Spiraling Toward Advent

I may be the only one who thinks this way, but it feels to me as if the year drags along until about Halloween. Then it hits a steep downgrade so it feels like you’re running at breakneck speed to the end of the year. Halloween cascades into Thanksgiving which careens into advent and Christmas. By the time I get to Advent it feels like I’m riding that last slug of water that is spiraling the drain just before the water runs out.  There is no stopping it, it is driven by forces beyond my control, and all I can do is hang on and ride through the vortex. The election being in the middle of all this may have added to that feeling.

Yet in the middle of all of the rush there is this season of Advent. Advent means “arrival,” and the entire point of Advent is that while we long for that arrival, yearn for that arrival, maybe even want to figure out a way to force that arrival, the only real option we have is to wait. We are powerless to do otherwise.

During Advent we consider those who waited so long for the Messiah to arrive. If we’re attentive enough, we find we relate to them because as a people we are waiting for Jesus to come again, and as individuals many of us are waiting for Jesus to show up in certain circumstances or situations in our lives.

So in this time of year when the calendar is racing along out of our control, and our lives are spiraling toward some destination beyond our sight, we are invited to step out of the stream and wait.

While it may seem counterintuitive to rest in the eye of the storm when the confusion around us is so visible, it may be the best gift you can give ourselves this season. A pause gives us a chance to recognize that although many who waited over the centuries didn’t get to see him, God was faithful and sent the Christ. God will be faithful to send him again when the time is right, and that same Christ is faithful to show up in our lives as well.

Advent is a season of waiting, but its name is a promise of an arrival. We wait in the shelter of that promise.

God Our Comforter

As God has called me further along on a spiritual and physical health journey he has shown me I have used food as a comfort, a mind-numbing agent, or a reward for hard work. He used a mundane park trip with my youngest to highlight this for me. He spoke so clearly through this everyday experience.

When at the park with my youngest son he found a big green hill to roll down. With wild abandoning he started to roll. Suddenly he was screaming in agony. I raced to him and found he had rolled on top of bee and was stung. As I held him close, the first thought that came to my mind was just tell him "It'll be okay we’ll go get a popsicle and you’ll feel better." In that instant I caught myself and took that thought captive, telling myself “I am not going to teach him to comfort himself with food.” What he needed was for me just to be with him and comfort him while he felt the pain until it passed. I knew the sting wouldn't last long and he would be okay. I heard God say, “Just like you need to sit with me, let me be your comfort and the pain, anxiety, discomfort, hard stuff will pass.” Wow, just wow. God make a new heart in me.

It’s so easy to turn to other things to comfort us. It is human instinct to run after stress relief, joy replacer, or a way to change circumstances. We are taught at an early age to get rid of emotions as quickly as possible and seek a way to feel better. God’s word calls us to find comfort in Jesus. It promises that we share abundantly in his comfort. 2 Corinthians 1 3-5 says,

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.  For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.

Ask God:

What do I use to comfort myself?

What is God asking me to surrender to him in the arena of comfort?

A Home

Then they were glad because they had quiet, and he brought them to their desired haven… Let those who are wise give heed to these things, and consider the steadfast love of the Lord.

Psalm 107: 30, 43

It’s official; our house has closed escrow. We have a home. Several times in the last few weeks Debi and I have stopped what we were doing, looked at each other and said, “It’s finally our house.”

I didn’t realize how much difference it made to me to have a home. During the time in Tim and Sandy’s Airbnb, and the trailer we did fine and felt cared for, but when the house became ours, it brought us a sense of rootedness—it was to us that desired haven.

There is something dehumanizing about not having a home. I know we don’t mean to do that to each other, but it happens. When we first “moved” to Newberg, I tried to get a library card. I was surprised at how embarrassed I felt when I was told I couldn’t get a card because I didn’t have an address. I glanced at the people around me wondering what they thought when they heard those words come out of the librarians mouth. Home is a haven because it contributes to our sense of identity.

I also didn’t realize how much I missed the peace and space of the country after living in Portland for 8 years. Looking back over those years, I realize that I felt kind of like the proverbial dog that continually walks in circles on top of his rug without ever laying down. In many ways I feel more settled now than I ever did there.

