Beach Reflections

May 20, 2011

I love walking on the beach.  There’s nothing quite like the sun on my back, a breeze in my face, sand between my toes, the water splashing up to my knees, and the never ending sound of the waves. The beach is a space that is both infinitely vast and deeply personal – a time that is totally in the moment and surprisingly eternal – a place where I can reflect on life and listen for the voice of God.  When I walk on the beach, it’s as if I’ve stepped into a corner of heaven. 

Walking at North Myrtle Beach, May 2011

This week as I walked, I reflected on the deep places of hurt and the broad places of gratitude in my life.  I realized that the water at the beach is never still enough for me to see my own reflection.  The constant motion, the foam of the waves, the churned up sand – well, the conditions are all wrong for seeing my own reflection!  And yet, I can see the sun reflecting off the water near the shore.  The bright yellow globe may be slightly distorted by the water, but there’s no questioning that reflection!

What is God saying to us, that the sun can be reflected at the ocean’s edge but our own images cannot?

When I lift my eyes beyond the shore to the horizon where the blue-green of the ocean meets the blue-white of the sky, I am drawn into the expansiveness of God’s creation.  I am but one small creature in a universe that extends way beyond the visible horizon to vast horizons across space.  Then, as my eyes are drawn back to the waves that perpetually break and roll into shore, I am aware that waves have broken on shores since long before I arrived, and will do so long after I am gone.  

Like the shifting sands under my feet, as I gaze across the ocean I sense a shift in my own perspective. My eyes see the truth: it is the Almighty and Everlasting God who is reflected in the ocean.  It is the very image of God that surrounds me - the Creator of the universe so powerfully present in this particular moment.  From this perspective, there is an abundance in God’s creation that far outweighs my joys and sorrows; it isn’t that my reflections are insignificant, they just aren’t as heavy as I have allowed them to become.  Somehow, in that moment, I am welcomed into a reality that extends beyond the horizon and I know that my reflections matter to God!

Overwhelmed and humbled, tears flow freely into the very water where the image of God is reflected.  The tears are swept away by the water – the salt of my eyes becoming indistinguishable from the salt of the ocean.  It is as if God has cried an ocean of tears with all those across time and around the world who have shed tears.  In that moment, my deep places of hurt merge with God’s sorrow and pain and I find healing.

Then laughter escapes my lips as I rejoice and give thanks for all that God has done.  Like music to my ears, the commotion of the breaking waves, the sounds of children playing along the shore, and the voices of people enjoying the beach mingle with my own laughter making a joyful noise to the Lord.  In that moment the peace that passes all understanding washes over me.

I think there’s a reason we cannot see our own reflection at the beach.  If we saw our own reflection we’d get lost in it and miss the beauty of God’s reflection.  And it is in encountering God’s image that we grasp eternity.  The beach is but one little corner of heaven where we find healing and hope, grace and peace.

Fragile! Handle With Care!

May 3, 2011

The tiny porcelain angel was not much bigger than my hand.  It was beautifully crafted, with wings that were so thin they were practically translucent and a face that was almost radiant. I ran my fingers along her wings as my friend told me the story of this family heirloom; I could sense both how precious and how fragile this little angel was.  As our conversation moved on I turned to put the little angel back on the shelf, and as I turned I inadvertently bumped the angel against the shelf.  Much to my dismay this beautiful little angel broke into pieces!  I had been distracted as our conversation moved on and had not been as careful as I should have been.  I misjudged with tragic consequences.  I felt awful; the damage had been done and there was nothing that I could do about it.

Unfortunately, little porcelain angels are not the only things we break.  There are times when we inadvertently say something to a friend that shatters them.  Or, in a moment of distraction, we do something that forever changes our relationships.  How often we misjudge a situation with tragic consequences! 

The Psalmist sings to God: “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.  My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth” (Ps 139:14-15).   Like the little angel, we are intricately woven – beautifully crafted – by God.  Like the little angel, we are fearfully and wonderfully made – with astonishing and unique features that God knows intimately.  The Psalmist understands that we are fragile; God knows that each one of His beloved children must be handled with care.

And yet we continue to hurt one another and ourselves – often inadvertently, occasionally intentionally.  We are broken by careless actions or thoughtless words.  We are shattered by forces that are seemingly beyond our control.  Like Humpty Dumpty, it seems like we cannot be put back together again.  But with God, all things are possible.

These same hands that broke my friend’s little angel are the hands that are held open as a broken piece of bread is placed in them with the words, “The body of Christ, broken for you.”  The body of Christ that we broke when we shouted, “Crucify Him!” is given to us as a gift.  Through Jesus Christ all things are possible.  By grace, Jesus is right there, broken, in our very hands, given to us that we might know the depth of God’s love for us and find healing and forgiveness.

