the creek and gentle incline. As we were headed back to the car, I passed a lone hiker - the only other hiker out on this rainy day. He happened to be someone I just met and whose home I had been in one week ago in another town. In my car, I was carrying around a Thank-you letter addressed to him and his wife but had not yet mailed because I had no stamps. We stopped for a pleasant conversation about wild mushrooms, skiing, and his church group. I'm sure this will not be the last time our paths cross.
The incident got me thinking about how I have run into just the person I have wanted or needed to see multiple times while hiking in the woods, something I usually do for solitary reflection and quality time with my dog. A couple times that came to mind were in Connecticut. A few miles from the trailhead at my usual reservoir trail, I crossed paths with a young woman from my church whose family member had recently died. She was attending college in another state and I didn't know how to reach her directly. It meant so much to make a connection and be able to check in with how she was feeling in the midst of grief and transition.
Another time was in my last days of being a pastor in Connecticut. I had said goodbye to the congregation and was preparing the next day to begin a cross-country move. My partner and I took Jack to Cotton Hollow Reserve in Glastonbury for one last jaunt in the New England woods. There on what I recall was another rainy afternoon, we ran into the Sunday School director from my church, to whom I had not yet personally gotten to say goodbye. She and I had attempted to arrange a time for goodbyes and failed. And then we ended up at the same large rock in the same creek on the same trail at the same time. Maybe it was a coincidence, but the serendipity and oddness of our timing indicated something more was helping us out.
I believe that God invites us to be co-creators and has given us the precious and sometimes fraught gift of making decisions for our lives (aka free will). But I also believe God directs our steps in specific ways I cannot totally understand. There have been too many chance encounters in my life that were just what I needed or what the other person needed to think it's actually and only about chance. This happens in the hospital frequently in my pairing with patients and families. There are individuals and families who I know I was supposed to have met because of how much they impacted me, and hopefully, vice versa.
I'll close with a quote that a friend shared with me earlier today. While it only peripherally ties in with my story on the trail, it expresses well the experience of being gifted with a genuine, not-only-by-chance encounter with another human who gets you and whose life path intersects with yours.
"The real marriage of true minds is for any two people to possess a sense of humor or irony pitched in exactly the same key, so that their joint glances on any subject cross like interarching searchlights."
-Edith Wharton, A Backward Glance
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
The gift of hospitality
A beloved elder in my extended family died last month from a sudden, severe stroke. It was with a mix of gratitude, sorrow, and honor that I attended his packed and beautiful funeral last weekend in Lincoln, Nebraska, where he lived with his wife and many children and grandchildren for the past 55 years after immigrating from Nigeria.
What I will remember most about the father of my brother-in-law and grandfather to four of my nieces and nephew, is his hospitality. His kindness and genuine welcome compelled me and opportunity allowed me to keep crossing paths with him over the years. A year after we first met - at my sister and brother-in-law's wedding - he and his wife Bernice helped sponsor my year of service in Guandong Province, China. In the years since, I moved across the country multiple times: (1) from Chicago to Berkeley, CA in 2003 (2) from Bellingham, WA to Connecticut in 2011 and (3) from Connecticut to Colorado in 2016. Each of those times, I made a stop in Lincoln, Nebraska, where Obasi and Bernice gave me a warm embrace, comfortable shelter, and always a hearty breakfast before I continued on my journey. I recall that in my first trip when I was a full-time student, I left with cash for gas and new towels for my dorm room. In my most recent move, the Onuohas also graciously accommodated my significant other and dog who traveled with me, with thanks to their daughter Sue.
An especially touching part of the funeral service was when Obasi's grandchildren spoke about his influence on their lives. Each of them shared a way they hoped to continue his legacy of service and commitment to education and family. One way I would like to honor Obasi's life and impact is by extending hospitality to others in my work, home, and whole being. I hope to reflect further here and elsewhere what extending and embodying hospitality looks like and means for me.
You can read a little more about Obasi's remarkable life here:
Obasi's obituary
What I will remember most about the father of my brother-in-law and grandfather to four of my nieces and nephew, is his hospitality. His kindness and genuine welcome compelled me and opportunity allowed me to keep crossing paths with him over the years. A year after we first met - at my sister and brother-in-law's wedding - he and his wife Bernice helped sponsor my year of service in Guandong Province, China. In the years since, I moved across the country multiple times: (1) from Chicago to Berkeley, CA in 2003 (2) from Bellingham, WA to Connecticut in 2011 and (3) from Connecticut to Colorado in 2016. Each of those times, I made a stop in Lincoln, Nebraska, where Obasi and Bernice gave me a warm embrace, comfortable shelter, and always a hearty breakfast before I continued on my journey. I recall that in my first trip when I was a full-time student, I left with cash for gas and new towels for my dorm room. In my most recent move, the Onuohas also graciously accommodated my significant other and dog who traveled with me, with thanks to their daughter Sue.