That makes me wonder about those who live such frantic and crowded lives. Henry David Thoreau said, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” and I think that is a pretty accurate description of the world we find ourselves living in. Media and technology can be helpful and serve significant purposes. But when we are bombarded by them from the time we get up to the time we go to bed, there truly is no quiet place for us to rest in. Our homes have been filled with the voices and images of strangers. We have forfeited our haven.

Along with a lack of a physical haven, I think many suffer from a lack of a spiritual haven. Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, “…God has place eternity in the human heart….” I think that’s what St. Augustine meant when he said, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” We have been created—hard wired—to rest in the belief that there is someone bigger, stronger, smarter and wiser than us who cares about us. We’re wired to desire a spiritual home.

In the classes I teach , I have a large percentage of my students who describe themselves as “spiritual but not religious.” But when I ask them to tell me more, most are hard pressed to articulate what they mean by that. I suspect there is something in us that tells us we need a spiritual home. In a world that has convinced most that it is foolish to believe in anything or anyone beyond themselves or that which they can see and touch, we find a host of spiritually displaced and homeless people.

I know it is popular for parents to say, “I don’t make my kids come to church because I don’t want to impose my religious beliefs on them.” I’ve come to the place where I question the wisdom of that—more and more it seems to me that they are withholding a gift from their kids.

In his book Handbook of Religion and Health. (Random House, 2010), Dr. Harold Koenig of Duke University evaluated over 1000 studies assessing the effects of prayer and religion on health. Some of the observations he noted are:

• ·         Hospitalized people who never attended church have an average stay of three times longer than people who attend regularly.
• ·         Heart patients were 14 times more likely to die following surgery if they did not practice a religion.
• ·         Elderly people who never or rarely attended church had a stroke rate double that of people who attended regularly.
• ·         People who are more religious tend to become depressed less often. When they do become depressed, they recover more quickly.

The book cites many psychological and physiological explanations for these phenomena, but I suspect that there is one really important reason. Just as it is important for us to have a physical place to call home, there is something life-giving about having a spiritual home. I’m not just talking about having a local church community although that is important for many reasons. I’m talking about having some form of religious and/or spiritual identity that gives context to our lives, and in many significant ways helps define who we are and how we approach life.

I think this is what the psalmist is getting at in the verses above. God’s love offers us that spiritual home, that place that anchors us when the rest of the world is pitching around us, that place that grounds us when the footing in other parts of our lives is treacherous.

Debi and I are so grateful to finally be in a place we can call our own. But even though the last few months were filled with uncertainty and unsettledness we never felt adrift, because even when we didn’t have an address, we always had a home.

Safe Familes

“But this might interrupt our life.” – me to God

“I sure hope so!”-  God to me

Ever have one of those moments of realization that God has been directing your steps to a new journey.  This is what has happened for me with Safe Families. I can remember the initial spark. Sitting in a room full of other pastors enjoying great food and listening to Embrace Oregon, a nonprofit that partners with the foster care system. God spurred intrigue and wonder. How can my family and church family enter into caring for children and families at risk?

Or even further back to when Eli’s class was going to miss a field trip due to children who were misbehaving. The parents in my social circle were upset the other children’s behavior might gyp their child. But that was not my concern; it was why were these children showing this mistaken behavior. I knew some of their stories and knew their behavior was truly a result of unmet needs and rough life stories. I thought it was important for Eli to know he was a part of a community who had struggling members and it was our job to support them.  As I shared this perspective the parents just couldn’t hear it and I realized it was the Holy Spirit spurring hospitality, generosity and love.

I begin to seek out more information about possible places of entry into this type of ministry and found Safe Families. Safe Families for Children is a national movement of compassion that is preventing child abuse by encouraging the Church to resume its historical and Biblical responsibility for vulnerable children by becoming part of the support network for these children’s parents. It has now come to Newberg. It provides a chance for parents to get back on their feet before abuse or neglect occur by placing their children with host families for a short period of time while they get support to handle the crisis. The host families are supported by a family friend, resource team, prayer team, family coach, and respite family.

