May You Find Laughter

On Christmas eve, during the worship service, my congregation made tiny boxes filled with blessings for one another. 

I did not make one, but one of them must have made more than one, because when the service was over and everyone had left, one box remained for me.

I opened it up and this is what it said inside:
 

 

"MAY YOU FIND LAUGHTER"

There is probably no blessing that could feel more welcome to my heart right now than this. It never would have occurred to me to ask for it, and yet here it is, my heart’s longing, on a tiny strip of paper on my fridge, boldly announcing itself to me whenever I walk by.  I have been so serious and anxious these two years. I long for an unclenching.  I crave laughter.
 
Today I read these words about Meister Ekhart (1260-1328): “Eckhart taught the simple power of letting go and letting be. To let go is no easy task. But in any loving relationship, as we see in the Trinity, such a surrendering of unneeded boundaries is the source of joy. Eckhart puts it this way:
. . . the Father laughs
and gives birth to the Son.
The Son laughs back at the Father
and gives birth to the Spirit.
The whole Trinity laughs
and gives birth to us.
Matthew Fox writes that ‘laughter may well be the ultimate act of letting go and letting be: the music of the divine cosmos. For in the core of the Trinity laughing and birthing go on all day long.’ For Eckhart, heaven is now. We are invited to participate in the eternal flow of Trinity here, in this lifetime. The only thing keeping us from God and heaven is the ultimate and damning lie that we have ever been separate from God.” (James Finley)
 
Today I am savoring these words: surrendering unneeded boundaries. 

What boundaries do I put up that don’t need to be there? How have I been guarding myself unnecessarily these many months? What gift lies waiting for me in the surrender?
 
Today I am contemplating the whole universe coming to be out of laughter, laughter as the music of the divine cosmos. Laughter as creation, as life spilling over and out of God, laughter as the invitation into life. Perhaps what the startled shepherds heard that night God came into this life with us was the angels laughing. 
 
To be clear: I don’t want derisive laughter, brittle laughter, weary smiles, sarcastic smirks, or smug chuckles. I want freedom.  Guard down, opened up, connection and joy LAUGHTER.  I want the music of the cosmos.
 
So to whoever left me that blessing on Christmas Eve, thank you.

And to you too:
MAY YOU FIND LAUGHTER.

How to live a good life

James 3:13 - 4:3, 7-8a

What is a good life?  We have ideas of what a good life is or should be. Right now especially it seems to have something to do with being on the correct side of the issue, whatever the issue may be. And just as important as being correct is being seen as being correct.  It can be about vaccines, or policing in our cities, or climate change, or racism, or it can be about how your lawn looks, and what you’re putting into your body, and how well-behaved your kids are, and what kind of effort you put into maintaining friendships.  What it looks like to others is at least as important as what it actually is.  
Modern life is primarily a performative exercise.
 
But, James asks, what’s going on in your heart?  Is this so-called good life being lived with envy, resentment, self-centeredness, bragging, or bending the truth?  If so, then there will be disorder and wickedness of every kind.  If so, it’s not a very good life.
 
What is a good life, then, and how do we know how to live it?
 
For example: Is it ok to shop at the super convenient and cheap store that pays minimum wage and doesn’t provide their employees with health insurance?
 
 What about that place that pays great, delivers health insurance, treats employees well and donates to great causes, but the owner of the company invests his personal money in a fund that, among a number of other good things, also supports a cause that dehumanizes some people?  
 
Is it actually better for the environment to buy the toilet paper that is made from sugar cane and bamboo, if it comes encased in several layers of cardboard stuffed with (recycled) paper and is delivered to your door by a large gas guzzling vehicle? 
 
Is it ok to want to have nice things or go on nice vacations when there is so much poverty and inequity?  Do you volunteer enough? Speak out enough?  Keep your house tidy enough?  Spend enough time with your kids, or grandkids, or parents? Do you stay informed enough?  Exercise enough?  Pray enough?
 
Living toward a standard of a good life that isn’t even fixed or clear is exhausting.  Measuring that against how well other people seem to be doing it in order to figure out whether I am doing it right is downrightt mind-scrambling.  
 
In fact, disorder and wickedness of every kind result from this kind of selfish ambition and envy motivation.
 
I feel disordered frequently. I feel the desire to be seen as good that, if I am honest, is sometimes greater than the desire to actually be good.  
 
I feel jealousy or resentment rise in me on a regular basis.  I feel misunderstood and I lob misunderstanding right back at the opposing party.   I am often quick to judge and quick to anger.
 
If a good life has to include with what’s in my heart along with mastering some performative actions then I can’t even delude myself that it’s possible to live a good life.  There is no way I can live a good life.  I can try all I want, but it is never enough, and I do it for all the wrong reasons, and from all the wrong motivations.  And the striving and comparing and accusing voice of judgment against myself and others will never stop howling inside my head and often out my mouth.
 
What is a good life and how do we live it?  
If this scripture is prescriptive it hasn’t yet told us what to do.  Because trying not to be selfish or jealous, or striving to have perfect motives when we perform all of our lofty and moving-target good life actions, is not only stupid and impractical, it actually is impossible.
 
