Come, Thou Long-expected Jesus

On my mantle I have arranged the couple dozen figurines of my Fontanini nativity set, each character frozen in a perpetual gaze. The young pan piper seems lost in his melody, and another youth leans against a fence, musing toward my hearth. The shepherds and most of the sheep lift their faces to my ceiling. The goose girl and the old garlic farmer, too, pause to watch. An ox and donkey rest in the stable, ready to chew their cud, while a token angel hovers in the background. Joseph and Mary kneel near them, hands raised in anticipated adoration. The two look down at an empty manger, because high church tradition and common sense ask me to leave it so until the Day comes to celebrate Jesus’ actual birth. Each creature in my crèche holds its breath in a resin-bound chest. Waiting for God.

I, too, wait. But what kind of God do I expect?

I wait for an accessible God, a Holy Infant, who in his vulnerable innocency softens our fearful and resistant hearts and makes a manger his crib. How gentle is a God who thinks it best to slip unobtrusively into the human race amid only a couple dozen witnesses. Such action St. Isaac of Syria calls “exalted humility.”

The Word who became human clothed himself with humility, and thus spoke with us in our human body…Creation could not behold him unless he took part of it to himself and thus conversed with it: only thus was creation able to hear the words of his mouth face to face.*

I wait for a restoring God, a Saving Victim, because life’s experiences deny us the naiveté of “children nestled all snug in their beds.” When the Blessed Virgin Mary’s Child matures, his creatures behold him but cannot bear to hear his words. His humility descends even lower, for far from respecting him at least as a decent human being, his own ravage the very body designed to embrace them. How merciful is a God who thinks that his bloodied hands give best the healing touch a broken creation needs. He willingly makes a manger his coffin.

I wait for an intervening God, a Warrior King, as thousands of African women protest unrestrained mass rapes in Congo, and Port-au-Prince residents hope in vain for homes. I plead for his sovereign power to rescue the oppressed and destroy evil once and for all. How just is a God who thinks that truth and righteousness must prevail. Yet, as in the Bethlehem grotto, he seems to have hidden himself.

I finally catch a glimpse of the Warrior King in the hazy cosmic distance of the last book of Holy Scripture. St. John’s apocalyptic vision reveals he is not at all what I would expect: a Lamb looking as though it had been slain. But this humble, sacrificial Lamb standing in the midst of the throne of heaven is more like a royal lion. He takes command of all judgment of the world and ushers in an everlasting kingdom of peace. Infinitely outnumbering my token figurine, angels encircle the throne and sing; this time every creature in heaven, on earth and sea, joins in**:

 Worthy is the Lamb,

who was slain,

to receive power

and wealth

and wisdom

and strength

and honor

and glory

and praise!

Returning to my Fontanini crèche, I defy tradition and common sense to place my tiny lamb figurine in the empty manger. Someday, God will make it his throne.

Come again, long-expected Jesus.

 

*Daily Readings with St. Isaac of Syria, p. 66

**Revelation 5:6-13

BACK ON THE WAGON

Recently I fell off the wagon; or rather, my wagon hit several big potholes and bounced me out onto the trail. Talk about ruts. They remind me of a long-ago trip to Guernsey, Wyoming, to see a ridge on the North Platte River named The Wagon Ruts. So many pioneers traveling the Oregon Trail with their wagons and draft animals used the same sandstone track, they wore it down as much as five feet. (See video of ruts.)

If the trail deteriorated so badly, why did people keep using it? Because steep cliffs surround the river everywhere else. “The geography of the area dictated that practically every wagon that went west crossed the ridge in exactly the same place, with impressive results.” 

Over the years, in reaction to this and that event, my brain formed a geography that has seemed to dictate the direction of some of my thoughts. Often when I face a particularly challenging problem, or simply a perceived problem, down into anxiety’s grooves I fall. Cutting a new trail, a new attitude, on which to travel seems as unrealistic as hoisting a wagon and its ox team up a Platte River cliff.

I have been told it can be done, however. Enough desperation to want out of the mind’s potholes, good tools, and straightforward prayer can help pull the brain up to higher ground.

Long before self-help gurus touted positive thinking techniques, Desert Fathers worked on the thought life and passed along their tools. One such tool comes from St. Climacus. “Stand up against bad thoughts. [This situation] is exemplified by the one who said, “I will speak a word of contradiction to those who reproach me.” (The Ladder of Divine Ascent) Today we would call Climacus’ device to resist the gravity of self-defeating thoughts, “affirmations.”

