Living Beyond Means

““power is made perfect in weakness”
Paul, II Corinthians 12.9

The church, then, as a body of Christians, is constantly active;...living continually beyond its means.
The Politics of Discipleship, Graham Ward, pg 201”

Lent carries a paradox, or at the very least, a challenge. 

The word itself, derived through a history of languages and derivations may have originally meant "to lengthen," referring to the arrival or spring in the northern hemisphere.  Yet, as a season in the church, Lent is a countdown to Good Friday, to a death.  To further challenge us, Lent begins with ashes and a reminder of our coming death.  As the world's day light increases, our light begins to fade.

Tom Oord writes in The Uncontrolling Love of God, that, "When creatures cooperate with their Creator, shalom may unfurl in extraordinary ways" (Oord, 2015, Kindle 2808).  Cooperation means following the way of grace.  Following the way of grace leans on God and God's provision.  Walking in the path God lays down has no guarantee of painlessness.  We just walk by faith.

Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return

Lent acknowledges the destination of this journey.  One way or another, death won't be escaped.  Trying to escape it can become an anxiety producing, destruction laden, and mind numbing escapade.  Probably bringing death closer rather than keeping it at a distance.

The imposition of ashes beginning Lent brings us up close and personal to death.  Traditionally, quoting from Genesis 3:19, the officiant says, "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return."  

Just this morning I was warmed by the sight of the morning sun.  Noticing that it crept above the trees and houses and began to reflect sunshine into the windows.  Just as the days are lengthening and the signs of spring are emerging, we begin to think of life, newness, buds, blooms, and warmth.  But as the days are lengthening, they are also passing by.  Just as athletes speak of "leaving it all out on the field" so too is life.  We have this glorious creation all around us and there's no reason to hold onto our lives as if they were an investment that if buried and left untouched will grow with time. It won't. 

Be spent

The Lenten reminder of our own end, the ashen reminder of our origin from dust and ashes, and the lengthening days of spring remind us less of the death awaiting us, but of the life we are we are pouring out for others.  Be spent.

Livable Liturgy: I'm Good (enough for now)

“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 1Cor12.9”

I am a creature of habit. I like to have things under control. I like it when things are predictable and planned. Once I had a surprise birthday party while I was in graduate school. Initially, I had unexpressed anger in my heart, I was mad because I had other plans for my time.  But it wasn't too bad. I survived at least.

As a result, I've noticed that I give myself to routine. Regular rhythms have an earthly regularity to them like the sunrise and the passing of seasons. But the routines I create for myself, or those to which I give myself can become empty. Shallow. I hate that! Granted, emergencies have had a knack of kicking me into another gear and the Spirit of God tells me to fall in line.

Today, my alarm didn't go off. I over slept and felt behind. I made some alterations and shortened my time of prayer and meditation. Getting back on track, I discovered that a crucial life event scheduled for December had been moved to October. Okay, I can handle that, I've prayed, I've walked the dog, I've exercised. I can handle this. Breathe. Sacred pause. Take the next step.

Then as I am relaxing for a moment after studying and writing a paper for my class, I decide to hang out on social media only discover ominous comments of suicidal ideation from a friend. This friend lives far away. Fortunately, there is a close group of friends surrounding him in love and care. Breathe. Sacred pause. Take the next step.

After taking the dog for another walk, for me as much as it was for her, I find a text on my phone from a dear friend. Calling him, I learn of his unexpected cancer diagnosis. Enough said. Breathe. Sacred pause. Take the next step.

Granted the most difficult events of the day were in the lives of others. Yet, at the same time, these were things over which I have no control at all of any kind.

So I looked again at the photo of today's garden harvest. I was reminded of God's good and simple gifts. Rich, colorful, and necessary foods arising from the ground. Made of nothing but dirt, water, and sun. It is then that I come to terms with God for the day. Frequently, God and I have to come to terms. God's trump card in these conversations is grace. Breathe. Sacred pause. Take the next step.

God's sufficient grace carries me and my friends through each day. 

A heart of gratitude.  And the more I realize how grateful I am for the unknown friends surrounding my brokenhearted friend far away, and for the caregivers aggressively chasing down the cancer in my friend - and how excessive God's genius is with dirt, water and sun -  I also realize that I'm good. I'm good.

I'm not good in some sense of moral perfection, heavens no! But I realize my friends, my garden, and I are in the hands of a good Spirit. A Spirit of plenty and abundance, nor scarcity or inadequacy. A Spirit of good, even when by so many external signs things look bad.

So as I thought about this, I queued up my favorite song for now. "I'm Good" by The Mowgli's. It's my go-to song when I need to remember how good life is, God is, and those I care for are. Check it out...