We want to be a part of this movement that supports families at risk in partnership with other local churches. There are many ways for all types of families and individuals with different skill sets and time capabilities to become involved with Safe Families. Support and training from Safe families and church staff are provided.  I am looking forward to sharing more with you all on Sunday June 26th.

As I’ve been praying about Safe Families and inviting Jesus into this exciting opportunity and what it might mean for my family, I had the prayer this might disruptive our current lifestyle. Inviting new children into our home and walking with families in crisis may produce a bit if disorganization. I heard the Holy Spirit answer “I hope so!” I was reminded of the many stories in the Bible in which lives were interrupted and that led to great love.  Paul walking down the road of Damascus, Jonah going to Nineveh, the woman at well who thought she was just collecting water that day, Zacchaeus and the list could go on and on. My prayer is that you will hear what God is calling you to enter into that will lead to great love.

When the Airplane Becomes Your Neighborhood

Here is a post from a guest blogger. Eloise Hockett shares an experience she had on a trip recently.

When the Airplane Becomes Your Neighborhood

I recently returned from a trip to Indiana where I attended the graduation festivities of a good friend and also visited family. At the end of the 5 days of many interactions with people, this introvert was a bit tired and needed some alone and “down” time in order to refresh and regroup for the days ahead.

The day I left Indiana I had to get up quite early, then drive 45 minutes to the airport. When it came time to board the aircraft, I was ready for a little nap and my book. After I found my seat I proceeded to get ready for my refresh time; headphones on, neck pillow in place, and my iPad out to read my book. The aircraft was getting full when I saw them coming down the aisle; a group of five; 3 adults and 2 children. I could tell they were frazzled and out of sorts just by body language and interactions with each other.  When they stopped at my row I thought to myself, “oh no, this could be a long trip.”  They could not figure out which seat belonged to who, where to put their carry-on luggage pieces, and what needed to happen next. And, they had already held up the rest of the passengers who were trying to get to their seats as the flight attendant was telling people to get into their seats so we could have an on-time departure. Then I heard one of the women say, this is a make a wish trip. My heart sank because I knew what that meant; one of the children in the group had a terminal disease.

One of the women and a child finally settled in my row. She fussed around a bit and got a little settled; the other two adults and child were in the row behind. After we finally took off, the woman next to me fell asleep.  I was now back to minding my own business with my headphones on and reading my book. It was a great book and I wanted to get it finished before I got home later that day.  The woman fell asleep shortly after we were air-born. Three times during the next hour, the woman flung her arm across my body as she was sleeping.  I picked up her arm off my lap and put it back on her side of the arm rest. A few minutes later the same thing happened. I repeated my actions, this time slightly annoyed. A little while later, she did it again. As I put her arm back once again and she apologized profusely and tried sleeping another way. I went back to my book.

About an hour into our flight, the woman next to me finally woke up and proceeded to rummage through her carryon bag. This went on for nearly an hour. She tried several times to talk to me while rummaging, so I would pull of one side of my headphones so I could hear her. Apparently she did not notice that I was wearing headphones, the large noise reducing ones that were not conducive to conversation. I also heard her mention to the flight attendant once again about the make a wish trip and they were going to Hawaii, the request of her son.

I returned to my book and my eyes stopped at the title:  Interrupted: When Jesus Wrecks Your Comfortable Christianity, by Jen Hatmaker. No kidding, the title started with the word interrupted. I chuckled a little inside at the irony as God got my attention and I listened and pondered what to do.  I turned off my iPad, took off my head phones, and asked my seatmate if I could take a photo of her and her son. You would have thought I offered them the world at that point, but I probably did since she told me she did not know if she would have him for another year. She rummaged through her bag to try and find her cameras. She found one and between that one and her iPhone we managed some decent photos. It was then at that point she spent the next hour sharing her story. In a nutshell:

·         Her son had a liver transplant.

·         He then developed Hodgins Lymphoma and was in the hospital for 6 months undergoing treatment.

·         She had to quit work and take care of her son full time.

·         Dad left her when she was pregnant and rarely sees his son.

