So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. -Paul (Romans 12:1 MSG) We are often taught to have big goals and lofty ideals every time a new season starts (year, birthday, whatever). To some extent, there's nothing wrong with that. It's not rare in our church for us to encourage people to not be afraid of taking new bold steps of faith. But it's a double edged sword. Even as you read this, I'm out on sabbatical, and in the months leading up, one of the most annoying mentalities I've had to fight is: How can I make sure that my time of rest achieves lots of big things while I'm gone so that I can show how much I accomplished and grew? But as I've reflected on the constant pressure to go big or go home all the time, a thought began to stir in me. Christians often (rightly so) ask Jesus to help them determine what their big tasks and priorities should be. And they expect that for it to be meaningful, it must indeed... be big. God, what enormous and amazing thing am I supposed to do this year/in my 40s/in my work/etc??? Now, I'm not going to claim I heard God's voice. But I'm not going to deny the possibility either. Because each time this thought comes up over the years, I've heard this simple phrase... Big things are great, but I really want folks to do the dishes. -God (possibly) So I've been thinking about this. And I think "doing the dishes" is about more than just doing the dishes. A heart and mind that is being transformed in Jesus looks at every person, moment, and task in a new way. Dishes and laundry around the house are completely thankless jobs that most people avoid. They never end. The moment you take care of them, another meal comes along, another day wears through clothing, and the pile comes back again. IT WILL NEVER GO AWAY. EVER. EVVVVVVVVVVVVERRRRRRRR. Am I inspiring you yet? But that's just it. What if the biggest priority to achieve in the long, slow journey of discipleship was inviting God to transform the smallest moments that repeat over and over again? What if we, as an entire group of people, submitted ourselves to being changed by God's love while doing dishes or while driving to work? What if we decided that the mundane moments of our lives that everyone overlooks would become, in us, opportunities to serve in joy? Opportunities to show love? Opportunities to enjoy God, even? What if I willingly served my family or roommate by stepping up to do the dishes, and then took it a even further by seeing each dish as a metaphor for how Jesus continues to renew me every day in my ability to receive and express His love? Is it possible this would shift how we view those days that leave us feeling used up, broken down, or just plain dirty? What if each day we remembered that we are that dish, but grace is constantly renewing us? Don't you think that would change your life, maybe in big ways? As a disciple of Jesus, our greatest fulfillment will not be found by inviting God to redeem each moment. I hope you have grand goals and I hope you achieve them. But might I encourage you to make one of those goals a willingness welcome the in-between moments of life with joy and intentionality, so that there would be no area of your life where Jesus is not Lord. Because maybe a start to accomplishing big things for Jesus, is hearing him invite you to you to do the dishes really well. Jesus, transform today's normal moments so that every minute might be an experience of your love and grace. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well!
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Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me and know my anxious thoughts; And see if there is any hurtful way in me, And lead me in the everlasting way. -David, Psalm 139:23-24 When I was a kid on trips to the beach, there was always one big goal while playing in the sand just out of reach of the waves. The mission, and we always chose to accept it, was this: create a fabulous ocean view hot tub to soak in. Now granted, the tub would not be hot. It would be quite cold, full of murky, foamy water with lots of little floaties in it. And rather than a tub, the sand walls would constantly cave in and mix with the water. The result was tiny little sand particles jammed in every crevice of the human body, with no real hope of a pearl ever emerging as a result. Honestly, it was pretty gross, but we didn’t care. The real key to this project was the digging down. We started in the dry sand and we dug as deep as we possibly could until we hit water and couldn’t dig any more. If we didn’t dig deep enough, the hot tub would just keep draining out. The deeper we dug, the more likely we could actually keep water in it and even fill it up. And that was hard work. The hard work always lies with digging deep. American author Ann Dillard writes about the necessity of “riding the monsters of our violence and terror” deep into the depths of our souls. When we do, we eventually break through them and find something good. Essentially, we find water and we can start to fill up. I think she’s pointing to the deep internal longing for God’s grace, whether or not she has that language for it. If we do not go inward and downward, then the darkness within us will always be projected onto those around us. It's fascinating that in Psalm 139, David is proclaiming God’s love and constancy, but he gets distracted by those who cause him stress, and his prayer becomes full of hatred and revenge. He cries out to God to kill the wicked, and states his