After I fell off the wagon, I complained to my counselor, “I pray a lot during my times of stress, but I’m just as anxious as ever.” “Ah, but what kind of praying is it?” she asked with a sly grin. Red-faced, I realized what I was calling prayer was merely worrying out loud. The Saints have a way out of this rut, too.

They asked Abba Macarius (a Desert Father): How should we pray? The old man answered: A long speech is not necessary, but instead stretch out your hands and say, Lord, as you wish and as you know, have mercy. Yet if you feel a conflict is breaking out, you have to say, Lord, help! He knows what is good for us and treats us mercifully. (Desert Wisdom: Sayings from the Desert Fathers)

I have collected some affirmations and prayers from a few of these spiritual pioneers. Every couple of days, I write an affirmation and a prayer on a sticky note and repeat them to cut new trails of trust and peace. When I slip back into the old ruts, they are there to help lift me. Higher ground. New trail. Back on the wagon.

AFFIRMATIONS

Today,

1. I am learning to be content. 
2. I am farming good thoughts. 
3. I walk before God in simplicity and not in speculation of the mind.
4. The Father is my hope, the Son is my refuge, the Holy Spirit is my shelter. 
5. To keep spiritual peace, I chase dejection away. 
6. I am a miracle of God’s goodness, wisdom, and omnipotence.
7. There is no moment when God’s mercy leaves me.

PRAYERS

Lord,

1. I trust you. 
2. Your will be done.
3. I am grateful. 
4. Send the vitality of your Spirit. 
5. Shine in my heart the sparkle of your gifts.
6. Expand and free my heart. 
7. Grant me unshakable peace.

CONCENTRATING THE HEART

I enjoy riding the mountain trails of Colorado although it bangs my body around and occasionally scares me. The grandeur in the high country is nothing less than a display of lavish beauty and stark ruggedness. Mt. Antero, at 14,269 feet, is one such extravagant example that my husband, Dennis, and I recently explored by his KTM motorcycle and my Polaris quad. Once we had arrived near that gusty, barren peak, we felt ourselves on another planet.

After bumping over a few miles of boulders and then a talus slope to the tree line, the way climbed over switchbacks sometimes reaching a 30-degree angle. I had to work deliberately not to panic. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught glimpses of what a riding buddy, Kent, calls a “cat walk.” This is trail slashed across the side of a mountain with a drop off for a shoulder. I did not dare look off the trail before me or I could center, that is, fixate, on the plunging edge and head straight for it.

Within a few hundred yards of the very top of Mt. Antero Dennis helped turn my quad around when it became obvious I was on the verge of overreaching my skill level. In the struggle to dodge large rocks amid slippery, chalky shale and dirt, I was making small mistakes and could not accelerate enough to keep the quad from dying or sliding backward. On an increasingly narrow, steep trail with a huge drop off…well, one cannot make too many mistakes.

Riding the Rockies by ATV has a way of clearing the head. All concerns but the immediate become peripheral. My job at hand is to keep the rubber side down. When my mind starts to wander, the trail rises to meet me in rather unpleasant ways. And I must look just far enough ahead to avoid upcoming obstacles, but not so far ahead that I lose sight of what I need to handle at the moment.

The holy Church Fathers had a theory about what clears the head, or as they put it, concentrates the heart. One of them, Isaac, a Syrian saint of the fifth century wrote,

Blessed is the person who knows his own weakness, because awareness of this becomes for him the foundation and beginning of all that is good and beautiful.

For whenever someone realizes…that he is truly…weak, then he draws in his soul from the diffuseness which dissipates knowledge, and he becomes all the more watchful of his soul…

But no one can perceive his weakness unless he has been remiss a little, has neglected some small thing, has been surrounded by trials…Only then, by comparing his own weakness, will he realize how great is the assistance that comes from God. When someone is aware that he is in need of divine help, he makes many prayers. And once he has made much supplication, his heart is humbled…

As long as the heart is not humbled, it cannot cease from wandering; for humility concentrates the heart.

Whether maneuvering high mountain trails over boulders, slippery shale and cliffs, or making a speech, interviewing for a job, encountering marriage or parenting problems, starting a new business, or admitting an addiction, all unsettling challenges have this in common. We need to concentrate our hearts in order to stay the course. And nothing clears the head like a good dose of humility.