·         Son is a bit developmentally delayed due to the diseases and cancer; his local school would not help so they had to find a special school for him.

·         They met the other lady and son (he also has liver disease) in treatment and invited them on this trip so her son would have a companion.

·         She has pancreatic issues and Type II diabetes. She showed me her Epi pen.

·         Her mom in the seat behind me was just diagnosed with congestive heart failure and another medical issue. Mom lives in another state.

·         They were late to the airport because their taxi did not come. They were packing at 2am and were to leave the house at 4am.

After she shared all of this with me, she said that she could not have gotten through all of this without faith in God. I asked her what kind of support group she had, and she told me she had nobody. At that point I became a little irritated as I wondered where the Christians were in her town. Why was nobody reaching out to meet the needs of this woman and her child? I was left with a heavy spirit as I pondered the responsibility each one of us has to be the hands and feet of Jesus in our neighborhoods, our towns, state, and world. 

I asked her if she would mind if I prayed for her. She told me her name was Tara and her son Cole. She took my contact information (once she found a pen and paper in her bag) and said that she would email me. I don’t expect to hear from her, but I have no doubt that I was supposed to interact with Tara that morning and hear her story. 

Once we reached our destination, I made my way to the next flight still thinking about the conversation with Tara. As the gate agent scanned my boarding pass, she told me to wait and handed me a new seat assignment. 1D. Upgrade to first class.  I chuckled at God’s sense of humor as I settled into my new seat with my headphones, neck pillow, and book.  

Tara and Cole. I wonder how their lives would be different if they had neighbors who reached out to them and showed them Christ’s love in action?

Eloise Hockett

May 26, 2016

When God is Working, Sometimes Things Just Show up

When you approved the last budget, you gave the pastoral team $3,000 to use for ministry opportunities that had not been foreseen in our budgeting process. This fund allows us to be more nimble, and to respond to what we see God doing in our community. Because most often when God is working we don’t get a ministry plan or a budget request--sometimes invitations just show up.

Occasionally I meet people who just seem to be right where God wants them, being exactly who God created them to be and doing precisely what God called them to do. When I meet people like that I just want to help them, to support them, to be a part of what they’re doing. Kim is just such a person. When God is working, sometimes people just show up.

I met Kim through Heidi Hopkins. She invited Marta and me to come and meet Kim and hear what she is doing at Chehalem Valley Middle School. It turns out that Marta already knew Kim.

Kim is heading up the leadership program at Chehalem Valley Middle School. The program is not new; Kim is a product of that leadership program herself. Her eyes glowed as she recounted the impact the program and the summer leadership camp associated with it had on her formation. I could see that she grieved as she described how the program had atrophied in the past few years. I also saw how her passion rose as she outlined her hopes and dreams for the program.

Kim has already made a difference. Like most schools around our country, many kids attending CVMS experience things like racism and bullying every day. Kim has taught her kids how to intervene without escalating the situation. They have become the ones who stand up for those who have nobody to stand up for them. As Kim puts it, she wants her leaders to “be the servant, to be the kind kids in school.” Her young leaders are buying in to it.

Under Kim’s leadership the program has become diverse not only racially but economically as well. This means that while these new leadership kids are bright, enthusiastic and capable, many of their families don’t have the means to provide them all the resources they need—such as the summer leadership camp--to develop their full potential.

But Kim is uniquely qualified to be a teacher and an advocate for these students. Besides her history with the program as a student, she has walked through many hardships, heartbreaks and other life experiences that have given her a heart for the students she has been given. So she is not afraid to go out and find the support her leaders need. Sometimes when God is preparing a person for a particular calling, life just shows up.

When Marta and I heard Kim’s story and her hopes and dreams for these kids, we decided that this is what the $3,000 had been prepared for. In 2nd Street’s early years, it was deeply invested in recovery ministries, but I am suspecting that God is giving us an opportunity to invest in the other end of that process. If we invest in these kids now, we are helping prepare residents of the Newberg of 10 years from now who bring solutions rather than problems. After all, when God is working, redemption just shows up.