absolute hatred for them. But then he pauses, as it seems the Spirit nudges him. And he immediately turns inward, because he senses that his righteous anger is quickly overtaking him... Search my heart, God. See what’s deep within. Where there is ugliness, lead me out toward the way you’ve designed. What an amazing prayer. The inward journey is uncomfortable and scary. Inviting God to dig deeply into our lives means that some walls will start to cave in. We will come face to face with our weakness and insecurities. It’s easier to remain on the surface. The insightful Christian leader Parker Palmer, in Let Your Life Speak, writes about the challenge of inviting God to dig deep within. “Why would anybody want to take a journey of that sort, with its multiple difficulties and dangers? Everything in us cries out against it— which is why we externalize everything. It is so much easier to deal with the external world, to spend our lives manipulating material and institutions and other people instead of dealing with our own souls. We like to talk about the outer world as if it were infinitely complex and demanding, but it is a cakewalk compared to our inner lives!” Preach it, Parker. There is no way to hide from the inward life. It will eventually catch up with us, so it’s better if we get into it and move through it. Jesus says that unless we die we won’t find life. It’s only in facing our shadows of false identity, fear, self-reliance, and competition that we can move through them to the other side of value, love, trust, and humility that Jesus provides. That’s the sort of place I want to sit and soak in. We’ve moved away from the contemplative life. Let's move back toward it. Sit in silence with Jesus this week. Invite a holy inspection of your shadows, but delight in the reality that you are dearly loved through all of it. Be unafraid to invite a friend or family member to walk with you in the inward journey. And in it all, ask Jesus to lead you in the everlasting way. It’s worth the effort. Jesus, draw me deeper. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well! I do not call you servants that I own anymore. A servant does not know what his owner is doing. I call you friends, because I have told you everything I have heard from My Father. -Jesus, John 15:15 Then he looked at those around him and said, “Look, these are my mother and brothers. Anyone who does God’s will is my brother and sister and mother.” -Mark 3:34-35 Just imagine this scenario: You’re a fifty year old woman and your daughter has traveled into town to spend the morning visiting with you. You go to a cafe and walk through some parks. It’s such a good day. You cherish the time together. The next day, you’re having coffee with one of your good friends and she asks about your time. You tell her what a good day it was. Then she says, “I’m so glad to hear that! What was your takeaway?” “Um….what do you mean?" "I mean, what did you get out of it?" "Well that’s kind of a strange question. I’m not sure how to answer. She’s my daughter. We just enjoyed our time together." "Oh. Well what did you talk about most of the time?" "I can’t even remember. A lot of things. Some small talk. And some of the time we were just together. I’m not sure you really understand how this all works.” Would you respond similarly to those questions if you were the woman? I would too. Yet it seems that when we speak of the relationship we have with Jesus, those are the sorts of questions we get used to asking ourselves and each other. Are we missing the point a bit? We live in a world heavily influenced by the values of efficiency and productivity. We want everything that we do to accomplish something. It’s a part the American mindset. But here’s the thing: we rarely think about time with friends and family that way. And according to the New Testament understanding, Jesus is both friend and family. Why is our language about time with Jesus so often laced with subtle assumptions that it must have results to be meaningful? That every time together is supposed to be a big life lesson, rather than just an enjoyment of being together? Certainly, there will be times with friends and family where we accomplish great things together and have profound conversations. But there’s also just….. hanging out. Jesus is your lord, your friend, and your brother. Hanging out together is enough. Will you have deep and memorable conversations sometime? Absolutely. Will that be the reality EVERY SINGLE TIME you hang out? Absolutely not. But that was never the point. The first thing that Mark mentions about why Jesus calls the disciples is so that they might "be with him.” That's the point. Purpose and action emerge after that. Many Christians think that they are not getting anything out of times of prayer or stillness with Jesus if it doesn’t feel productive. They’re missing the point. We spend time sitting and walking and talking with Jesus because prayer and presence shapes us in ways that we can’t describe. We do it because that’s what you do with the people that you love. You spend time with them. And that’s enough. Nothing has to be accomplished. Dwelling in stillness with God is not important because you walk away with something. Your time is good because you are choosing to walk with someone. A productivity mindset may actually hinder you from being transformed by God's love. Maybe you’re turning a gift into a task. Lay off the guilt and pressure and see how much delight there is out there. Each day has plenty of tasks and expectations. Connecting with Jesus doesn't need to become one of them. That’s good news. Enjoy the freedom. Jesus, help me rest in your presence. That’s all I need. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well! One of the men lying there had been sick for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him and knew he had been ill for a long time, he asked him, “Would you like to get well?” “I can’t, sir,” the sick man said, “for I have no one to put me into the pool when the water bubbles up. Someone else always gets there ahead of me.” Jesus told him, “Stand up, pick up your mat, and walk!” -John 5:5-8 Remember those Dear Abby columns that used to run in the newspapers? Someone would always share about the issue they were struggling with, but instead of their name, they would sign it with a descriptor of their condition. Help me! Signed, Frustrated in Fargo. Or, more well known, Sleepless In Seattle. Has it ever struck you how unfortunate it is to think of someone’s problem as synonymous with their very name? If you were defined by your issues, what would your name be? Jesus meets a man whose body is no longer working. He can't walk or get up. He’s lying on his mat, like he does every day. But contrary to other healing stories, this man doesn’t cry out for Jesus. In fact, Jesus notices him first and walks over and asks him a question…. and a bit of rude one at that! He looks at this guy on the ground and says, Do you want to get well? What kind of a question is that? The disciples are probably standing there thinking, way to add some salt to the wound, Jesus. Interestingly, rather than answering the question, the man gives the reasons he's been unable to get well. He never gives a direct response to the simple question of Jesus. Did he hesitate? Maybe. Why? And why might we pause at that same question? It’s hard to talk about, but perhaps sitting in our woundedness, in a sad sort of way, is what we've grown accustomed to. We think, I'll always be this way... and the hopelessness sets in. I'll never be at peace... and the bitterness grows...... I'll always be the wounded one... and it defines us. Because if we're really honest, there's validation in using our pain as an identity marker. Holding onto our pain can shield us from the scary journey of growth. A friend betrayed your trust once, so every time an opportunity comes up to go a little deeper with someone, you keep the old wound fresh and remind yourself that you just can’t trust anyone any more. See what I mean? We all need to be healed of something. We’re all wounded. We’re the lame dude. And though we know that living life defined by woundedness is not in our best interests, we still construct identities around them. Dear God….. Signed, the selfish one. The divorced one. The weak one. There's a big difference between being honest about our wounds and our struggles and being defined by them. Acknowledging the wounds of your past is not the same thing as letting them direct your attitude for your future. American poet Carl Sandberg once wrote: There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud. Which one will win? So Jesus looks at this guy (and honestly, we really don’t know what’s going on in his head), and he says, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.” And the man chooses to rise in response. Do we understand that when he stands, he’s embracing a new identity? After 38 years, he’s no longer “the invalid!” But the mat- the symbol of this man’s woundedness, doesn’t actually get left behind. He’s told to carry it along. The mat that he had laid on for years, defining his condition, is now transformed into a symbol of his redemption. That’s the beauty of what God can do with our deepest wounds. They can be a part of us that points not only to our pain, but to our redemption. They can become a symbol of hope that reminds you of your new identity, if we invite Jesus to transform us daily. This is not the same as saying, "hey, just get over it." It's the hope that you are more than your pain. If your identity has been formed by your limp, or your shame, or your hurt… there is such good news. Those wounds are a part of your story, but they are not what needs to define you. You are a child of God. Jesus, make me willing. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well! We don’t have a priest who is out of touch with our reality. He’s been through weakness and testing, experienced it all—all but the sin. So let’s walk right up to him and get what he is so ready to give. Take the mercy, accept the help. -Hebrews 4:15 (MSG) There’s a difference when someone thinks they can see where you’re coming from, as compared to having been there themselves. Does that make sense? If my kid is nervous the day before school, I can say, “Sure you are, but you’ll be fine.” But that’s vastly different than me saying, “You know, I remember a time that I was scared to walk into a new place, and it was hard. Let me tell you that story.” In the middle of fear and pain, one response feels distant. But the other makes us feel known. Of course, it goes deeper than school butterflies. When we walk through pain and trauma, many of us have learned that there are no words that can describe the struggle. It’s only when we meet another who has experienced something similar that we can access a glimmer of peace. We don’t even need to have our issues “fixed.” There’s simply something hopeful about being understood. And yet, even when we encounter people who