Upcoming Book Signing Events

I will be selling and signing my book, Voyage, at the following places in September:

1. Sept. 12: Following the 6:00 pm Evensong - St. Mark's Church, Denver, CO
2. Sept. 25: 8:00 am to Noon - St. Luke Orthodox Church, Erie, CO, Open house & 5K charity run.
3. Sept. 26: 2:30 - 5:00 pm - Fr. Les and Sue Bundy Residence, east Boulder, CO (email me for directions)

Events: free
Book: $14.00 (checks and cash accepted)

“Today I Quit Being a Christian” – Conclusion

In Parts 1 and 2 of this post, I wrote that I felt aversion, empathy, shame, and frustration reading Anne Rice’s choice to “quit being a Christian.” As my heart pitched back and forth between these emotions, I came at last, thank God, to a feeling of hope.

In today’s world, the words “Christian” and “Christianity” may have negative connotations, deservedly or not. However, the Church at its core is not a set of rules, an ideology, or a political position. It is a bunch of sinners who are struggling toward their theosis, or complete communion with Jesus Christ in all that he is.

One of the beauties of the Church is that it has resisted pulling out any sacramental scissors to excise those portions of Scripture that might damage its “holy” reputation. Instead, the Church’s shortcomings are there for anyone to read. I can still find the passage where St. Paul instructs the believers,

Be renewed in the spirit of your mind…put on the new man which was created according to God, in true righteousness and holiness.

Therefore, putting away lying, let each one of you speak truth with his neighbor, for we are members of one another. Be angry, and do not sin: do not let the sun go down on your wrath, nor give place to the devil.

Let him who stole steal no longer, but rather let him labor, working with his hands what is good, that he may have something to give him who has need.

Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers.

And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice. And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ forgave you. (Ephesians 4:23-32)

That Paul needed to mention any of this to people he addressed as “saints and faithful in Christ Jesus” reveals the fact that the Church never stops requiring constant repentance and conversion to truly follow her Lord. It keeps me honest, if not humble, to choose to live in tension between these two realities.

In this world the Church will always contend with scandals, quarrels, skunks, and quacks. Furthermore, those of us who want to adhere to Christ are only in the process of becoming like him, and often we fall far short of his glory. No one is yet a Christian in the full meaning of the word.

Mercifully, Christ is devoted to purifying this ragtag group he audaciously insists on calling his Body and his Bride. Jesus’ all-consuming love for his Church gives me the hope that he will transform my life within the context of that messy yet glorious Body.

The final analysis of who is a genuine follower of Christ’s Way does not come from me, Anne Rice, the Conservative Christian Right, the Democratic Party, the Pope in Rome, or the Orthodox Patriarch of Constantinople. God has given ultimate judgment solely to the One who laid his life down for the sins of the whole world.

In the face of both the mercy and judgment of Christ, an ancient prayer said on bended knee is most appropriate:

“We believe that thou shall come to be our Judge; we therefore pray thee, help thy servants whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood. Make us to be numbered with thy saints in glory everlasting.” (from the Te Deum)

“Today I Quit Being a Christian" – Part 2

In Part 1 of this post, I wrote that I felt both aversion and empathy reading Anne Rice’s choice to “quit being a Christian.” My third reaction was shame that the word “Christian” has been so co-opted in our culture that its meaning is diluted, if not distorted.

Since this nation was founded, a vast number of people have labeled themselves Christians simply because they attended church or tried to be nice. Meanwhile, they may not be terribly concerned to know Jesus and his Way on a personal level. Many from other parts of the world regard anyone in the Western Hemisphere who is not a Jew or a Moslem to be a Christian. The moniker is a way to classify a religio-political group, not to identify people as Christ followers.

For others, such as Ms. Rice, “Christian” has come to mean a person loaded with self-righteous rhetoric stripped of tolerance. She is not the first, nor will she be the last to take that view. As a kid on the Navajo Reservation, I was ashamed to admit I was a Christian lest I be met with the sneer, “That’s white man’s religion.” Some people believe Christian missionaries worked hand in glove with the imperialist government to stamp out the core of Native American way of life. Regrettably, there is validity in these accusations. It is not hard to understand why one might want to distance herself from a word used in contradiction to Jesus’ original intention when he said, “By this all will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” (John 13:35)

The word “love” brings me to my next reaction to Ms. Rice’s announcement. Frustration. Hers is one more example of how polarized we become when we ideologize our convictions. That is, we try “to make others comply with or yield to our set of beliefs (Webster).” In this country, we attempt to influence others toward our ideology either through politics or recruiting. Neither are wrong in themselves; we have the legal right to lobby for or promote what we hold dear. Some would say we even have the responsibility to do so.