I believe it is important that we don’t get in the habit of just throwing money at opportunities. If something is significant enough for us to invest our finances, it is vital that we invest our hearts and hands as well. It seems to make sense that when God is working, more than just money ought to show up.

When I ask Kim if there would be ways 2nd Streeters could support and partner with her students as they try to bring about positive changes at CVMS, she was at first surprised by the question, then overwhelmed, and then enthused by the possibility of a church that actually cared about her kids and were willing to be partners in what they were trying to accomplish.

Because of 2nd Street, about a dozen kids, who had no chance before, will be going to leadership camp at Western Oregon University. Early next fall, a group of them will come to one of our Sunday morning services, tell us what they learned at the camp, share with us their dreams of the kind of place they’d like to see CVMS become, and suggest ways we can partner with them as they work to make these hopes and dreams a reality.

I’m excited about this chance to partner with a group of young leaders as they try to make their school a better place. I’m excited about what this could mean for our community in the future, and I’m excited that God is bringing this about here and now. After all, when the right passion, right invitation, the right people and the right support are brought together it shows that God is just aching to show up—and that is precisely the place I want to be.

Bruce

Here it is at last. The final installment of this series.

Bruce

Moving into My Own Neighborhood: Part 4

Okay, so maybe this whole line of articles is getting old to you; how much can be written about moving into my neighborhood. But the truth is I keep writing about it because that is the wrestling match—one of the wrestling matches—that is going on in me right now.

I can’t help but feel that in paying so much attention to being a leader in the church, I might not have paid enough attention to actually being a disciple.

A couple of weeks ago we took our granddaughter to a corn maze. The rows in the maze were supposed to form the facial features of a duck. I’m sure from an airplane that is exactly what it looked like, but walking those paths surrounded by 8 foot tall cornstalks the face was not discernible. It just felt like…well it felt like we were walking on paths surrounded by 8foot tall  cornstalks.

Talking about discipleship can be like that. We all think we know what we mean by discipleship, but when we start discussing it we find we all have different definitions, The more we discuss the more the stalks grow up around us and pretty soon we can’t tell the shape of the maze we’re walking in.

Some of us may think of a disciple as one who knows and believes the right sorts of things. Others may see a disciple as one who understands their function within the church and pours themselves into that role. There are probably several other perceptions.

Maybe that is what is lying at the heart of my wrestling match. As I read the gospels, and hear what Jesus had to say when he talked about being a disciple or following him, I’m getting an inkling that there is a lot more to his definition of a disciple than there is to mine.

When Jesus talks about following him, he talks about things like dying, taking up a cross, being least, being last, and losing your life. It seems like what I know and how I think is a lot less important to him than it has been to me.

So, I’m here at this place of wrestling; wrestling with what that should look like in my life and to the people in my neighborhood.

What do you think it means to be a disciple? What does Jesus mean when he says, “follow me.” Any ideas? I’d love to hear them.

Moving into My Own Neighborhood Part 3

Here is installment 3 of "Moving into My Own Neighborhood."

Bruce

Moving into My Own Neighborhood Part 3: Being a Neighbor Starts with Knowing My Neighbor

For the last couple of issues, I’ve been trying to figure out what it looks like to follow Jesus’ example from John 1. If you recall, in that chapter John describes how Jesus moved into our neighborhood. So, I’m trying to learn how to move into my neighborhood.

In part 1, I described a couple of neighbors I had encounters with, and impressions of, but didn’t really know. One of them was my neighbor across the back fence. All I knew about him was that he and his wife were constantly fighting, often late into the night. She eventually left and his late night fights were replaced by late night sessions around the fire pit in his back yard listening to music and commiserating with a group of friends. On those warm summer nights, the later it got, the louder they seemed.

I’ve learned his name is not, “the guy across the back fence.” His name is Rod (actually that is not his real name). His wife wasn’t his wife, but his girlfriend of 10 years. Curiously enough, she had a name too, Shirley (again, that’s not really it). Shirley didn’t leave him. They didn’t want to “break-up” but Rod couldn’t stand the fighting. So Shirley rented a place down the block so they could see each other when they wanted, but didn’t have to put up with each other all the time.