I hear God whispering into my brokenness, “You are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you... Do not fear, for I am with you” (Isaiah 43:4-5).  I hear the truth of Jesus’ words: “Your sins are forgiven” (Matt 9:2).  As I leave the Lord’s Table, I find that I can go out into this broken world once again.  Certainly, I know I am fragile, I know I must handle my relationships with great care.  Yet, I hear God’s words: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).

Roller Coasters

Easter Monday, April 25, 2011

Many years ago, a friend and I spent the day at Coney Island riding the wooden roller coaster over and over again.  Flying down the long slopes with our hands in the air, and clinging tightly to the bar as we flew around sharp curves, we screamed and laughed and screamed again.  Wooden roller coasters are terrifying and exhilarating – there is always this sensation that the car is going to fly right off the tracks.  And the clickety-clack of the wheels on the rails sets up a vibration that rattles the riders to the core.  It is quite unsettling.  Each time the ride ended, we looked at each other and shouted, “Again!”  We rode the roller coaster over and over again, until the bones and muscles in our young bodies cried out, “Enough!”  (But let’s come back next week!)

Ministry is so much like a wooden roller coaster.  There are times when serving God is so intense that there is nothing else to do but hang on tightly and trust.  There are moments of pure joy when it is so good to just throw our hands up in the air and praise God.  There are weeks that are decidedly unsettling, as relationships are rattled by dispute.  And there are days that are filled with sadness, moments of transition and loss.  The work of ministry is exhilarating and terrifying, and much less predictable than a roller coaster.  Each Monday, as I take a day of rest, I delight in the anticipation of crying out “Again!”

But on this Easter Monday the bones and muscles of my body are crying out “Enough!”  It is time to get off the roller coaster of life and rest, at least for a little while.  It is time to rest and remember.  Today I remember and give thanks for the lives of the many wonderful people who have died since last Easter, including Charles, Andrea, Kris, Eula Mae, Ben, Peggy, Marie, and Mary.  Today I remember and give thanks for the lives of six incredible youth who were confirmed yesterday: Crystal, Meredith, Tonisha, Bradley, Jonathan, and Anna.  Today I remember and give thanks for the mentors and friends who have been brave enough to ride this roller coaster of ministry with me.  Today I remember and give thanks for the wonderful and faithful congregations at Reconciliation UMC and Saxapahaw UMC.  Today I remember and give thanks for my family.   

And as I remember and give thanks to God for all the moments of exhilaration and sadness of the past year I find myself eager to cry “Again!”  Again!  In grief and in joy, in good times and in difficult times, this roller coaster called ministry – this gift of being able to serve God and God’s people – leads me to cry out, “Again!”  (But not until next week!)

Exposing Sin to the Light

Some of us are fortunate enough to have had an experience in our lives where, as John Wesley said about his Aldersgate experience, “I felt I did trust in Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.”[1]  I was in twelfth grade, one of the disciples in our church youth group’s production of Godspell.  Each disciple played various roles as the story of Jesus was told, and one of the roles I played was that of the woman caught in the act of adultery (John 8:2-11).  I will never forget the upheld hands of my fellow disciples holding imaginary rocks; I’ll never forget the hatred in the eyes of my friends who were ready to stone me to death...  I’ll never forget the feeling I had as I watched each one drop his or her hand and turn away, unable to cast the first stone.  No one condemned me.  In that moment I knew with certainty that Jesus Christ loved me – even me!  I knew – deep down in the very core of my being – that my sins were forgiven.

I shared this story with the youth in my confirmation class recently and it led me back to the eighth chapter of John.  I realized as I reread it that I had never really considered what it would feel like to expose a sin that had been hidden.  The woman’s adultery – something that had happened in the cover of darkness – was brought into the light early in the morning as Jesus taught in the temple.  I wonder if the woman felt shame and humiliation as she stood before this angry crowd.  Or perhaps anger or embarrassment?  Maybe she was simply bewildered by the rapid sequence of events.  After all, she had been caught in the very act of committing adultery.  No matter what, it must have been excruciatingly painful standing before a mocking crowd as Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger in the sand.  Her sin had been brought into the light, and one way or the other things would never be the same.

As I reflected on this story I did something I rarely do – I flipped on the TV to take a break.  Oprah was on, talking to Olympic gold medalist Greg Louganis.[2]  Greg came out on the Oprah show in 1995, revealing that he was both gay and HIV positive.  This week he was reflecting on that day, so many years ago.  He spoke both of the terror of sharing the truth about himself, and the relief of no longer needing to live in the midst of never-ending lies.  Regardless of whether we view homosexuality as sinful or not, Greg had been living in deep darkness – a life of deception weighed heavily on him.  He took a huge risk when he spoke the truth, and discovered profound healing.