What frustrates me is seeing how fundamentalism rears its ugly head in the process. Make no mistake, the monster leaps up from both conservative and liberal camps. It is the natural tendency of human beings to want to affiliate themselves. We like feeling right. It strengthens our sense of identity. The more shrill and extreme the rhetoric, the more we feel justifiably compelled to take a stand for the position closest to our own standards. All too soon, however, we become inflamed with anger and give into the temptation to slander, insult, ridicule, or denounce an opposing faction.

Jesus had no problem debating his opponents. He did not hesitate to call a spade a spade although it got him killed. What set him apart from most of us is that as they strung him up, he prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

It is an easy, short slope to slide from conviction to hatred. But at the bottom is Gehenna and death.

It is an arduous, long path to climb from conviction to love. But at the summit is Golgotha and eternal life.

To be continued

Lynette's New Book Now Available!

VOYAGE: A Quest for God within Orthodox Christian Tradition

…A Quest for God within Orthodox Christian Tradition illumines a remarkable search for deeper spiritual meaning. It chronicles nothing less than the struggle to, “share complete and unreserved communion with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”

How can reaching for the goal of salvation be attained practically? “Pain can sharpen the soul’s awareness of its need for God,” answers the author.

How do we turn life’s suffering into love, joy, peace and – above all – beauty? “With every occasion that I choose to ignore some splash of splendor in favor of focusing on the cares of this life, I increasingly lose my sensitivity to the beautiful,” Lynette Smith answers.

As a convert to the Orthodox Church the author shares her path and points to a way to follow Christ in everyday life that is within the reach of every person. With down to earth poignant candor and humor, Lynette weaves her personal experiences together with deep meditations on Orthodox faith that will speak to all seekers of spiritual truth - be they Orthodox or not. Casting inspirational light on the Liturgy, the Scriptures, and wisdom from the Fathers and Mothers of the Church the author helps her fellow travelers to embrace a refreshing relationship with God.

Advanced praise for VOYAGE:

“This book of reflections illustrates important lessons about the spiritual life and will inform and encourage every reader who picks it up!”
Bishop BASIL
Bishop of Wichita and the Diocese of Mid-America (Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese of North America

“Smith’s description of how she came to grips with depression, disillusion, and discouragement is inspiring. Her story of coming into Orthodox Christianity is compelling for its frank and honest examination of what it means to be an Orthodox woman in the twenty-first century.”
The Very Rev. Lester Michael Bundy
Professor Emeritus, Religious Studies, Regis Jesuit University, Denver, CO


“Readers will find themselves quietly sitting beside the author pondering their own voyage as she navigates them through a troubled and peaceful journey that is both hers—and theirs.”
Bradley Nassif
Professor of Theological Studies, North Park University, Chicago, Holy Transfiguration Antiochian Church, Warrenville, IL

“Using the metaphor of a voyage, Lynette Smith shares her spiritual autobiography with openness, honesty, and integrity. Those who follow her reflections from her Pentecostal roots to the sacramental life of Orthodoxy will be the better for it. Christians from all traditions will benefit by accompanying Lynette on this formative voyage.”
Dr. Keith Wells, D. Min., M.L.S.
Professor of Theological Bibliography and Research, Denver Seminary and columnist for Touchstone Journal

“Today I Quit Being a Christian” – Part 1

A few days ago, Anne Rice, erstwhile vampire novelist and a ‘reverted’ Roman Catholic from atheism, wrote on her Facebook page,

Today I quit being a Christian. I’m out. I remain committed to Christ as always but not to being “Christian” or to being part of Christianity. It’s simply impossible for me to “belong” to this quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, and deservedly infamous group. For ten years, I’ve tried. I’ve failed. I’m an outsider…

…In the name of Christ, I refuse to be anti-gay. I refuse to be anti-feminist. I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control. I refuse to be anti-Democrat. I refuse to be anti-secular humanism. I refuse to be anti-science. I refuse to be anti-life. In the name of Christ, I quit Christianity and being Christian. Amen.

As I read her announcement and various reactions to it, I found myself in a familiar, uncomfortable place—torn between sentiments. My knee-jerk reaction to the words of Ms. Rice was aversion to what seemed to be bitter, exaggerated accusations. As one who claims to be a Christian and who belongs to the Orthodox Church (second in the world only to the Roman Catholic Church in number of so-called members), I wanted to argue all the fine points of her statements. Surely there is a much more holistic way to understand Christianity than what people within its ranks seem to be against or how they may unbecomingly assert their ideologies.