Tomorrow I will go into the garden. The dirt, sun, water and God will likely give me another several pounds of life-giving food. And I'll remember that through the grace of God, I'm good. Tomorrow could be my day for despair, for illness, for a potential misfortune. But God's good grace will be there. Awaiting. Because of God's grace, I'm good enough. Breathe. Sacred pause. Take the next step.

Livable Liturgies: Making the bed as an act of defiance

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning... Lamentations 3.22-23a

"The adversary would destroy the internal by destroying the external" Pilgram Marpek (d. 1556).

"Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought me in safety to this new day: Preserve me with your mighty power, that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord. Amen." (traditional)

Nearly every day, I utter (sometimes only inarticulately mutter) this prayer.  The key phrases "preserve me...that I may not fall into sin, nor overcome by adversity...direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose" kind of force me to do something. Often the snooze button tempts me.  Sometimes the coming day frightens me.  The sun rises as an unstoppable foe clearing the horizon, unfazed by vain attempts to slow its advance. But there's no way to fight it or flee it. 

I get up. I make my bed.

I commit an external act to get an internal state moving into first gear (thanks Marpek). I make my bed, as a commitment to the purposes of God.  And coffee isn't far away to keep me going in the right direction.

Jesus understands that some days the temptation to delay the start of the day, or extend the escape, is real. And as long as the covers are turned down, the bed is available as a retreat from the the fact that "each day has troubles" (Matthew 6:34), there is a chance that I might crawl back, close my eyes and hide my head. Since each day "has troubles of it's own" yet to appear, if I just close my eyes, I won't see them. Jesus understands. 

Even after making the bed I could easily pull back the covers and hide away. But something about the ritual of making the bed tells me that this part of the day is done and I need to move on into what God's purposes are for me this day.  It is a simple ritual that could be misunderstood as a "tidying things up" or a mechanistic habit carrying over from childhood with the words of your mother, "were you raised in barn?"

But what if one of the first acts of the day is a commitment to throw yourself into God's unfolding mercies and challenges and wonders? Get up. Make your bed. Get on with it.

“Our struggles in this world are similar, and the lessons to overcome those struggles and to move forward — changing ourselves and the world around us — will apply equally to all…. Making your bed will also reinforce the fact that little things in life matter.... And, if by chance you have a miserable day, you will come home to a bed that is made — that you made — and a made bed gives you encouragement that tomorrow will be better. If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed” (William McRaven, UT News, 2014).

So as a reminder that I am committing myself to the mission of God, and even as a hope for a better tomorrow, I make my bed. 

References

Tickle, P. (2015). Fixed Hour Prayer. Retrieved from explorefaith: http://explorefaith.org/prayer/fixed/hours.php

UT News. (2014, May 14). Adm. McRaven Urges Graduates to Find Courage to Change the World. Retrieved from UT News The University of Texas at Austin: http://news.utexas.edu/2014/05/16/admiral-mcraven-commencement-speech

YouTube. (2015). monster.com commercial. Retrieved from YoutTube.com: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=npQC7v73TXg

Hass, C. J., (1992). Readings from Mennonite Writings: New and Old. Good Books, Intercourse, PA. p45.

Livable Liturgies: Anti-Apocalyptic Dog

“But ask the animals, and they will teach you…In his hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of every human being.” Job 12.7,10

“Among the Algonquin nation…creation was brought about by Kukumthena, the Grandmother…accompanied by a dog.” In this myth, creation is continued and the end of the world forestalled, by the “work” of this dog. “Each day Kukumthena works at weaving a great basket, and when it is completed, the world will end. Fortunately for us, each night the dog unravels her day’s work.  Those of us who have lost rugs, clothing, or furniture, to a dog’s oral dexterity may never be convinced that that ability could be put to such use as forestalling the end of the world” (The Monks of New Skete, 1978, p. 3).

Mika, keeps the world from ending, an anti-apocalyptic angel. At least she postpones the apocalypse by unraveling her own things.

The unraveling work of the anti-apocalyptic angel-dog, stuffing chewed out of the dog bed.

What if unraveling the weave of the great basket is more than a metaphor? Having a dog shares characteristics of having children, of attending to a spouse, or caring for friends. It’s just that a dog has less qualms about telling someone to pay attention.  A dog will not put on a false display of patient waiting. Whining, licking, nudging, pawing at me, she tells me to pay attention to her.

Job wants me to do more than attend to animals, but rather "ask the animals, and they will teach" something.  If there's a constant undoing to the end of all things from the myth about Kukumthena and the dog. Why is it that that myth emerged with the dog acting that way? Is there something about a dog's loyalty that has a future orientation? That the future is not all written out and a closed book? That maybe there is an open future and God has more in store than I can ask or imagine? 

The mystic Matthew Fox always referred to his dog as his spiritual director. I get that. I have one too.  I'd like it if my cat was as forthcoming, but he's a bit aloof.