This is good news actually. We can’t actually live a good life. We can’t even figure out what a good life is half the time.  
But that’s not our job. 
 
Here’s where it this passage tells us what is our job, three things:
Submit yourself to God.
Resist the devil. 
And draw near to God.
Submit. Resist. Draw near.
 
Submit yourself to God, James says because all the conflicts and disputes come from the cravings at war within ourselves.  They come from the way we try to save ourselves, advance ourselves, preserve ourselves, present ourselves. 
 
But life is not actually not about belonging to ourselves, it’s about belonging to God, and through God to each other.  And in fact, God does a much better job of unconditional love and boundless acceptance than we could ever do for ourselves. So much so that when our lives are rooted in our belonging to God, we can be brave and open and connected to others.  So we are called to submit ourselves to God, to confess our selfish desires and admit our messy motives, and lay down our flimsy defenses and repent. We ask for the connection and hope that we desire, that we are made for.  
 
Then, instead of us trying to live a good life by whatever current standards and definitions we have embraced at the moment, the wisdom from above that is God’s wisdom, not ours, will live through us.  And our lives, the words we say and the actions we take, how we treat others, how we treat ourselves, what we do with our money and our time -  these things will become a good life. They will be done with gentleness, born of God’s wisdom.  
When God moves through us God draws us into lives that are peaceable and pure James says, and “willing to yield, full of mercy, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy.”  But we don’t make that happen. We can’t.  We submit ourselves to God and the Holy Spirit does that work in us.  And the Holy Spirit draws us into God’s goodness already at work in the whole world, and we join in out of joy and calling, not out of urgency, pressure or guilt.
 
Second, we resist the devil – the Greek word is the accuser, the voice of condemnation and blame directed at our selves or others, the voice that that tears down our own humanity, or someone else’s.  That voice that says if we try harder and learn all the things, and avoid all the things, and do all the things, we can live a good life like those people obviously do. Or, look how awful they are, if we aren’t like them then we must be good.  That voice that tells us we are in it on our own, and we are supposed to be stronger than we are and not ask for help or admit weakness.  The voice that says we have nothing to offer someone else, nothing to give.  The voice that says that other people’s suffering or the problems in the world are not my business. The voice that says we have to carry it all and if we don’t it proves we don’t care.  We speak back to the voice of the accuser and stand up to it. We refuse to relinquish our minds and hearts to the delicious but poisonous, divisive anger of it.  When we confront the accusing voice, it will flee from us. 
 
And finally, third, we draw near to God.  We steep ourselves in what helps us seek God – meditation, walks in nature, stillness, stopping and stepping out of it all through gratitude, practicing noticing, and wonder, and cultivating silence.  We choose to spend time with those in need, and to care for each other, and we let ourselves be cared for and seen in our own need by others because right there is where we see God most.  We are human and present in our lives, because the God who became human in Christ is present to us here.  
Stop performing your life and live it, right here where God is.  Draw near to God and God will draw near to you.
 
This is a good life. 
Submit, resist, draw near.
 
I am more and more convinced that the way through this pandemic is to go deeper and simpler. Do less.  Listen more.  Turn things off and turn things down.  The noise and the conflict is a liar that tricks us into feeling alive but drains us of life. 
No matter what is happening around us or to us, we can live a good life.  God’s goodness is here for us, at any and every moment.
So submit to God and let God bring you into peace.  
Resist the accuser and it will flee. 
And draw near to God and God will draw near to you.
Amen.

Neither Idiots Nor Allies

 

1 Corinthians 8:1-13

The bible has difficult people in it. Some of them knew they were difficult people. Like Paul. He had enough self-awareness to realize he could be a lot for some folks. And he still is.  
Others recognized difficulty in other people, but maybe not so much in themselves.  What’s lovely about them is that we benefit from them being challenging people. If they were easy, they wouldn’t have needed so many letters written to them. 
 
We have two very full letters written by Paul to the Corinthians.  This is not because they were Paul’s favorite.  They were difficult for Paul.  The church in Corinth was small and super diverse – a cross-section of the super diverse, very stratified city. Even though when they came together as church, they were equal, out there in daily life, they were not. Often the elitism and posturing of the world leaked into the church. The Corinthians understood power; they lived and breathed in an economy of influence and clout everyday. 

Corinth was basically Vegas as an international port city. It was cosmopolitan, vibrant, worldly, hedonistic, and accustomed to glamor and glitz. Despite his eloquent, authoritative letters, Paul was not glamor and glitz. He didn’t wine and dine the influencers, invest a big budget into his tours, and he wasn’t much of a showman. When Paul first arrived in Corinth the church there was pumped up, ready to welcome Taylor Swift. Instead they got Greta Thunberg. So he wasn’t really their favorite either. But they learned he would tell it like it is.
 