My second reaction was empathetic grief for the spiritual, psychical, and even physical injury suffered at the hands of people who claim to be Christians. Like some who responded on Anne Rice’s Facebook page, I once wandered from group to group seeking to find a refuge where the community spoke the truth saturated in large doses of Jesus’ love. Even after I believed to have found this home within the Orthodox Church, as at other times, I encountered a crossroads of whether to associate with “organized religion” or not. The Introduction to my forthcoming book, Voyage, describes part of my struggle:

I had to face again the paradoxical fact that the Church is indeed God’s “holy people” in which the “Holy Spirit” dwells, but we are also fallen people—a mix of good and not so good. The Church is an extremely complicated organism. I know from personal experience that her constituents can perform astonishing acts of sacrificial love and grace and yet perpetrate ways to hurt, marginalize, or overpower members of her own body. It is a truism to say that the Church is not yet perfected, but I have taken a long time even to begin to tolerate this imperfection with more mercy than criticism. Thus, once more, as I had so many occasions in the past, I asked myself, “Do I belong here?”

I finally concluded that, yes, there is a place for me in the visible, “institutional” Church. (Perhaps I will write more on that sometime.) However, I am coming to accept that I will need to grapple regularly with my understanding of what we call “the Church” and where I belong in relationship to it and to Jesus, her “Head.” No matter what everybody else may be doing or saying about being a Christian, I am responsible to take stock of my own life.

To be continued

The last thing to go

Five years ago this month, my mom, Erma, passed away, and she left a memory of her sense of humor with us. Her family will read this and think, “Well, she was humorous in spite of herself.” It is true: Mom was born with an underdeveloped funny bone and had to rely on others to tickle that bone into maturity. She grew up in the farmlands of Iowa, where unfortunately for her folks’ humor could be as dry as the corncobs in the cattle crib.

When Mom married Dad, she discovered his sense of humor was also understated, so if she was not diligent, his wit could pass her right by. His quiet humor could not always penetrate through the struggle to raise five children on a country preacher’s income, and after one of my brothers died, followed by Dad fourteen years later, it was pretty hard for Mom to gather resources for hilarity.

Yet, she could be easily amused. Let a man, be it her sons, brother-in-law, or my husband, tease her, he could inevitably pull out a good laugh. Once she got a joke, which often flew over her head at first, she would titter—a few seconds behind the rest of us. She liked to recall stories from her past, especially about the time she and a fellow female pastor of a rural Iowan church fed the parish rats poison with a spoon. Humor bordering on the macabre, but hey, it qualifies.

She herself was a comedian without knowing it, and sometimes in a most impious way, which made her even more funny. She had a way of choosing the wrong word that sounded similar to the one she wanted, or slightly mispronouncing the correct word. To preserve the sanctity of her name, I will only give the mildest example of these. Never one to swear, nevertheless when she felt strongly about a subject, she would say in that voice which needed no microphone, “And I am a-dam-ant about it!”

Mom’s crowning funny story occurred just days before she passed away. Her illness had for months presented doctors with great challenges to keep her system in balance, and as she now lay in the hospital, they told her, “We are between a rock and a hard place.” She picked up on this idiom and said to my sister, “I wish that Moses would come and strike the rock.” She was referring to the Bible story in which water gushed out of a desert rock that Moses struck with his staff, bringing relief to God’s people. My sister reminded her that there was a verse in the New Testament about that rock being a type of Christ. The need to know where the verse was bugged Mom from that point on.

As soon as my sister-in-law and I walked in the next morning, she ordered us to find the reference, but we could not. As providence would have it, the chaplain on duty arrived, but before the woman could read a psalm and pray with us, Mom—from behind her oxygen mask—plied her with the verse reference question. The minister smiled and said, “Well since I’m a Jewish rabbi, I don’t know the New Testament very much. But after we’re done here, I’ll go right down and ask one of the other chaplains.” Mom accepted this; to her, being a rabbi was no excuse for not knowing the New Testament.

True to her word, the rabbi quickly returned with the answer. She said, “It took a rabbi, a priest, and a minister, but we finally found it—on the internet.”

At least the search had kept those three out of the proverbial bar.

We laughed over the story until Mom said, “Tell it at my funeral service.” She had come full circle and acquired an exquisite blend of a lifetime of faith in Christ, devotion to the Scriptures, and now at last a developed sense of humor.


*The New Testament reference to Moses' rock is 1 Cor. 10:1-4.

LABELS

I hate sticky labels. Well, actually I don’t mind the ones that have the special coating that allow me to peel them off in one pull of thumbnail and forefinger. Otherwise, I believe labels are manufactured in the pit of Hades. Dante missed one level in his Inferno; it is the one whose tenants are consigned forever to remove labels and price tags from jars, vases, and inexpensive collectibles. The labels are affixed with glue meant to stick eternally, and because it is hell, of course there is no water to act as a soluble. If those folk never cussed upon earth, they do now.