A couple of weeks ago, Rod was having one of his late night gatherings. Shirley showed up somewhat inebriated and belligerent. I don’t know the details, nor does Rod because he was in his backyard, but a scuffle occurred in the driveway, and Shirley fell and hit her head on the asphalt. The paramedics came and the police came. Shirley was taken to the hospital where she lay in a coma for a few days until she finally died.

Rod has been devastated. Not only has he lost someone who had been a significant part of his life, but, though he was not directly responsible, the fact that the fatal fall happened at his house has weighted him down with a nearly unbearable burden of guilt.

Most every day one of us will stick our head over the fence and ask how he’s doing. Sometimes we pass him vegetables from our garden or eggs from our chickens; I don’t know if he actually uses them, but he seems genuinely grateful that we’re giving them to him. Our son, Jacob, has hung out with Rod a couple of afternoons.

Jesus moved into our neighborhood--“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us”—because he knows our name and our story. He came to bring grace into our lives--“Out of his fullness we have all received grace in place of grace already given.” I can no longer think of Rod as “the guy across the fence who has annoying parties.”  Now I know his name and part of his devastating but all too human story. Now what?

I’m asking myself how I can bring grace into his life.  I confess, I don’t know the answer to that yet. But I do know that I cannot bring anything without first being his neighbor. So, learning to know my neighbors is only the first step.

It seems my next step is to learn what it means to be a neighbor.

Here is the 2nd post of my series from 2012  called "Moving into My Own Neighborhood." I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Bruce

Moving Into My Own Neighborhood Part 2: Wait a Minute, Who is My Neighbor?

This whole series of articles was prompted because I was reading the Gospel of John. I was struck by the way John 1 talks about how Jesus moved into our neighborhood. It came alive because I started wondering what it would look like in my neighborhood.

As I continue reading, I’m learning something else about my neighborhood. In John 5, Jesus was walking into Jerusalem. He sees a man sitting by a pool waiting for the waters to stir so he can climb in and be healed. Jesus had an encounter with him and ultimately heals him.

Sometimes for Jesus neighborhood happened to be where he was at the moment; he had a way of being present to the people he was with.

Earlier this week I had to drive to Klamath Falls. About 70 miles from Klamath I decided to take a break and stop at a rest stop. It was about 4 in the afternoon on a warm day, and there was a man in the restroom washing his sunburned head, face and neck with water from one of the sinks. His clothes were ragged and there was a large, well-worn backpack leaning on the wall next to him.

We started talking, and I discovered he was from Sacramento. He had gone to Seattle for a job. The job had fallen through. He had expended all his resources in the move, so he was headed back to Sacramento on foot. His plan was to walk into Klamath that night and find a shelter where he could sleep and get a meal. I pointed out that Klamath was still 70 miles away and even at a brisk walk it would take him a couple of days to get there.

He leaned against the wall in dismay and thought for a moment. He looked up at me and asked if I could give him a ride to Klamath.

I was on my way to meet with the church board at Klamath Falls, and I could think of a fistful of reasons I didn’t have time, but the story of the Good Samaritan came to mind and I saw my face on the priest who passed the wounded man. I knew I had to answer the question, “Who is my neighbor?”

As we drove away from the rest area I said to him, “I don’t even know your name.”

He stuck out his hand and said, “my name is Bruce.”

I laughed and took his hand, “my name is Bruce.”

On our drive to Klamath he told me how he entered the foster care system when he was 4 years old. He told me he avoided his family because he didn’t need to be reminded that he was worthless. He told me he didn’t have a high school diploma. He told me he was 47 and still didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life.

Maybe it was because I heard the story from someone with my name, but I couldn’t help seeing myself in his seat. The only difference between him and me is that I had parents who stayed together and stayed with me. I had a church family who thought I was important enough to invest themselves in, and I have friends who walk with me through life. None of the blessings in my life are about me; they are present because the people God put in my life chose to reflect him to me.

Bruce was a gift to me at that moment and I wanted to be a gift to him.

When we got to Klamath, we had dinner at Subway. He ate half of his foot-long sandwich, wrapped up the other half and stowed it in a pocket of his backpack—he didn’t know where his next meal would come from.