I have worked with several women who have experienced abuse.  One described the way that her partner intentionally hit her, bruising her in places that could be concealed by her clothing, but never touching her face.  When she tried to bring this abuse into the light, the abuse actually got worse.  Then he ‘accidentally’ bruised her face, and the truth came out.  Like the woman caught in the act of adultery, she was forced to bring the abuse – and all the baggage that came with it – into the light.  It was a very painful time for everyone involved, but with time and therapy and prayer she began to find healing and wholeness. Telling the truth about her situation helped to free her from a terrible secret.

What does it feel like to expose a truth that has been hidden?  What happens when something that has occurred under the cover of darkness is brought into the light?  It seems to me that this is when the lies and deception end, and honesty and truthfulness begin. As Greg Louganis said, he no longer needed to edit himself, but could speak the truth.  This must have been profoundly freeing.  As for the woman who was left standing next to Jesus, she had been given new life – a chance to start over.  Jesus tells her, “Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.” The truth, in the midst of an angry, murderous crowd, had revealed that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). The truth, in the midst of all her disgrace and pain, had set her free.

This morning I was reading from Ephesians 5: “Live as children of light... Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them. For it is shameful even to mention what such people do secretly; but everything exposed by the light becomes visible, for everything that becomes visible is light” (v. 8, 11-14).  Light – truth – freedom – healing.  All this, just for exposing the unfruitful works of darkness – the hidden truths, the carefully concealed brokenness, and even the outright sin – to the light.  And this is only the beginning.  Don’t forget about the amazing gift of God’s abundant love and ceaseless forgiveness. 

 

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[1] The Journal of John Wesley, May 24, 1738.

[2] http://www.oprah.com/oprahshow/Gay-Issues-on-The-Oprah-Show/1

Gasping for Prayer

Sometimes praying takes no effort at all.  Praying can be automatic, instinctive, natural – like breathing.  The words are simply there, the posture (kneeling or sitting or standing, hands folded or upheld) is effortless, the communication is easy.  God is powerfully present and actively listening.  As Marie Barnett sings:

This is the air I breathe

This is the air I breathe

Your holy presence living in me.[1]

Prayer is living and breathing – a part of who I am.  Prayer is powerful and beautiful – God with me.  Sometimes praying takes no effort at all.

But sometimes I feel mute and deaf and blind to prayer.  There are no words in my mouth and the words on the page are meaningless.  The Psalms, the Collects, and even the Lord’s Prayer might as well be in a foreign language – there is no understanding.  If God is speaking, I’m not hearing anything.  My posture is restless – my knees hurt and I lack the strength to hold up my hands.  Communication seems all but impossible.  In these times when prayer simply escapes me, I long for a breath of fresh air; it feels like I’m gasping for prayer. 

Habit leads me to read the Psalms.  A pattern of morning prayer leads me to read a Collect or two.  After all, I believe:

This is my daily bread

This is my daily bread

Your very Word spoken to me.

And yet, sometimes God’s Word simply does not speak to me through these patterns and habits. I breathe in, longing to speak.  I gasp, longing to be filled once again with the wind of God.  And I still feel breathless – dry and empty – unable to pray.

The amazing thing is that when the senses I rely on don’t seem to be working, God finds another way.  Shortly after sunset tonight, as I walked across the bridge over the Haw River, the full moon was reflecting brightly on the water and that wind of God touched me in the beauty of that moment.  God found another way.  Earlier today, I listened to the FolkPsalm[2] band sing psalms of lament and praise in Goodson Chapel.  The Word of God spoke to me in the sharp contrasts: “How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?”[3] versus “Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds.”[4]  Together, in the heaviness of one and the joy of the other, God spoke a breath of fresh air.  God found another way.

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[1] CCLI Song No. 1874117, © 1995 Mercy / Vineyard Publishing (Admin. by Music Services, Inc.)

[2] http://folkpsalm.com/

[3] Psalm 13:2 (NRSV)

[4] Psalm 36:5 (NRSV)

You Don’t Scare Me

You don’t scare me!

Well, that’s not true.

You still do scare me,

You do!

Masses and lumps,

An atypical cell,

Why is it that you seem to

Grow so well?

And pain! Why does pain

Rule the day?

Why can’t there be

Another way?

There’s doctors and tests

And waiting, and waiting;

The uncertainty is

Excruciating!

Then tiny steps forward,

A glimpse of hope!

It really isn’t the end

Of the rope!

Surgery, chemo, another doctor,

Another test.

And utter exhaustion–

The need for rest.

You really don’t scare me,

Well, that’s not true.