Product labels are hard to remove; much more difficult are the labels we affix to others and ourselves. One of the most enlightening and humorous books my husband and I have read in recent years is Look Me in the Eye, by John Elder Robison. While he was growing up, people mistook his affect and strange ways of interacting. He writes,

Everyone thought they understood my behavior. They thought it was simple: I was just no good.

“Nobody trusts a man who won’t look them in the eye.”

“You look like a criminal.”

“Sociopath and “psycho” were two of the most common field diagnoses for my look and expression. I heard it all the time: “I’ve read about people like you. They have no expression because they have no feeling. Some of the worst murderers in history were sociopaths.”

I came to believe what people said about me, because so many said the same thing, and the realization that I was defective hurt.

Eventually, Robison realized that was he not a sociopath, but that he had a special (and not bad) way of being human. He was able to peel off that old label and receive a new, informative one of “Asperger’s,” a type of autism. Now rather than feeling shame, he was freed to enjoy his uniqueness. Understanding that he was an Aspergian gave him a reference point to adjust some behaviors so that he could relate more effectively. It also furnished a position from which he could explain his ways to other people. He taught me to stop assuming that a person who won’t look me in the eye or does not respond to my “good morning,” is shifty, cold, or hung over.

In fact, Robison’s story caused me to wonder about my other labels for people I meet casually or see on the news. Why do I label them when I know nothing about what goes on in hearts hidden beneath Botox, tattoos, or three piece suits? True, sometimes labels serve as useful identifiers for certain behaviors: he is a hero because he saved the drowning child; she is a criminal because she robbed the store. Jesus explained such appropriate labeling this way, “Every tree is known by its own fruit… A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil.” However, Jesus says this in the context of the Sermon on the Mount, and he first warns against judgmentalism,

Why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the plank in your own eye? How can you say, ‘Brother, let me remove the speck that is in your eye,’ when you yourself do not see the plank that is in your own eye? Hypocrite! First remove the plank from your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck that is in your brother’s eye.

In other words, any business of labeling starts with examining the tags that are stuck on me. What labels have people branded me with that are not who I genuinely am, but that still cling to me and cause me shame or anger? What labels have I slapped on myself that restrict my liberty to develop in new ways, or conversely, that excuse poor behavior? Peeling off these labels may be painstaking, with a spiritual fingernail or two breaking in the process. But the freedom is worth it. John Elder Robison would agree.

"You hate nothing you have made"

During each Sunday of Lent, our pastor prays a specific collect* before we hear the Epistle. Along with its comforting embrace, this prayer invariably sends a convicting wallop to my heart.

“Almighty and everlasting God, who hatest nothing that thou hast made, and dost forgive the sins of all them that are penitent, create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of thee—the God of all mercy—perfect remission and forgiveness, through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

…God, you hate nothing that you have made…

But in commendable fervor to protect our freedom, children, and prosperity, we

• detest corporate moguls;
• despise people of other faiths;
• loathe right-wing moralists;
• damn a black, liberal president;
• curse militant extremists;
• disdain street bums and welfare moms.

…you forgive the sins of all them that are penitent…

But in honorable belief that justice should be done, we

• refuse to forgive those who offend our sensibilities;
• desire revenge on those who mistreat or slander us;
• suspect that ‘sinners’ cannot really change;
• write off certain people as unpardonable even by God;

In our denial that repentance is crucial to life, we

• resist asking God to forgive us;
• avoid making amends to people we have offended;
• put off changing harmful habits;
• refuse to forgive ourselves.

…create and make in us new and contrite hearts…

O God, soften the hearts of everyone, and replace our

• abhorrence with love;
• vengeance with pardon;
• judgmentalism with humility;
• xenophobia with hospitality;
• arrogance with wisdom;
• disquiet with reliance on You.

…that we worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness…

O God, reveal to us the depths of our diseased ways

and help us to stop refusing to face the truth.

…that we may obtain of you—the God of all mercy—…

O Lord, you promise mercy to all who are willing to turn to you;

pry open our clenched fists to receive your boundless compassion.

…perfect remission and forgiveness…

O Father, release us from the unbearable blame due us for devastating our world;

forgive us for trampling on your love, as we forgive those who trample on our rights.

…through Jesus Christ our Lord.

O Creator of us all, even as you hung on the Cross,

indeed, you hated nothing that you had made.

*A brief prayer used in Western liturgical churches.