We could get bogged down in the whole meat offered to idols question they’d asked Paul, but suffice it to say, it was this thing this time, but could be anything, every time.  This time it was a debate about whether to eat meat sold in the market that had been used in pagan ceremonies, sacrificed in temples to pagan gods.  Paul couldn’t care less about this. Of course you are free to eat whatever you want, he answers. We are not bound to the belief that these so-called gods have any power at all. God’s not threatened by those idols. So whether you eat or don’t eat is your own decision and of no real consequence. But, Paul wants them to hear: you ARE bound to each other. So this thing that technically doesn’t matter, actually matters a great deal.
 
Of course you’re free from false constraints, you can eat what you want, but in Christ you have been bound to other people, as the place where Christ is made known to you. No longer bound to earn and prove, posture and rank, measure and compare, accumulate and hoard, you are part of a different economy now. Real freedom means you are free for a life of connection, mutuality and sacrifice, free for wholeness and generosity, free to see yourself and all others as loved unconditionally by God and unbreakably belonging to each other, no matter what. 
 
This means you don’t have to ask me dumb questions like this meat thing to test out whether you are doing it right and especially whether someone else is doing it wrong. Instead, you ask yourself, How do my words or actions impact my neighbor?  You look at each other not as either idiots or allies but as beloved siblings, to whom you are accountable, with and for whom you exist. In fact, what you do or say to them, you are actually doing or saying that to Jesus himself. 
 
Even if you are right and they are wrong, so what? If you use that knowledge to harm them in any way, to knock them down a peg, to humiliate them or lord it over them, to educate them ‘for their own good,’ you become wrong.  Knowledge puffs up, Paul says, but love builds up.  
 
So instead of mocking those who are scandalized, maybe be curious about why it matters to them. What is their story? What has been their experience of pagan worship before coming to Christ that makes this practice so uncomfortable or abhorrent?  And, Paul says, if food is a stumbling block to my sister or brother, may I never eat meat again!  Because we belong to each other –that is how we belong to God. Not by carefully following certain rules, and not by gleefully throwing them off, and definitely not by throwing either of those choices in each other’s faces.
 
This is the same long letter where just a few chapters later is the famous “love chapter” that gets read at just about every wedding because it so clearly explains the radical nature of love. I encourage you to read it again sometime today, but not with the backdrop of a romantic couple gazing doe-eyed toward their future, instead with the backdrop of difficult people, desperate to be right.  Paul is writing it to these dear people that require him to summon enormous amounts of patience, and bring his clearest explaining voice, when he says:

You guys, I could be the most eloquent and impressive person, the smartest and most knowledgeable, the most gifted, the wisest or the most powerful, with the strongest faith of anyone. But if I don’t have love, I have nothing. 
Love is kind and gentle and patient and slow to anger; it’s not jealous or arrogant or rude. It bears all things and hopes all things. And in the end, all those other things, being right or wise or gifted or dedicated– that all disappears, and we will finally see everything all clearly. But the one thing that endures despite and through and beyond all the rest of it, forever, is love. 

This is the reality that claims us. So don’t you dare use someone’s weakness against them. Don’t you dare use the freedom of Christ to shackle another person.  Don’t you dare elevate principles or ideals above the humanity of the one in front of you.  Especially if they are a difficult person for you. Especially if you are sure they are wrong in their beliefs and you’d love with every fiber of your being to correct them and show them the true way.  Then especially you need to step back. And look into their face for the invitation from God to love them.  Ask the Holy Spirit to show you how to uphold them as a child of God to whom you belong. 
 
The pull of rightness, comparison and correction is strong.  Insecurity is pumped into our airwaves and our bloodstreams at every turn. The need to earn and prove, the constant insisting that it’s all a battle: right against wrong, good against evil, worthy against irrelevant, smart against stupid, woke against ignorant, moral against sinful, demands we secure our place and judge the place of others. That message is hard to resist.  But the answer isn’t to just work really hard not to think this way.  That can become it’s own battleground for self-judgment and comparison. 
 
Instead, we honestly call it sin and gratefully turn to confession, which is to say, we name the impossibility within and between us, that seems to divide us from God and others, and we tell God how caught we feel. Then we let God’s forgiveness and grace return us to the relationship that holds us.  
 
It is not me, Paul says, but Christ who lives in me. 

As soon as I feel myself either pulled into the battle, or pulled into the battle of resisting the battle, I am invited once again to surrender to God my weakness and invite God’s strength to work in and through me. This is faith: I believe, help my unbelief. I want to love but I can’t. God, help me to love. 
 
God doesn’t need us to stand up for God, or right, or truth. God’s not threatened by our idols. God calls us to seek God and see each other. To watch for how, through love, God is already bringing truth and goodness and hope into the world, and be ready for the invitations to join in. But we don’t join because we have so much insight, or power, or because we know the right way. We join because in Christ we’re bound to each other and love calls us to God through, not apart from, one another. God who came in alongside us made us for coming alongside each other. 
 
And when the Holy Spirit moves in someone’s life and they begin to feel the nudge toward greater freedom, the prompting to make some change, the itch for some confession of their own, the people they will reach out to for help and guidance are not the ones who arrogantly shut them down, who told them how wrong they were, who flaunted their own freedom and knowledge in their face. It will be those who loved and claimed them, who upheld their dignity with respect and kindness. Those who loved them. 
 