You’re destroying my body,

There’s not much I can do.

But trust doctors and chemo,

And pray and pray.

And live like tomorrow may be

My last day.

And praise my Creator for

All I’ve been given.

For family, for friends,

And the promise of heaven.

You really don’t scare me,

Try as you may.

For Jesus is with me,

Every step of the way.

He’s my Lord and Savior,

My dearest friend.

My comfort, my shelter,

Beginning and end.

You really can’t scare me,

While I still have breath.

I know the truth:

Love is stronger than death.

Changed by Prayer

Prayer changes things.  But prayers don’t always change things the way we think they should or the way we wish they would.  Recently I read something that struck me as very true: Our prayers to God do not change God; rather, they change us.  God works through our prayers to change our hearts and to open our eyes to see things differently.  Prayer changes things.

Many years ago, a young man who I’ll call “John” walked into my physics classroom.  He was handsome, tall, athletic, and filled with rage.  He was typically late for class, causing a disruption as he bustled in with too many bags on his shoulder.  He was not a typical physics student and I was not particularly happy about his presence in my class.  I tried contacting his parents – unsuccessfully.  I then worked with his counselor to learn his story.  Problems at home had led him to leave his parents.  He was currently living in his car.  He didn’t have a calculator because he couldn’t afford one.  And all those bags – well, he was carrying much of his life with him day in and day out.

I began to pray for John.  I prayed for healing in his family so that he might go home.  I prayed for him to be on time for class.  Prayer changes things – but never the way we expect.  Over the next two years I became his friend.  He never was particularly good at showing up to class on time, but he showed up.  And he never did go back to his family.  I ended up supporting him as he did the painful work of becoming an emancipated minor.  I looked the other way as he sold candy in class so that he could have some pocket money.  I helped him apply to college.  Prayer changed me so that I could love this young man.

A few years after this, I taught a ninth grade reading class for students who were reading on a third or fourth grade level.  Most of the students in that class were fourteen years old.  And then there was “Gabe”.  He was seventeen – a man in a class full of boys and girls.  I was afraid of Gabe.  He was angry, disruptive, uncontrollable.  If there was family, no one knew where.  The counselors had no advice.  There was nothing I could do but pray.  I prayed for Gabe to skip my class so we could actually get some learning done.  I prayed for him to drop out of school so I could find some peace. 

Of course Gabe showed up every day.  Over time, I learned that he had been in a gang since he was eleven years old.  I learned that he wanted to lead a normal life – get married and have children, hold a steady job, live in a house with a fenced yard.  He didn’t see this ever happening because of his gang activities.  I learned that he was intelligent, creative, and insightful.  He never ceased to be disruptive in class, but I was no longer afraid of him.  I remember sitting with him in In-School Suspension one day.  I had gone to help him with the assignment I had sent – but the teacher wouldn’t allow us to talk.  So I just sat with him in silence for an hour.  What an odd thing to do!  The strange thing is that prayer changed me – I not only learned to love and respect this young man, but I began to seek out others in the school who were like him.  I’m sure that my desire to work in the prisons today started with my prayers for Gabe.

There are many students I prayed for over the years, but after I began seminary my prayers changed.  I no longer had the day-in-day-out interactions with troubled youth that drove me to pray.  I now had a congregation to pray for and classmates to pray for – sometimes generally, sometimes specifically.  And then God placed a young man in my path who needed a math tutor.  I jumped at the opportunity for very selfish reasons.  My studies in Bible and theology were filled with more questions than answers.  Math is straight forward.  I jumped at the chance to do something that had clear answers.  And it was a joy to tutor this young man from a stable home who wanted my help.

I began to pray for this young man, who I will call “Jake”, simply because I was tutoring him.  My prayers were not very specific because I did not really know what to pray for (and I had learned that often the things I pray for are the wrong things).  While I certainly enjoyed the math, I found that the time I spent with Jake, simply building a relationship, was truly a gift.  As I worked with him, I sensed a strong pull to continue my journey with him as he began college – a pull I resisted because it seemed like God was asking me to enter too deeply into this young man’s life.  But God is persistent, and I have helped Jake in ways I never imagined I would.  He is a joy and a blessing to me.  God uses prayer to change us, to change me.  God uses prayer to help us love people we never thought we would love.  And for that I am truly thankful.

Three young men who touched my life.  Three young men I will never forget.  Three relationships that could have developed very differently if it had not been for prayer.  And there are so many other people in my life – so many other relationships – that have been profoundly shaped by prayer.  Shaped in ways I never imagined.  Shaped in ways that only God could have envisioned. Our prayers to God do not change God; rather, God uses our prayers to change us.  How has prayer changed you?