An especially touching part of the funeral service was when Obasi's grandchildren spoke about his influence on their lives. Each of them shared a way they hoped to continue his legacy of service and commitment to education and family. One way I would like to honor Obasi's life and impact is by extending hospitality to others in my work, home, and whole being. I hope to reflect further here and elsewhere what extending and embodying hospitality looks like and means for me.
You can read a little more about Obasi's remarkable life here:
Obasi's obituary
Friday, August 4, 2017
From Longing to Belonging
"Blessed be the longing that brought you here and quickens your soul with wonder." - John O'Donohue
I am living in a time of blessing. The past year has been a whirlwind, so much so that regular writing was squeezed out of my schedule to make room for much change, new experiences, and a lot of hard work. I spent the last year in a chaplain residency program at the University of Colorado Medical Center (Anschutz Campus) in Aurora. I was assigned to be chaplain for pre-op and PACU, Surgical Trauma ICU, Surgical Specialties, Internal Medicine, and Transplant units. In addition, I spent every sixth night at the hospital as the on-call chaplain, sleeping in a tiny room whose simplicity and proximity to other on-call rooms reminded me of a monk cell. On those nights, I was the only chaplain to serve, as need arose, the whole hospital of 600 beds plus the Emergency Department. I worked an average of 45-50 hours/week, and I was emotionally exhausted at the end of each week. I accompanied people through death, life, and re-birth, and everything in between. I did this with excellent supervision and accompaniment by the peers in my program. There were seven of us CPE residents: one of whom exclusively served the addiction-rehab center connected to the hospital and one who was assigned to Palliative Care.
Earlier this summer, I began my first staff chaplain position at a small Catholic hospital in an equally small resort town in the Rocky Mountains. I am six weeks into the new job, and I love it. I work an average of 24-30 hours/week, and spend my additional on-call hours at home gardening, biking, walking my dog, playing tennis with the love of my life, and going on small hikes. I am also in the middle of moving my home and belongings from the Denver area.
All this brings me back to my first line: I am living in a time of blessing. I try to be aware of this blessedness and give thanks for it daily. God knows I have lived in prior times that could not easily be called a time of blessing. I have been through rough, heart-breaking experiences in which I did not feel at home or thriving in my relationships, work, or community. Perhaps I will write about those heart-breaking experiences one day. But in this case and in this moment, I feel at home in all three respects: relationships, work, and community. It is clear to me that all of this is God's gracious gift and an answer to prayer and deep longing.
It seems right that I should give thanks, and tell about it! I hope that my words and actions of love and service will themselves be an expression of my thanks and an extension of blessing to others. As a patient recovering from a double knee-replacement said to me yesterday: "If we could all just leave the world a tiny bit better than we found it, our lives will have fulfilled our purpose."
I am living in a time of blessing. The past year has been a whirlwind, so much so that regular writing was squeezed out of my schedule to make room for much change, new experiences, and a lot of hard work. I spent the last year in a chaplain residency program at the University of Colorado Medical Center (Anschutz Campus) in Aurora. I was assigned to be chaplain for pre-op and PACU, Surgical Trauma ICU, Surgical Specialties, Internal Medicine, and Transplant units. In addition, I spent every sixth night at the hospital as the on-call chaplain, sleeping in a tiny room whose simplicity and proximity to other on-call rooms reminded me of a monk cell. On those nights, I was the only chaplain to serve, as need arose, the whole hospital of 600 beds plus the Emergency Department. I worked an average of 45-50 hours/week, and I was emotionally exhausted at the end of each week. I accompanied people through death, life, and re-birth, and everything in between. I did this with excellent supervision and accompaniment by the peers in my program. There were seven of us CPE residents: one of whom exclusively served the addiction-rehab center connected to the hospital and one who was assigned to Palliative Care.
Earlier this summer, I began my first staff chaplain position at a small Catholic hospital in an equally small resort town in the Rocky Mountains. I am six weeks into the new job, and I love it. I work an average of 24-30 hours/week, and spend my additional on-call hours at home gardening, biking, walking my dog, playing tennis with the love of my life, and going on small hikes. I am also in the middle of moving my home and belongings from the Denver area.