We are all difficult people. 

People are difficult. 

Being a person is difficult. 

There’s no way to get it right and do it best. That whole idea is false. What’s real is that we belong God no matter what. And we belong to each other no matter what. In Christ we have been set free for a life of real connection to God and others. 

May we live into that freedom. 

Amen.



REFLECTION & PRAYER EXERCISE 

This is from Mark Yaconelli's The Gift of Hard Things: Finding Grace in Unexpected Places, chapter entitled "Idiots: The Gift of Difficult People":

Mark writes: My wife believes that there would be more kindness in the world if everyone pinned their baby picture to the front of their shirt. It would be difficult to disregard or demonize others if you had an image that reminded you of their humanity - reminded you of their soft, innocent beginning.

Action:

Find a place and time you can sit in quiet reflection. After a few moments, bring to mind a person in your life who repulses, irritates or angers you. Using your imagination, picture this person as if he or she were a small child. What do you think this person's hopes were when he or she was little?  What fears do you imagine this person carried as a child? What experiences can you imagine the person experienced that shaped him or her int other person he or she is today?

Take a few minutes to simply gaze on this person without judgment.
It might help to write down what you notice.
After you finish the reflection, see if there is a new invitation for how you might interact with this person based on what you experienced in your reflection.

End by lifting up your thoughts and experience to God.

No Condemnation

Devotion for Being Apart -
July 12

This summer, I will share new devotions from time to time,
and invite you to browse through devotions that have been posted at this blog.

Romans 8:1-11

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.  For the living reality of connection and life through Christ has set you free from the way of fear, disconnection and deadness.  For God has done what an ethical framework for a good life, weakened by our division and selfishness, could not do.  By sending Jesus, God-with-us, to share humanity with us to deal with our brokenness and division, God condemned this disconnection from God and each other, so that we might actually live in right relationship with God and each other.  We live not led by disconnection, fear and self-centeredness, but guided by our deep and secure belonging to God and each other.

For those who live in the way of fear are consumed with pursuits that bring disconnection from God and each other, but those who live guided God’s Spirit focus on the things that reflect our belonging to God and each other. To live in the way of Fear is to live as though dead and toward death, but to live in the way of God is to be truly alive and to participate in life and peace.  For this reason, the mind that is set on selfish pursuit and discord is hostile to God – it does not submit to God’s reality – indeed, it cannot, and those who are living toward disconnection and selfishness cannot please God.

But you are not in the way of fear, disconnection and deadness, you are in the living reality of connection and life through Christ, since the Spirit of God dwells in you.  Anyone who does not live in this way of life guided by Christ’s Spirit does not experience this reality. But if Christ is in you, though death and discord still affect you, your deepest reality is your aliveness and unshakeable connection with God and each other.  If the Spirit of God who raised Jesus from the dead inhabits your life, God—who brings life from death—will bring life to all the places of deadness in you, by the Holy Spirit who is in you.

(paraphrased by Kara Root)

I wonder what Paul would think of our culture today.  When he says, “There is now therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus,” I think, Sure, Paul, but have you seen us?  We are condemnation experts, condemnation ninjas—fast and skillful, stealthy and lethal with our condemnation talents.  We’re experienced professionals at condemning each other; and sheer geniuses at condemning ourselves. We dole out condemnation for what we do wrong, what we forget to do, and for what we do right if it’s for the wrong reasons. 

We can even time-travel our condemnation – we condemn people for things they said or did years ago, or for not coming clean in the present about things they said or did years ago, and we condemn ourselves for not knowing then what we know now, or even not knowing yetwhat we may know eventually. 

We actually wake up and go into the world ready to condemn. From the mildly irritating in our own homes to truly evil in our country, there are disagreeable people everywhere doing appalling things, and we are primed to notice and ready to condemn them.  

And we even help each other practice!  Social media is filled with videos of people behaving badly that some helpful agent of condemnation recorded and shared online so the rest of us can condemn this person too.  

We’d probably have to sit Paul down and explain it to him. Paul, dear, modern people believe it’s our right, in fact, our duty, to “call out” others.  And those who have done something especially offensive to us or awful to others should be rigorously condemned, which we today call, “canceled.” It’s like saying life really would be better if this person didn’t even exist.  

This puts a lot of pressure on us.  Judgment is a problem for us, we’d tell Paul.  Our culture says “Don’t judge,” because to judge is to condemn, isn’t it? We can’t imagine that it would be otherwise. So we all live a bit terrified of being judged by others because their judgment has some kind of power to erase us or dehumanize us somehow.  We’d explain that if he were going to live here with us, he’d have to strive to be “non-judgmental,” while also being quick to condemn religion or ideology that seems judgmental, and simultaneously not hesitate to immediately judge and roundly condemn those who judge and condemn others, while insisting he’s not judgmental. 

But here’s our problem: we are wired for judgment. We need good judgment to make good decisions. We have to be able to size up situations and immediately make judgments about danger or safety, about whether something is trustworthy or untrue, about the best way to respond to someone in need or react to someone’s request. Human beings need judgment. In fact, those with poor judgment or no judgment don’t often live very long.   