After dinner I took him to the Amtrak station. I gave him the $40 dollars I had and said, “I don’t know if that will get you to Sacramento, but it should get you somewhere in California.”

I left him sitting at the station waiting for the evening train.

The encounter was a gift to us both. He got a sandwich and a train ticket out of our meeting. I learned that even though he lives in California and I live in Portland we’re neighbors. And I learned I serve a God who managed to intersect our neighborhoods at an isolated rest stop far from both of our homes.

Moving into my Neighborhood

It's my turn for another blogpost. What I've chosen to do is to re-post a series of articles I wrote for a newsletter in 2012. I've been thinking a lot about this subject lately because it seems relevant to the season our family is in right now. Read the post and then tell me what you think. After all, there's nothing like a good conversation.  As Michel De Montaigne said, "“The most fruitful and natural exercise for our minds is, in my opinion, conversation.” 

Moving into My Own Neighborhood.

I’ve been reading through the gospel of John.

At the Western Area Regional Ministerium this year, our speaker, Michael Frost, author of Exiles: Living Missionally in a Post Christian Culture,  suggested that we read the gospels over and over so we can learn Jesus.

The idea makes sense to me; if we are to become like Jesus, we should try to get a picture of who he was, what he did and why he did it. So I’m reading and trying to pay close attention to what Jesus does, why he does it, who he seeks out, and how he responds to the people he encounters.

I only made it halfway through the first chapter and I’ve already encounter some problems. Verse 14 says, “And the Word became flesh and lived among us” (NRSV). Jesus didn’t just make an appearance on Earth to keep his appointment on the cross; he moved into the neighborhood, pitched his tent alongside ours—whatever sermon metaphor you remember, Jesus came to Earth to step into our lives with us.

But it doesn’t stop there. Verse 16 adds that, “ From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace” (NRSV). Jesus did not just come to forgive us. He actually came to add grace to our live. He came not just to take something away from us (our sin) but to add grace (value) to our lives.

The man across the street from us has two large dogs over which he has no control. He often takes them with him when he runs errands. Every time he opens gate so he can put them in the car, they charge barking and growling through the open gate to our house and terrorize our dogs through our own fence.

Trying to be like Jesus, we have not turned him into animal control. We’ve chosen to talk directly to him—we’ve forgiven him. But according to Jesus that’s not enough. If I want to be like Jesus, I not only need to forgive him, tolerate his trespasses against me, and then keep my distance, I need to step into his life with him. I need to add grace to his life.

The neighbor behind us used to fight with his wife, loudly enough for most of the neighborhood to hear, nearly every weekend. She left him quite a while ago. Now, when the weather is nice enough, he sits by a fire pit in his back yard, which borders ours, and commiserates with a friend until the wee hours of the morning. The later the hour and more drunk they get, the louder and more adamant their commiseration becomes.

I close our bedroom window and let them complain. Sometimes I even pray for them as I lie there (what a good Christian I am). But I don’t know their names—I don’t know anything about them other than what I’ve heard across the fence. According to John I’m not being like Jesus. According to Jesus, I haven’t even moved into my own neighborhood.

How do I move into my own neighborhood? How do I add grace to the people who live around me?

I confess, at this point I don’t have the answers, but I want to learn. That is going to be my goal over the next couple of months. As I learn and grow, I’ll share it with you in future articles.

If you’re struggling with similar lessons and circumstances, let me know. Maybe we can learn together.

Finding Family- "Mom you love church, because you love Jesus!"- Audrey

Finding Family

“Mom you love church, because you love Jesus!” -Audrey

She is right I love church, the big C, and our little family called 2nd Street. I love church because Jesus is there and he is at work among us.  It has been one whole year since my family and I linked arms with those who call 2nd street their church home. We were in search of a place who loved children and saw them as a vital part of the body of Christ. We were in search of place where we could share daily life with those in our church.  We were in search of a place that listened to the people and valued all voices. We were in search of place that loved each other well. We found it with 2nd Street.