Homage to Mercy

The slogan of my blog site is: “Writings of a fellow voyager in search of wisdom.” The first article, Blogsite Purpose, referred to “a desire to entrust the ambiguities of being to the God whom I believe fashioned the depths and intricacies of human life.” A large mouthful, that statement. It alludes to a lifetime of wrestling with what it means to be human. Most authors do not write in a vacuum, personal or otherwise, and the essays you read here are shaped out of my particular milieu. What has your “fellow voyager” experienced that drives her reflections? Perhaps a glimpse into my history will help you better understand my line of thought. More importantly, whatever differences exist between my life and yours, I hope that portions of what I share will strike a chord within you.

I have lived in the West “where the mountains touch the sky” and in the Southwest where the sky touches the sand. I’ve propelled skinny white legs down school halls filled with the lush brown skin of Native Americans. I have lived in the Bible Belt where fundamentalism cinched me up a little too tightly and in the Pacific Northwest where the rain completely suited my mood. I’ve spent summers with my parents pitching a tent across America. I have ridden my ATV in the deserts of Utah and maneuvered it along Colorado’s mountain cliffs.

I have huddled with Navajo buddies in Anasazi ruins unknown to archaeologists and passed working elephants sauntering along the roads of Thailand. I’ve body-surfed ocean waves of Bali and played a trumpet-harpsichord duet with a Catholic monk in Northern Sulawesi. I have knelt in awe before the gigantic mosaic of Christ in Paris’ Sacre Coeur Cathedral and eaten strawberry torte in a German Konditerei. I’ve slept in a thatched-roof Dutch cottage and craned my neck at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. I have made love with my husband in a Swiss army barracks and sipped local wine in the Alpine village where my ancestors lived.

I have survived emotional, sexual, and spiritual abuse, narrowly escaped drowning, paraplegia, and suicide. I’ve spent years in psychotherapy, ultimately coming to accept chronic depression and the medication it requires. I’ve wished to belong then longed to jump off the grid. I have broken my dignity trying to fix broken loves. I’ve been abandoned by people and betrayed a few in turn. I have been bereaved of, estranged from, and reunited with family. I’ve been blessed with friends who teach me to laugh, hope, and dare.

I have feared men only to come to love one deeply. I’ve relinquished my girlish dreams to marry the man of my woman’s heart. I’ve learned that passion ebbs and flows, while committed affection endures. I have surrendered the possibility of bearing children and nurtured our two mothers in their old age.

I’ve been fiercely devoted to Christ and fiercely angry with him. I have believed Christianity was the best faith going and yet questioned its validity. I’ve loved the Church and been thoroughly irritated with her. I have endured hangovers from getting drunk on Pentecostal youth revivals and seminary theological debates. I’ve been bathed in healing that I can only attribute to the Holy Spirit.

I have dropped out of a missionary vocation, showed up too late for an academic career, and returned to writing, my first love. I’ve been addicted to religiosity, obsessed with being correct, and humbled by the earthy insight of a Desert Mother. I have tempered my conservative politics, embraced the sensuality of music, danced naked alone in a meadow, prayed in tongues, and wept during Holy Mass. I’ve been forced to confront my shortcomings and cajoled into acknowledging I might be a saint in the making. I have been sustained by a Divine Mercy beyond logic or comprehension. In spite of all, and because of all, it is good to be human, it is good to be alive.

Out with the old

We commonly use the phrase, “out with the old, in with the new” at the turn of a new year. The saying also makes a good description for Lent and its crowning event, Easter. Easter celebrates our new life through Christ’s Resurrection, and it is not just life that bursts through the snow like spring’s daffodils only to die again.

“It is our whole faith that by His own death Christ changed the very nature of death, made it a passage, a “Passover,” a “Pascha”—into the Kingdom of God, transforming the tragedy of tragedies into the ultimate victory.” 

Such a gift and assurance of resurrection life has potential to “radically alter our attitude toward everything in this world.” We take the gift and as a consequence, look at the world through eyes clear with the light of God’s kingdom dwelling within us. This is no Pollyanna claim from an über-motivational speaker; Christ himself insisted that the kingdom is at hand and within us.

But let’s face it—most of us find it impossible to maintain a constant awareness of new life in Christ. Duties, distractions, deadlines, distresses worm their way into everyday experience, eating holes through our noblest desires to live in holy synergy with the Holy Trinity. How can we help but forget from time to time what life is really meant to be? And once we forget, we screw up and fall short of God’s glory for us. Instead of walking in the newness of life for which Christ was raised, we slog along in “oldness” of life.