All this brings me back to my first line: I am living in a time of blessing. I try to be aware of this blessedness and give thanks for it daily. God knows I have lived in prior times that could not easily be called a time of blessing. I have been through rough, heart-breaking experiences in which I did not feel at home or thriving in my relationships, work, or community. Perhaps I will write about those heart-breaking experiences one day. But in this case and in this moment, I feel at home in all three respects: relationships, work, and community. It is clear to me that all of this is God's gracious gift and an answer to prayer and deep longing.
It seems right that I should give thanks, and tell about it! I hope that my words and actions of love and service will themselves be an expression of my thanks and an extension of blessing to others. As a patient recovering from a double knee-replacement said to me yesterday: "If we could all just leave the world a tiny bit better than we found it, our lives will have fulfilled our purpose."
 |
| Photo taken after first day at my new job in late June 2017. |
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Lessons from my lab
I realize that even in sickness, Jack is teaching me important life lessons:
-- Whining doesn't help healing come faster. No whining from Jack in these 24 hours post-surgery or the month of lameness before surgery even while he was obviously in pain.
-- Slow and steady is the best approach. This
is not Jack's style when a squirrel or bicyclist whizzes by, but most
of the time, he is pretty chill and low-key. This quality is already
helping in recovery.
-- The mere thought of meeting a new or old friend is enough reason to wag and smile. For Jack, the encounter with another [person] means he will get to sniff someone up close, receive love and attention, or get a treat. Therefore, he wags and smiles all the time. I am more cynical, and certainly more shy, than my pooch. But after such overwhelming community support, I too find myself wagging more and barking less these days when it comes to encountering the other.
-- Whining doesn't help healing come faster. No whining from Jack in these 24 hours post-surgery or the month of lameness before surgery even while he was obviously in pain.
--
-- The mere thought of meeting a new or old friend is enough reason to wag and smile. For Jack, the encounter with another [person] means he will get to sniff someone up close, receive love and attention, or get a treat. Therefore, he wags and smiles all the time. I am more cynical, and certainly more shy, than my pooch. But after such overwhelming community support, I too find myself wagging more and barking less these days when it comes to encountering the other.
Monday, May 30, 2016
Jack is a good dog
Jack is indeed a good dog; and my friends are generous people.
Last night, the good dog returned home from a two-day stay at the hospital where he had an operation for his torn ACL. Surgery for a nearly 100-pound dog involves installing hardware into his femur and shaving his bones so that his leg can stabilize and he will - in due time - be able to walk again.
The surgery was intense as was the bill, to the tune of $5,174. That is $174 more than the new-to-me Toyota Prius I bought in March and for which I continue to make monthly payments.
At the time I learned Jack would need surgery, I had $20 in my wallet and not a whole lot more in the bank. Unlike hospital stays for people, the money would be due at the time of service. As an eternal optimist who looks for opportunities within challenges, I brainstormed how I might raise funds for Jack's surgery. I considered making cookies and mailing them around the country based on orders taken (with two nephews and a niece in college, I have mastered the art of cookie care-packages); or setting up an old-fashioned lemonade/mango lassi stand outside my house for the hundreds of cars that pass by at commuting hours. But these things were labor-intensive for a small fundraising yield and no guaranteed takers.
I shared these thoughts with my mom. She texted in response that I should start a "Go Fund Me" page; I received this suggestion while having lunch with my friend Kathy who said the same thing. I took their shared wave-length as a sign.
The next day, I set up a fundraising account for Jack and posted it on facebook. Within three days, I had raised a $1000 and within 10 days, I raised a total of $1430 from 26 people.
I am so moved by this act of generosity from my far-flung community. I have not been in touch with one donor since high school (over 20 years ago); another I met last year while kayaking for a week in Alaska; and one person I have not even met as he is the brother of a friend. People from Washington, Colorado, Minnesota, Tennessee, Illinois, Massachusetts, New York, and Connecticut (and perhaps more places?) contributed toward my dog's surgery. Some of them have dogs, but not all. None except my mom are related to me.
The thing that inspired them to do this is the GOODNESS of their hearts connecting with the GOODNESS of sweet Jack and his need for help.
Like Jesus who was amazed by the faith of the Roman Centurion who went to great lengths to receive healing for his beloved slave in yesterday's assigned Gospel reading (Luke 7:1-10), I am AMAZED by the generosity of my community. Not because I expect less from such wonderful people, but because I am humbled to be the recipient of such kindness.
My friends gave more than merely dollars; dozens of people offered words of support, encouragement and prayer. More than anything, the community effort was a morale booster so that neither Jack nor I would feel alone going through this hard, scary thing.