experienced similar pain, fear, or heartache, there is still a limit. Every person is different, and we are complicated. Even when someone has been through something similar, they are not you. They are not able to see into your heart or your head. Not fully, at least. Years ago I had a conversation with a friend of mine who I would later lose to addiction. He was sharing honestly about his many struggles, and how even his hardest circumstances were somehow nudging him toward Jesus. He texted me a simple statement that will stay with me forever, about a conviction that he came to hold. "I have a Christ who suffered, and that’s how I know he identifies with me." So simple. So life-changing. We are given a confidant. A friend. A Lord. A brother… who has the ability to see into the depths of our pain and struggle. But he also experienced all the emotions we could ever imagine. And he hurt. He hurt hard. He gets it. Rejection. Loss. Pressure. Anxiety. Betrayal. Victimization. Temptation. Maybe that’s why Jesus is called “God with us” as his nickname in the Bible. Jesus looks at us squarely in the eyes, seeing past our walls of insecurities and our silent arguments with nobody in particular about how hard life is, or parenting, or dealing with this heartache, or that disease, or this addiction, or that uncertainty, or this responsibility. And instead of telling us to get over it, we hear a voice of gentle humility. I understand. Do we believe this? That Jesus understands? Or have we completely stripped away the humanity of Jesus to the point where we say he was human, but we really think he was mostly God.... so obviously he wasn’t really like us. Maybe like 60/40? When we embrace the extra-ordinary humanity of Jesus, that’s actually when his divine nature explodes into our lives. That’s the moment that we realize that we are truly, entirely, and impossibly… understood. More than your parents understand you. More than your spouse understands you. More than your best friend understands you. Even more than google understands your needs and wants. When we begin to trust that Jesus understands our struggle, and really trust it… Then we can let him lead us toward the way of life, however difficult that might be. Because you’re not alone. You are understood. And you are loved. Jesus, meet me where I am today in a way no one else can. Lead me on from there. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well! Then Jesus stood up again and said to the woman, “Where are your accusers? Didn’t even one of them condemn you?” “No, Lord,” she said. And Jesus said, “Neither do I. Go and sin no more.” -John 8:10-11 Sir, do you have any idea how fast you were driving? There is literally no correct way to answer this question. It’s a trap, friends. If I say “no” then I show myself to be negligent and lacking basic awareness of my own actions behind the wheel. If I say “yes” then I am openly admitting that I was completely aware of breaking the law and did it anyways. So I’ve been put in an impossible situation. A sheepish, “um, maybe 30?” seemed like a nice middle ground. It did not impress. License and registration, please. Truth be told, I was going too fast. I clearly remember the day I was driving to a trailhead for a run and found myself on a small road in the middle of NOWHERE controlled by the DE Fish and Game Commission. Apparently, all Fish and Game Commission roads have a 20mph speed limit. Also apparently, I was driving faster than the prescribed 20mph speed limit. In my defense, I would have gone slower if I had known I’d get in trouble. It's annoying to be caught and be told that you are doing something wrong, isn’t it? It makes you feel terrible. And awaiting the consequences while the police checked out my “license and registration” was not a great way to spend a 5pm on Friday, either. But when he returned, the officer looked at me and said, “well, we’re going to just give you a verbal warning this time. Please be careful, that’s too fast around here. Have a good day.” Oh, the sweet nectar of compassion! Well, this was indeed a very different feeling than I was expecting. I thought I was condemned, but truth be told, I felt a little bit like I had just won the lottery. Woohoo! I’m free! And I was. There was no condemnation! And yet something in me had changed, even though I hadn’t actually been punished. This isn't always the case... but I'm finding it often is. Without question, I left that parking lot driving a bit more slowly than before. And the next time I come there, I’ll be carefully taking my time on the way in. There was a lesson there, as hard as it was for me to admit. And in the end, I’m glad it happened the way it did. I’m better for it……. This is the power of conviction in the life of a Jesus follower. This is also very different from guilt or condemnation. We are tempted to live with two competing mentalities. The first tells us that we are constantly condemned. We walk around feeling like we will never live up to anyone’s (including God’s) expectations. We base everything off of the rules we follow or break, and our lives are characterized by both of those things. And that's why many people observe, like my one dear friend did, that “so many Christians are the least free people I’ve ever met.” If that’s the case, we’re not following Jesus so well. He came to set us free. The other mentality is that, because there is no condemnation from God as we trust Jesus, we no longer need to spend any time on self-development as