Lent is a time the Church devotes for us to make our way out of the old and back into the new, “to help us recover the vision and the taste of that new life which we so easily lose and betray, so that we may repent and return to it.” It is a time when we give the Holy Spirit a prolonged chance to roll back the curtain of memory on why we bother to call ourselves Christians. Then as we arrive at the actual day the Church celebrates Jesus’ Resurrection, with amnesia lifted, we heartily rejoice in the strength of our salvation

All quotes taken from A. Schmemann, Great Lent, pp. 12-13.

When God subjected himself

“And he [Jesus] went down with them to Nazareth and was obedient to them.” Luke 2:51

One of the hardest things for human beings to do is to learn to obey. I won’t go into the theological reasons why this is so. In any case, we have to admit we struggle not to resent subjecting ourselves to someone else’s will. That’s a good thing, too, most of the time. Following just anybody’s directives without thought to his or her intentions can be dangerous. Even so, it’s good for our well-being that the majority of us U.S. citizens obey the basic laws of this land. At the least, it keeps us from killing each other off.

Still I for one am a little squirmy when I read in Deuteronomy God commanding the people to obey and serve him, not once, but 20-plus times. Why does God make such a big deal out of serving him? Well, for one, he, not we, is the All-wise Creator who has made us for his purest love. He designed the world to work in harmony when we love and serve him. Period.

Yet there is another big reason for the command to obey. Humble to the utmost, God has subjected himself to us. This truth was highlighted in last Sunday's service as we celebrated the feast day of The Holy Family. The key verse from the Gospel reading is quoted at the top of this post.

Jesus was twelve. He scared his mother and step-father half to death wandering off by himself to the temple in Jerusalem to discuss theology with Jewish scholars. When Mary and Joseph finally find him, it would have been natural for a 12 year old boy to smart off when chastised for worrying them. “Hey, I’m an above-average kid, I’m impressing the big guys. Why do I need to listen to you anymore?” No, Jesus not only returned with them to back-water Nazareth, he, the Creator of all the earth, lived under their guidance until he came of age.

So, as an adult, Jesus could say of himself without any false tone, “For the Son of Man came not to serve, but to serve and give his life a ransom for many.” If he had not served us with his very body and blood, where would be the source of our salvation?

So, what reaction would God desire to such great love? Our reciprocity.

Just Get On With It

Nobel Prize winner Kenzaburo Oe wrote a set of essays in 1999 entitled, "A Healing Family," about life with his handicapped son, Hikari, aged 30 at the time of the writing. Oe writes how upon finding himself with many handicaps that limit and tax him, Hikari nevertheless continues to focus on his life habit of music composition. Hikari's dad says of his basic tenacity in the face of his disabilities:

I received a letter from him: "It's no good...I should never have lived to be twenty." But, though he may have felt that way at times, he has never acted on those feelings, never just given up and stayed all day in bed. And this surely--the fact that he actually gets up every morning looking forward to seeing his friends at the training center, that he takes a certain pleasure in the contents of his lunch box, that he comes home and listens to records or throws himself into his composing--all this is evidence of his own basic resolution to "just get on with it." And it is true that this resolution has been one of the cornerstones of our family life.

Hikari's resolve reminds me of one woman's biography found in the Bible. Naomi, the mother-in-law of Ruth, who eventually became King David's great-grandmother, was devastated over her husband and two sons' deaths while refugees in Moab. One of her dead sons had been Ruth's husband. When Naomi returned to Israel with Ruth, the townspeople could hardly believe it was she. "Is this Naomi?" (naomi in Hebrew means pleasant.) She retorted, "Don't call me Pleasant, call me Mara (or bitter)." And yet, when she saw Ruth's resolve to find resources for food and permanent dwelling, Naomi herself began to hope in their future. She encouraged and coached Ruth through the process of courting Boaz, until the day came when Naomi held her grandson in her lap. The townswomen said to her,"Boaz will renew your life and sustain you in your old age." She did not disagree this time. In spite of horrendous setbacks Naomi and Ruth got on with what life they had been given, eventually reaping a benefit.

Arthur Greeve, C. S. wrote his lifelong friend, C. S. Lewis, that he was anxious about the slow progress of his career. Lewis replied, "It is not your business to succeed, but to do right: when you have done so, the rest lies with God."

May this beginning of a new decade be one in which no matter what our limitations, setbacks, fears, and discouragements, we will take a deep breath, say a prayer, and just get on with it.

The rest lies with God.

Postscript: You can listen to samples of Hikari Oe's compositions on Amazon.com.