Healing and wholeness come in a variety of forms. I am thankful for the swell of love that has emerged from generous people reaching out in a time of need. I hope I can return the kindness and pay it forward. For now, I hold the goodness close and share it with my sweet pup as he heals.
The campaign for Jack's surgery can be found here: Heal Jack Campaign
Thank you, wonderful community of folks and pups, for helping Jack to get back on his feet; by doing so, you are also helping heal me!
Last night, the good dog returned home from a two-day stay at the hospital where he had an operation for his torn ACL. Surgery for a nearly 100-pound dog involves installing hardware into his femur and shaving his bones so that his leg can stabilize and he will - in due time - be able to walk again.
The surgery was intense as was the bill, to the tune of $5,174. That is $174 more than the new-to-me Toyota Prius I bought in March and for which I continue to make monthly payments.
At the time I learned Jack would need surgery, I had $20 in my wallet and not a whole lot more in the bank. Unlike hospital stays for people, the money would be due at the time of service. As an eternal optimist who looks for opportunities within challenges, I brainstormed how I might raise funds for Jack's surgery. I considered making cookies and mailing them around the country based on orders taken (with two nephews and a niece in college, I have mastered the art of cookie care-packages); or setting up an old-fashioned lemonade/mango lassi stand outside my house for the hundreds of cars that pass by at commuting hours. But these things were labor-intensive for a small fundraising yield and no guaranteed takers.
I shared these thoughts with my mom. She texted in response that I should start a "Go Fund Me" page; I received this suggestion while having lunch with my friend Kathy who said the same thing. I took their shared wave-length as a sign.
The next day, I set up a fundraising account for Jack and posted it on facebook. Within three days, I had raised a $1000 and within 10 days, I raised a total of $1430 from 26 people.
I am so moved by this act of generosity from my far-flung community. I have not been in touch with one donor since high school (over 20 years ago); another I met last year while kayaking for a week in Alaska; and one person I have not even met as he is the brother of a friend. People from Washington, Colorado, Minnesota, Tennessee, Illinois, Massachusetts, New York, and Connecticut (and perhaps more places?) contributed toward my dog's surgery. Some of them have dogs, but not all. None except my mom are related to me.
The thing that inspired them to do this is the GOODNESS of their hearts connecting with the GOODNESS of sweet Jack and his need for help.
Like Jesus who was amazed by the faith of the Roman Centurion who went to great lengths to receive healing for his beloved slave in yesterday's assigned Gospel reading (Luke 7:1-10), I am AMAZED by the generosity of my community. Not because I expect less from such wonderful people, but because I am humbled to be the recipient of such kindness.
My friends gave more than merely dollars; dozens of people offered words of support, encouragement and prayer. More than anything, the community effort was a morale booster so that neither Jack nor I would feel alone going through this hard, scary thing.
Healing and wholeness come in a variety of forms. I am thankful for the swell of love that has emerged from generous people reaching out in a time of need. I hope I can return the kindness and pay it forward. For now, I hold the goodness close and share it with my sweet pup as he heals.
The campaign for Jack's surgery can be found here: Heal Jack Campaign
Thank you, wonderful community of folks and pups, for helping Jack to get back on his feet; by doing so, you are also helping heal me!
 |
| Jack at one of his favorite and most frequent stomping grounds: the ballfields behind the elementary school near our home. This picture was taken just a few days before surgery. |
Monday, November 2, 2015
Embracing the liberated life
Nov. 1, 2015
It’s an amazing story that shows us no matter when we become aware of God being on the scene – it is never too late for God to bring us back to fullness of life in order to show God’s glory --- in God’s own way. God works to bring about salvation and wholeness beyond our wildest dreams.
All Saints Sunday sermon notes
- John 11:32-44
Grace and peace to you, Saints – from God our Father and
the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
Other than getting eaten by a bear in Alaska, my greatest
fear on taking a sabbatical was that someone from St. Mark would face sudden
death while I was gone…since we all
will eventually, though probably not by a bear.
My concern was that I would be half a world away, unable to bring
comfort or hope to the situation.
I knew Pastor KM and this community would provide wonderful
support –it’s just I would have been sad to miss a major event – good or bad. I had an anxiety dream at one point that
Christa got married while I was gone. I had to send her a facebook message in
the middle of my travels, making sure that I hadn’t missed this.
It’s hard to miss out on the major things – in family and
church life.