disciples. We shouldn't really ever feel bad or change our behavior because we are under grace. But that misses the point too. We have been given the Holy Spirit so that we can have assurance that we are not condemned, but also have a little (or big!) nudge that sets us on the correct path when we’re moving in the wrong direction. And because of that amazing two-fold reality, we can rejoice in both the grace and the conviction that comes our way. The Spirit slows us down to ask, “Do you realize how fast you were going there?” Yet consistently comes back and says, "You have another chance. But make the better choice tomorrow. You can do it.” We need that, friends. What a gift to have a Spirit of both grace and truth in our lives. Jesus, help me become aware of the areas of life I’m speeding through dangerously. Teach me a better way. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well! “Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new." Isaiah 43:18-19 (MSG) In the famous Greek poem The Odyssey, the hero Odysseus is swept away for 10 years, fighting a battle that is not his own. Eager to return to his homeland, his journey is disrupted and he spends 10 more adventurous years on the sea, trying to survive shipwrecks and storms and eventually make his way home. He is seeking peace and tranquility in his homeland, but seems unable to reach it. Finally, he receives a mystical message that his homecoming will indeed happen, but he must make one final journey. And it has to do with the ship oar in his hand. The oar has become a trusty companion over the past decade. It was his tool for survival on the seas, and a reminder of all he's overcome. And now he is told to carry it far inland and plant it into the ground. The land is so far from the sea that the locals won’t know what it is, and they’ll think it’s a farm tool for separating grain and chaff. What an odd task. Now, since The Odyssey is an allegory, there are loads of meaning in each element, and we are free to interpret in our own ways as well. But one thing sticks out in this story... What was critical and meaningful to Odysseus at one time will not always be needed by him in the same way. Odysseus needs to leave behind one of the tools that defined his life, because a new season was at hand. In fact, he would need to intentionally place it behind him in order to move on.* Jesus is constantly inviting us to do this sort of stuff. Call it pruning. Call it becoming new. Call it working out our salvation. But there are times when what has helped us in one season needs to be left behind in order to live fully into the next as we follow him. What if the thing that has fueled you for years, helping you to battle through and survive, is the very thing that needs to be released in order to peacefully move with God to the next phase of your life? What if your need to prove yourself, which has made you a successful businessperson or entrepreneur, is now the thing that is hindering you from being fully present with your children as they grow up? What if your cynicism about churches, which has kept you vigilant and protected after having your trust betrayed in a previous experience, is now no longer needed as you step into truly meaningful community? What if your strength and ability to be independent, which propelled you to leave an abusive relationship many years ago, is not what's needed now as opportunities arise for truly loving, deep spiritual friendships? What if black-and-white understandings of the world, which helped you establish your convictions early in your faith, need to be released so that you can walk with Jesus into the gray and complicated areas of life? What if your oar has been the self-protection of passivity, which allowed you to be comfortable and quiet, when you know that God is stirring you to take some risks and start using your gifts in a new way? What’s your oar? What do you need to put in the ground? Jesus' invitation for the disciples to follow him meant many things, but two of them are obvious. It meant a constant journey, and it meant leaving things behind that they had once relied on. But the future was worth it all. This summer is an amazing time to bury some oars and embrace what’s next. Jesus, give me clarity on what to release, and give me Your presence for the next journey. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well! I deliberately kept it plain and simple: first Jesus and who he is; then Jesus and what he did—Jesus crucified. -I Corinthians 2:2 This is a two-parter, friends. Holy week begins in only a few days. Holy week is a journey. We walk with Jesus into Jerusalem, onto the cross, and quietly wait in the tomb. It's dramatic, and it's personal. A story this compelling and emotional is the sort of thing that shapes you in the 100th reading as well as the first one. God suffering with all humanity, to heal and restore all humanity. God bearing the sin of the world, to defeat the powers behind that very sin. Jesus, replanting the world with the fertilizer of his very body. Jesus, who turns every understanding of power and violence on its head. If we allow it, the annual recurrence of holy week peels back layers of our own hearts. It's a time to open ourselves up. It's also a time to let the story speak for itself. Have you ever noticed those documents for tests or legal stuff that just says, "this page intentionally left blank?" You may think those blank pages are just a bureaucratic mystery and a conspiracy to destroy trees. I agree. But