As I reflect back over the year I remember my very first day. I wasn’t even hired yet. However, I was going to training. We postponed a trip to Seattle and put birthday plans on hold and set out on a new adventure. I pulled up Amy’s long windy road thinking “what did you get me into Jesus.”  I spent entire weekend with four strangers learning a new way of allowing children to be with God and finding the start of my new church family. I remember the joy that bubbled up on Sunday when Lisa said, “they voted yes” (I know, I know we don’t vote.)

As is true with almost all of my church experience  this year has not being all roses and rainbows. There has been hardships, sadness, heart breaks, conflicts, and remorse. But from these things God brought healing, wholeness, and a forming of rooted relationships. He allowed me to practice trust and surrender. He used each and every time as opportunity to transform my broken images of God, of church and of ministry.

This year also brought lots of joys and the creating of our church family. Our dining room table was one of the holy spaces in which many of my lasting relationships and Jesus work was done. Over a healthy game of cards stories were told and lives were shared. And as Eli would say, “victories were won!” The sacred space that allowed us to become family wasn’t always at our table but it was anytime two or more of us were together. It was eating homemade doughnuts and climbing a hay mansion. There was Jesus and there was family. It was eating green and irish food and my children be welcomed with loving tickling arms. There was Jesus and there was family. It was serving thousands at the special needs Olympics shoulder to shoulder with those who have such a heart for that community. There was Jesus and there was family.  It was sharing life stories at a mom's sabbath. There was Jesus and there was family. It was a soft whisper of “I think I am suppose to pray for you” on a Sunday morning. There was Jesus and there was family. It was celebrating over some mighty good chocolate mousse.  There was Jesus and there was family. It was chips and salsa and life lessons with my teaching team. There was Jesus and there was family. It was  crying together, praying together, laughing together and loving together. There was Jesus and there was family.

I am so grateful to have walked the last year with you all and now I look to the present. I am a year old, more full of wonderings, learning to live with paradoxes and to live into the promises God has given us. I am joyfully walking linked arm in arm with all of you. Holding you in the light and claiming God’s love, joy and healing for this family. May we continue to see his Kingdom at work in us and through us. May we love each other and  our community with God’s unconditional love. May we see the Holy Spirit at work and follow his calling. May we encourage one another and invite wholeness. May we continue to be a faithful loving family to all. -with love Janelle

Matthew 18:20

For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.

Are you turned off by Lent?

Several weeks ago when I (Marta) realized that Lent was just a few days away, I noticed that I experienced a sinking feeling—the kind of feeling that made my shoulders slump and my head drop a little.

As I reflected on my reaction I realized that Lent felt like a burden, one more thing to add to my already full life. I felt weary and I didn’t want another thing to manage.  

Lent is often described as a season of repentance and reflection. Growing up, I was taught that repentance meant “to turn away from,” and more specifically, “to turn away from sin.”

Like many people who grew up in the church, I tend to experience guilt and shame easily. Because I already struggle with feeling “not good enough,” the thought of entering into a season focused on “turning away from my sin” felt oppressive. I know God is not oppressive, so it got me wondering if there was something missing or off about my understanding of repentance. It turns out that there was.

The Hebrew word for repentance is “t’shuvah,” which means “to turn” or “to return.” It can mean to turn away from sin, but it can also mean to turn toward God or to return to God.

When we focus solely on turning away from sin, we get caught up in the willpower game and we get stuck. A better approach is to ask God to help us identify the things that we turn to for security instead of turning to God. 

Through this kind of prayerful reflection, God has helped me see that when I’m under stress I tend to put my nose to the grindstone and work harder. My tendency is to turn to over-work, and my own abilities, rather than turning to God for help. Much of my life I’ve also turned to sugary foods to comfort me in times of stress and sadness, rather than turning to God for consolation.

With this fuller understanding of the meaning of repentance, Lent feels different now. I’m experiencing Lent as a gift—an annual reminder and invitation to return to my Beloved and to my identity as God’s beloved. This, of course, is not just a once-a-year invitation. It is perhaps the most central and ongoing invitation of our lives.

Has God helped you identify the things you turn to for comfort or security? What practices and life rhythms might help you return to God throughout the week or day?