So we can’t really escape judgment, nor, apparently, should we. But clearly, where there is judgment, there is condemnation. And here we are, participating in the whole cycle. Just trying not to live in self-condemnation won’t keep that from happening, and it’s impossible to try not to judge each other.  Especially when so many people around us are complete morons.

We are stuck. Paul told us last week, there’s nothing we can do to get unstuck. Just knowing what’s right doesn’t mean we’ll do it, and besides, getting all caught up on doing it right is another way of being stuck.  We keep living in ways we don’t want to live, and not living how we do want to live.

And then he tells us, There is now, therefore, no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. 

In Christ Jesus, God becomes a person, just like us, with us.  God affirms personhood by taking on personhood.  The One who made human beings in God’s own image enters in and shares our place as a person, and so in this way God makes personhood the place of holy encounter with the Divine.  Every time we condemn others or ourselves, we violate the fundamental belonging to God and each other that defines us as people.

The law, a strong ethical framework, cannot save us – it is so weakened by our division and selfishness. The law makes us better at condemnation.  But by sending Jesus to share our humanity, to enter into our brokenness and division, God exercised the power to condemn, and what God condemns is not you or me, not vast groups of people, or people who do certain things or don't believe certain things. God does not condemn people at all; God affirms people.  What God condemns is our division, our broken relationship with God and each other. God condemns the things that take away our personhood.

And so, Paul can say with confidence, and so can we, that there is now, therefore, no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.  No condemnation. Not of myself, not of others. Dehumanizing others and dismissing them as worthless, overlooking those in need, calling out and labeling people as monsters, idiots or enemies - that will not stand. That has been put to death in Christ.  That is sin, which God condemns. That is ignoring their personhood, their humanity, when those people belong to God and to us.  And that way of being doesn’t control us any more; we’ve been set free.  When we are in Christ Jesus, Jesus’ connection to God and each other is now ours.  God makes it possible for us to live in our complete belonging that cannot be shaken.

So there is no condemnation for us, or in us, or through us, because condemnation has been condemned, and we have been made alive to belonging.

This achieves a remarkable thing—it separates condemnation from judgment.  It redeems the purpose of judgment. It restores something to the law and makes it a means of grace.  The judgment of God comes in grace – it comes to us as persons and calls us back to our personhood.  God’s judgment reveals the places of death in us or between us so that God’s Spirit can make us alive.  We can receive judgment instead of fear it – it uncovers our failures, our jealousy, pride or self-hatred.  We can even judge ourselves with God’s judgment, without condemnation.  This judgment comes with grace that meets us in our stuckness with the possibility of healing and transformation.  

You and I can walk into a situation and use judgment to see what is hurtful and what is good, what sows division and what affirms connection, because we see people as people.  We must judge, so we can celebrate the things that affirm life, so we can join the things that bring peace, so we can live in our true connection to God and each other.  But we must remember that in Christ Jesus there is no condemnation, except the condemnation of our disconnection from God and one another.  So we live free from condemnation, and reserve condemnation for the things that strip people of their personhood.  We are free to notice and judge when our own behavior is dehumanizing to others, so we can change it. We are free not to participate in a tragic culture of condemnation. We live in a different reality; we practice our belonging. 

What an invitation, then!  Whenever we feel the urge to condemn—whenever we feel judgment lead us toward the temptation to see anyone as less than a beloved child of God, less than our sibling in this life—we are reminded that not only is condemnation not a right, it’s a violation of personhood, ours and theirs. We are in Christ Jesus, and there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. 

Instead, the Holy Spirit makes us able to look at each person with compassion and curiosity, to look again until we can see their personhood, to look until we can recognize the humanity underneath, and say here is a person who shares my humanity. Here is one of God’s beloved, with the same feelings and needs that I have—someone who gets lonely, sad, or desperate, someone with loved ones and dreams and hopes, someone who has suffered, perhaps someone whose behavior at the moment is what NVC calls a “the tragic expression of unmet needs,” or makes southerners say, “bless their heart.” We are not permitted to dehumanize anyone, to dismiss or strip humanity away from anyone, not even ourselves.  We are those who are set free to live into our belonging, bound in Christ to live into the belonging of God.  For us there is now therefore no condemnation.

Amen.

Can't seem to get it right

Devotion for Being Apart -
July 5

This summer, I will share new devotions from time to time,
and invite you to browse through devotions that have been posted on this blog.

Romans 7:15-25

Paul's letter just got awkward.  The renowned teacher has been talking about God, and the church, and big ideas about faith, and now he’s suddenly talking about himself. But he’s not saying things he's proud of, he’s talking about what he’s not proud of – where he feels helpless or lost.
It’s a little too personal, like he’s had one too many, and the deep down feelings are coming up and, we want to say, Paul, dude, it’s ok, and try to get him back on track to with the big ideas. Or tell him to save it for his therapist’s office.  Besides, instead of good news, this kind of feels like bad news.  Or like he’s telling us this bad news to set us up for some good news, but we’re clearly not there yet.  It’s uncomfortable to stop here. Let’s get to the gospel!