beyond that, there are reasons. Pages are left blank in legal documents to separate content, so that subjects don't blend together accidentally. And in standardized tests, pages are also left blank to stop those cheaters who might read the next section’s questions before it’s the appropriate time! But despite all theories, one thing is clear: the blankness of the page is not an accident. It's supposed to be there. A blank page means pause and take a breath before something new starts again. Many of us enjoy regularly reading insights from others. We love learning about Jesus and thinking about Christian faith in fresh ways. There is so much content out there. I'm all for it. But there's a shadow side to most everything. And if we're not careful, all the good voices, commentaries, podcasts, books and articles become "spiritual surrogates" in our lives. They may be very good and very helpful at times. But we can also allow them to fill in most of our spiritual gaps and thoughts. We rarely allow ourselves the blank page to pause and encounter Jesus personally with totally open ears.... to embrace a page that's intentionally left blank (and maybe even, to grab a pen....). It's scary. Many of us like all the words and thoughts and ideas of others. And yet, from time to time, we must get out of this mindset and journey into the desert alone with Jesus. On a blank page, no one tells us what we're supposed to think or where we're supposed to focus. We are left to encounter Jesus without a filter. Next week on Thursday you'll get a normal Together for Good email as you head into Good Friday. It will be completely empty, except a single reminder: this page intentionally left blank. Let it invite you to go directly to the story of Jesus with nothing else to fill up the page. Walk with him into Jerusalem. Pray with him in the garden. Grit your teeth when he is unjustly accused. Flinch with him when he is beaten. Hang you head with him on Friday. And wait quietly on Saturday. Encounter the story of Jesus and listen for the whisper of the Divine. Give yourself a blank page and the chance to do some really beautiful work with God on your own in the coming days. Jesus is eager for the time together. If it's helpful to have some framework, you can use these passages as you walk with Jesus this week. Monday: Luke 19:41-48 Tuesday: John 14:1-10 Wednesday: Mark 14:1-11 Thursday: John 13:1-17 Friday: Psalm 22:1-19 Saturday: Matthew 27:62-66 The story of the cross reveals the horror of human brokenness and the beauty of God's forgiving love. The resurrection reveals the hope of God's remaking everything for a future of life. Sometimes that's all the commentary we need. Keep your page blank enough this week for Jesus to speak love to the deepest places in you. Jesus, in the coming days, meet me in your story. Peace, Keith I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. -Ezekiel 36:26 Country music singer Billy Ray Cyrus, who is now the second most famous singer in the Cyrus family, reached fame 31 years ago with his hit song Achy Breaky Heart.Honestly, this song still holds up. How could you not love it? When the singer's girlfriend breaks up with him, he says that she can go ahead and tell everyone. Everyone except his heart... You can tell the world you never was my girl You can burn my clothes when I'm gone Or you can tell your friends just what a fool I've been And laugh and joke about me on the phone. But don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart I just don't think he'd understand. And if you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart, He might blow up and kill this man The poor guy has a heart that's at risk of being broken. He really wishes it wasn't so breakable. But there are worse types of hearts... Hearts that can never be broken. Hearts that can't ache or break. Hearts that have turned to stone. Ezekiel is a wild and crazy book in the Old Testament with some seriously NOT PG-rated imagery and harsh judgments. God's people had kind of gone off the deep end and given in to a world of violence, idolatry, and neglect of those in need. But the book is not without promises of restoration. In chapter 36, Ezekiel shares one of God's hopeful promises with his people. He says that God is going to move in them one day to change their hearts. He will take their heart of stone away, and in its place he will give them a heart of flesh. The rabbis of old knew this phrase well. In Hebrew, it is lev basar. A heart of flesh is one that is soft and attentive, able to be moved, and able to feel. Centuries ago, the Hasidic teacher Rabbe Nachman of Breslov founded a movement based on cultivating Ezekiel's lev basar. He taught, "there's nothing so whole as a broken heart." The tradition held that a broken heart is different than a sad or depressed one. It is open to one's own suffering and the suffering of others. It is a heart that feels, that has vulnerability and openness. It's a heart that is available for true connection. This is the work of God in us-- to create a heart of flesh that can feel, that can connect with others, and that can even be broken. I find it profound that God promises to transform stony hearts enough that they can be broken once again. It's so easy for us to guard ourselves from discomfort or pain by putting walls around our hearts. If we don't feel, we can't hurt. We can also allow our hearts to be stony toward others. This is especially true for those we don't get along with. We may be moved with compassion