But it’s a risk any care-giver takes when they go away to
care for themselves. It was a risk even for
Jesus when he traveled - not for sabbatical purposes, but for ministry in other
parts of Galilee; in his human form, he couldn’t be there for people at all times
and in all places.
And when he was there, he offered more than a comforting
presence. He
did the very miracle we all wish we could: he cured the sick and gave sight to
the blind, and more!
Jesus cured the sick wherever he went, often when the
sick were on their deathbeds. But there is at least one instance when he wasn’t
around when his friends needed him most.
When he shows up to Bethany and Lazarus is already dead,
Lazarus’s sister confronts him:
“IF YOU HAD BEEN HERE MY BROTHER WOULD NOT HAVE DIED.”
Mary wore her feelings on her sleeve. And she is greatly distressed. So is Jesus…
To the point of weeping.
In some versions, this story contains the shortest verse in the Bible. Two Words: Jesus Wept. It’s a very short verse but yet it’s theologically a very big deal.
The Savior of the World wept. He was so moved, and his weeping led to
action, a shocking miracle of bringing a decomposing four days old
unrefrigerated body back to life.
It’s an amazing story that shows us no matter when we become aware of God being on the scene – it is never too late for God to bring us back to fullness of life in order to show God’s glory --- in God’s own way. God works to bring about salvation and wholeness beyond our wildest dreams.
And yet God does this work, as Jesus did in Bethany,
right in the midst of community, before our very eyes, using our very hands.
Three things worth our consideration in this story are:
It matters that Jesus wept. He was in the moment - not beyond
it. He was fully present to the pain and
despair in Mary, Martha and those grieving with them.
I’m encouraged to hear that St. Mark (congregation) has
been taking time each week during the prayers of the people to be attentive to the needs and burdens that
our brothers and sisters carry. Taking
time to pray and listen helps us be present to those who are sick and suffering
– and to celebrate with those experiencing joy.
The first take away is Jesus wept; he was present.
The second is that his weeping led to action. He brought Lazarus back from the dead – but
he did so in a way that involved the community.
Clearly, the power came from him. It was all Jesus. But it wasn’t a private miracle. The witnesses played a part in it too. Some moved the stone when Jesus gave the
command. Others unbound the linens that
were wrapped around him…. As the passage ends with those powerful words: Unbind
him and Let Him Go.
His weeping led to action – and his action was one that
involved the people around him to help the brother in greatest need.
I wonder when in your life has awareness and
attentiveness to pain and suffering led to action? When have your tears helped
lead you into service?
That is the third point for us to consider:
We play a critical role in each other’s healing, renewal,
and revival.
I could have taken a sabbatical into the watery and
wilderness places all alone. But if I
did, I would have definitely gotten eaten by a bear. And before that happened, I would have gotten
very lonely. I live alone- by choice
though not by design. So alone-time is
not something I crave in my regular life.
What I cherished most in my time away wasn’t the gorgeous
scenery or getting stamps in my passport (although both of those things
thrilled me) --- it was quality time with people who mean the world to me but
live multiple time zones away. This
includes my mother and friends who knew
and loved me before I was a pastor. They
helped me remember that I have a Lydia self apart from my professional
role. And that this Lydia-self is loved
by God not for what I do or say or perform, but just because God loves me. It is a liberating experience to remember
this core truth.
Lazarus had a liberating experience when he was unbound
and the grave-stone was moved away. And
his heart started beating and his muscles pulsated and his bones may have
stiffened up due to lack of use and sudden awakening.
Jesus revived Lazarus - heart, body, and soul.
He did so by showing up – weeping, acting out of compassion, and
involving the witnesses.
Though dramatic miracles like this are not happening in
front of us today, Jesus still cares for us. He weeps with us. He acts on our behalf to help us. He includes
us in the ongoing revival of our lives and the lives of each other.
Again today, God calls each of us out from the dead. Out from Zombie-land. To step joyfully into the life of
resurrection, a life where compassion not competition rules the day.
It is liberating but it is also scary because Status Quo
is much more comfortable than revival.
Staying the same and doing what everyone else is doing, however complacent and complicit, is easier than actively embracing God’s reign and living by God’s values - to care for the poor, neglected, and outcast.
Staying the same and doing what everyone else is doing, however complacent and complicit, is easier than actively embracing God’s reign and living by God’s values - to care for the poor, neglected, and outcast.
To embrace and embody the liberated life, I need your
help and I believe you need mine.
By the Spirit’s guidance and power of Jesus, let us unbind each other with
the hope that revival may come to the land, beginning with our minds, hearts,
bodies, and church. Amen.
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