But one thing we Presbyterians believe about scripture is that it’s all gospel - It’s all good news, even the “bad news.” Each time we open the bible, God can speak truth to us.
So we’re sticking here today with Paul’s personal lament about knowing the difference between good and evil, and even wanting to choose good, but watching himself choose evil anyway.  An inner battle between sin and the law.

Just before this part, Paul explains that the law of God is good – it shows us how God designed human life to work best, connected to God and each other, so it’s a gift to us. But once we know, we are also suddenly aware of how often we choose not to live that way.

It was easier not to know right from wrong, just to be selfish or ignorant of the ways we contribute to disconnection and brokenness.  Doing harm to ourselves and others because we didn’t know better, feels better than realizing all the harm we’ve done.  And worst of all is knowing, and continuing to do it anyway.

And once we start to have this awareness, we often look back at our previous self, or at those who are where we were, and feel disgust or contempt.  How could we have believed what we did, done what we did, said what we did?

I think about this when it comes to language.  Imagine we’ve just learned that a word or phrase we’ve used a lot is racist, which is to say, it contributes to brokenness and disconnection.  First of all, with that new awareness comes shame and regret, for having used the word.  Now we have the law, in other words, we know this phrase is bad and we add it to the list of words we should not use.  This is a helpful list, it guides us toward respect for others, so we are on board with the law.  We can see how life would be better if everyone followed the law and avoided the words on the list.

Now having been given the law, we are awake, and aware in a way we were not before. So when we hear other people use the word or phrase we know should not be used we get upset, angry.  We tell them they should not use that word or phrase.  They, perhaps, are not under the law yet, have not been converted to see how that word or phrase causes harm, so they tell us to back off and mind our own business, they can talk however they want.  Well, that makes us even madder. So mad, in fact, that we call them some words and phrases off that list.  But that’s ok, because they don’t deserve respect because they are refusing to show it.
Now we are trapped right back in sin  - only this time, we are contributing to brokenness and division knowing better.

Or to bring it closer to home, I know how I want to treat my children, I have read all the books and articles that give me clear guidance for the parenting I believe in and choose to practice. But in the moment of flared tempers, or exhaustion, or frustration, all that goes out the window.  And I can see myself behaving in ways I absolutely do not believe in.  O wretched mom that I am!

Knowing what is wrong isn’t enough to keep us from doing wrong. The law itself can’t set us free. In fact, it first makes us more miserable.  Now, having this second, awakened self within me, I can turn and look at the yelling self and say, What are you doing? This is not how you should be acting! And that feels awful.

We are not slaves to sin anymore – we are not helpless to those urges that are self-serving or divisive, we are not ignorant of our behavior and its impact.  We agree the law is good! We delight in the ideals we stand for – that everyone would be upheld and respected, and we could work together and listen to each other. Of course this is how we want to live, we say.  But that doesn’t mean we do it.

The law can’t save us, Paul says. In other words, awareness, being woke, knowing what’s right, recognizing the difference between good and evil, this doesn’t keep us from doing evil. It can’t ultimately fix what’s broken.
The law is good and necessary, but it also creates one more thing we can become a slave to.  We go around policing each other, and living in harsh judgment of ourselves, thinking change can come from just more knowledge and insight.  Of course knowledge and insight are important – they move us forward. But the place we’re moved to first is a greater awareness of our sin, of the ways we are trapped. The law illuminates our need for something beyond us to save us, because, wow, it’s all so much worse than we realized.

The big good news is coming in the next part of this letter, but the little good news of this part is that if you feel hopeless because you’ve done so much work and learning, and tried to change, and keep feeling stuck, that’s normal. It’s actually good. You are actually on the way of transformation.  We, as a nation, in a new reckoning with our history and systemic racism, are on the way of transformation.  People starting AA, facing their addiction, are on the way of transformation.
Awareness of how bad it is, and how trapped we are in repeating the cycles of destruction or dehumanization again and again, even generation after generation, is part of how we are set free.

And here Paul models for us what we can do with that: We can confess it. We can repent of it.  We no longer say, “I didn’t know!” Instead, we say, “I knew, and I did it anyway.”  We can speak boldly of our sorrow and shame; we can claim our guilt as part of our story.  We don’t pretend we are perfect, or even enslave ourselves to the quest to be perfect. We confess our brokenness. We draw closer to the pain instead of trying to flee or fix it. We let ourselves say the deep down feelings that are coming up; we tell the uncomfortable truth.

This Christian life is a life of deep honesty.  And the hardest things to be honest about are not the things we did by accident. They’re the times we hurt others on purpose, or went against what we believe, or lied to protect our reputation, or turned away from someone instead of acting for them.

So instead of pretending we don’t need saving, and covering up or making excuses for the brokenness and division we contribute to, we can face it and tell the truth about it.
And instead of thinking the law can save us, we can admit how hard it is to realize how very far away we are from the goal, and how trapped we feel by the ever-increasing list of rules for doing it right, and how it can even can make more judgmental of others and ourselves.