for those we feel are suffering unjustly. But for those who have made poor decisions or who we deem to be in the wrong? Our hearts are rarely able to break for them. So we are soft toward one person, stony toward the next one. But Jesus doesn't offer us the choice of deciding who is deserving of softheartedness. A heart of flesh, if God is the one making it, will always be open to the Spirit's moving. It will always have compassion for those who are hurting, regardless of which "side" we might be tempted to think that they are on. I love so much that this heart of flesh is something that God gives us as a gift. The gift of being able to feel and share emotions is a sacred thing. The gift of being able to hurt with those who hurt is a high calling. The gift of embracing vulnerability is the gateway to knowing God and knowing others. Undergoing open heart surgery with Jesus may be terrifying and painful, but it is the way to a full and healthy life. Where do you find your heart stony today? Toward whom? Today is a wonderful day to invite Jesus to soften your own heart-- even to make it breakable-- so that you can be fully human, and fully open to God's movement, once again. Jesus, take whatever has hardened in me, and bring it to life. Peace, Keith "The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.” -Jesus, Mark 12:31 For months I've been journeying with 5 other pastors in a weekly coaching cohort, with the goal of exploring our inner lives and moving toward health and healing. It's been life-changing as I prepare for my upcoming sabbatical. And yep, pastoring for nearly two decades has worn me down and left me ragged in a number of ways. I'm not sure why this sort of reality isn't openly talked about very much. It's probably because pastors fear that if they show signs of weakness and exhaustion, they are failing as spiritual leaders. A piece of me used to think like that. But not anymore. This week our cohort conversation was about self-compassion, and how often this element is overlooked in the Christian journey. For many of us, there's a deeply ingrained mindset that we should be compassionate toward others, but harsh on ourselves. You know- cut it off if it causes you to sin kind of harshness. There are plenty of verses for that, and I believe we need to look honestly at destructive actions. But this attitude extends far beyond sin. If we feel inadequate or limited or we fail in any way, the mindset is to just dig in and grind a little harder. It's the gospel of self-improvement. God helps those who help themselves! I'm intimately familiar with it in my internal monologue. C'mon, Keith. Just be better. At everything. The problem is that this can completely bypass the central part of God's story, that real transformation happens from knowing our belovedness in God's eyes. God's kindness, the scriptures say, is what leads us to becoming whole (Rom 2:4). And Matthew reminds his readers that Jesus would fulfill Isaiah's prophecy about a Messiah so gentle on those who felt weak, that: "A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out" (Matt. 12:20). Even those of us who proclaim God's gentleness on others frequently struggle to embrace the same spirit inwardly in self-compassion. We hear the invitation from Jesus saying, "come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest" and we make sure that those around us understand how good that news is for them. And all the time, the harsh critic of that internal monologue fails to offer the same tenderness that we believe God gives. During our group dialogue, I realized that one of the keys to deeper self-compassion lies in developing a greater imagination. We believe that Jesus is with us all the time, but we rarely take time to imagine his posture toward us during some of the most difficult moments in our past. And it can change how we see ourselves. It can be transformative. What do you think Jesus wants to say to the 9 year old you that thought he had to make everyone laugh in order to be loved? What do you think Jesus wants to say to your young mom self who felt like she was always on the edge of breaking down? What do you think Jesus wants to say to the 30 year old you that was battling addiction and spiraling out of control? What do you think Jesus wants to say to the 40 year old you that walked through that unimaginable divorce? What do you think Jesus wants to say to the you that felt absolutely shattered when you didn't get the promotion at work? What do you think Jesus wants to say to the you who walked through your child's chronic illness and had to be strong for everyone? What do you think Jesus wants to say to the you who wakes up and feels worthless and unmotivated to do anything? Perhaps this week, you can courageously look back at your life and the things that hurt the most. Look back and consider those moments of failure or striving or inadequacy. What would Jesus's gentle compassion sound like in those moments? How might that lead you to new levels of self-compassion and transformation? Consider Jesus sitting with you, embracing you, crying with you, reminding you of your belovedness. You may find that the grace-filled words of Jesus toward your former self will soften your own attitudes toward your current self. God's grace is for all the parts of you-- even the parts that you are frustrated by or that feel deeply broken. Jesus, be gentle with me today. And teach me to do the same. Peace, Keith |
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