In other words, instead of avoiding doing what’s right, or obsessing about doing it right, we confess. We repent.  We tell the truth about it and grieve it. We join Paul in the discomfort, and let ourselves feel how hard all this is.  And we boldly acknowledge that we need someone from outside this mess to save us.  Wretched person that I am, who will rescue me from this body of death?  Paul says. Then his outrageous and hopeful whiplash declaration, Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

Hear the good news: We can't get it right.
Amen.

CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps tonight before we go to bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we can pray in this way, and so join our souls with each other and the people of the whole earth:

A good way to end the day might be with an adaptation of the prayer of confession from worship:

God, I pause at the end of this day
to let my awareness catch up with me.
I can see the sin and brokenness within me.
I don't turn away, but welcome that awareness now,
and name now those places in us me, where I long for your healing and wholeness...

Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy. 

And God, as I think about my relationships, with those close to me, and those I don’t know so well, I welcome awareness of the sin and brokenness between us.
Into all the ways I act as though we do not belong to each other, bring your healing and wholeness, especially....

Lord have mercy.
Christ have mercy.

God, I welcome awareness of the sin and brokenness around me. I lift up those places in my community, my country and your world, where I long for your healing and wholeness, especially....

Lord have mercy.
Christ have mercy.

Hold me in your forgiveness.
Speak to me your peace.
Rest me in your grace. 

Amen.

True Freedom

Devotion for Being Apart -
June 28

This summer, I will share new devotions from time to time,
and invite you to browse through previous devotions that have been shared on this blog.

Romans 6:15-23
What then? Should we act disconnected from God and each other because we are not under the law but under grace?  Absolutely not! Don’t you know that you are either ruled over by division and brokenness that leads to death, or by living the way you were made to live, which leads to connection to God and each other?
Thanks be to God, we who were once ruled over by division have become obedient from the heart to the message of true freedom that is now ours to share.  Having been set free from isolation and disconnection we are now ruled by our true connection with God and each other.
Where once we found ourselves trapped in cycles of hostility, and greater and greater division and contempt, now we can be ruled by belonging to God and each other, for greater and greater connection and wholeness.
When we were slaves of destruction and division, we didn’t have to worry about being in right relationship to anyone.  So what did that gain us other than shame and regret?  Those actions lead only to deadness.  But now that we’ve been freed from division and brought under the power and leadership of God, what we gain is deeper and deeper belonging.  The end result is lasting connection, freedom and life.  What we pay for division and contempt is death, but God freely gives us life filled with belonging and wholeness in Christ Jesus.
(paraphrased by Kara Root)

Last week I took my son to the barber.  The sign on the door said masks were required.  Inside with us were two barbers, and one other client, all wearing masks. Then there was one barber without a client and without a mask. In this small space, he talked and talked and talked, loudly, and I imagined his aerosols billowing through the air surrounding us all.  I sat rigid; rage roiling inside me.  How could he be breaking the rule posted on the door?  Didn’t he care about anyone else?  What arrogance! What selfishness!

For a half hour, I wrestled with my anger, and tried to get to through my fierce judgment to some empathy for myself and for him.  I stoked my courage and practiced my words, and when Owen’s haircut was finished I told him to wait in the car.  Heart pounding, I was about to say something when the man stood, put on a mask, and welcomed in his next masked client.

I was shaking when I paid our barber, and I weakly told him I had been really uncomfortable that the other barber had not been wearing a mask.

Oh friends. This is just one of my many mighty Mask Moments.  I almost never say something in real life to the actual person, but I have spent more hours than I care to acknowledge having those conversations in my head– even going so far as to mentally design a card I might keep a stack of in my purse to somehow pass to the offending person while staying six feet away from them informing them of the importance of mask wearing. I don’t have a lot of energy for much else in life right now, but wow, can I find energy for this.

There are two views of freedom.  Philosopher Isaiah Berlin calls them “negative liberty” and “positive liberty.” Negative liberty says freedom comes when we take away constraints. “It’s a free country; I can do what I want.”  Positive liberty says freedom is when everyone has what they need to live full lives. By this definition, this has never been a free country.

In our scripture today, Paul says, You can live in your negative liberty, not bound by anything or anyone. But all that gets you is more isolation and deadness.  To pretend we are not connected violates our very being, and dehumanizes others.

To be free, then, as Paul describes it, is to let our lives be ruled by being children of God who belong to each other.  By that token, wearing a mask is a simple way to live in positive liberty and real freedom.  We don’t wear it for ourselves; we wear it to protect each other. We wear it to contribute to well-being for each other, for all.

Luther and Bonhoeffer talk about it as false freedom that is free from, and true freedom that is free for.  We are free for each other, free for God, free for life.

Except here’s the thing. In the moment when I am dutifully wearing my mask and someone near me is not, I do not feel free. I feel trapped in anger and despair. And I don't even want to be for them! I want to be free from them!  Free from their selfishness, from the risk they are creating, free from the consequences of their actions in our society – the extension of this virus.  In fact, I want so badly to be free from this pandemic, that anyone working against that goal feels like an enemy.

And besides, if I wear a mask, I get to show that I am on the right side of things. I get to show that I care about others, where, clearly, they do not.

And suddenly this action that should be about belonging to each other becomes about judgment and self-justification, and it contributes to greater division and contempt.  And now Paul would lump me right into his definition of sin, and say I am living under the law and not under grace.

So what would it look like to actually be free?

In the first century something happened to the Christian church that exploded its numbers, and took it from a small obscure sect, to something big enough to eventually be noticed by Constantine and made into the official religion of the Roman Empire.  That something was an epidemic.
When a plague came to Rome, everyone with any means fled-  even the doctors left the city – and went to the Italian countryside to protect themselves and keep themselves alive. They exercised their liberty, their freedom, and got themselves out of harm’s way.
Except the poor and the sick could not leave; they were forced to stay.  So the Christians stayed too, and cared for them.  Christian women, in particular, nursed the sick.  Two things resulted – the first is that compassion was revealed as central to the message of this new religion. Compassion became a calling, nursing the sick a mark of the Christian church – which, in part, is why Christianity is responsible for the creation of more hospitals than any other institution.
But second, mysteriously, many of these Christians didn’t die.  It seemed to the rest of the society that they were mysteriously and supernaturally protected from death.  That may be. It’s also likely that they developed immunity, which allowed them to keep nursing the weak.  And these women could trust that if they were to fall ill, they too would be nursed.

They did not care for the vulnerable because they thought the plague was fake, or that God would protect them and not others, or because they wanted to prove they were better than other people. They put themselves at risk to care for the vulnerable because the only way we are truly alive, truly free, is to live free for our neighbor, free for the most vulnerable and weakest among us. Plague or no plague - we belong to God and each other.  And they were so intriguing to the greater populace because they seemed to be without fear.  Weren’t they afraid of dying?

This is the deepest mark of the Christian.  According to Paul, we have already died with Christ, and been risen to new life.  In life and in death, we belong to God.  No matter what, our true life is found in connection to God and each other, and we are free to live it without fear – even of death.

True freedom extends deep and wide. Whatever the behavior of others or the circumstances around us, we can still be free.
We are free to love, and serve, and care for one another.
We are free to face our complicity in racism and look at our history with unflinching gaze and grief that could open us up to a new way.
We are free to receive criticism from others without dread that it will destroy us.
We are free to speak out when we see harm being done to another person, and free to repent and ask forgiveness when our words or actions have harmed another person.
We are free to honor our limitations as human beings, free to rest when we are tired, free to say so when we need help and free to receive support from others.
We are free to have our prejudices dismantled and to be surprised by each other’s and humanity. There are no sides in the Kingdom of God.  There is just broken and beloved humanity, all of us, belonging always to a steadfast and faithful God.

When we try to live free from God and others, we end up ruled over by the need to earn or prove something, or bound to act out of obligation and duty, or dominated by anger or contempt.  But when we surrender to our weakness and stuckness, and let what we thought was liberty be exposed as chains, we find our true freedom not in what we do for ourselves or in what others do or don’t do, but in what Christ has done for us all. We die to sin and are made alive to our true humanity in Christ, set free to live toward each other and toward God.

A half hour after leaving the barber shop, I got a text from an unknown number.  “Hi, is this Kara? This is Chris, the owner of the barber shop. I want to apologize for not wearing my mask after my appointment today when you were in the shop. I completely understand and sincerely apologize. I had gotten into the habit of pulling my mask down between appointments and feel awful if I made you uncomfortable while you were in today. I hope you can accept my apology and know that I do sincerely apologize.” 

I was surprised and flooded with gratitude.  I could have been free from him–In negative liberty, I was “free” to leave there and never go back. Good riddance!  But I had struggled so hard to find my humanity and his in the midst of that, and saying something to our barber was the closest I could get. I mostly still felt trapped in anger, stuck in judgment and anxiety.

Barbershop Chris had his negative liberty too; he could have been free from me. He could have written me off and never given me a second thought.  But instead he was free for me. He acted from our belonging to each other, and when he was free for me he helped me be free too.

I texted back my gratitude and we wished each other well. And I took a deep breath and thanked God for way Christ had met me in Chris.

Life is messy and being human is hard.
May we continue to be ruled by freedom, to be with and for each other, and there find our life.  Amen.

---

CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps tonight before bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we can pray in this way, and so join our souls with each other and the people of the whole earth:

O Lord, release me from false freedom this night,
and bring me to wholeness and life in the new day.

Release me from judgment and fear,
make me free for curiosity and compassion.

Release me from anger and despair,
make me free for mourning and trust.

Release me from comparison and striving,
make me free for generosity and ease.

Release me from isolation and self-preservation,
make me free for connection and belonging.

May I seek your face in the faces of others.
May I find my place here among all others.
Lead me through death to new life again, O God.

Rest me in you this night.
Awaken me in you in the new day.
Amen.

A whole day

Daily Devotion - May 15

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara

I love that the Jewish understanding of a day is that it begins at night. ("There was evening, there was morning, the first day...")  When the sun hits the horizon, a day has ended, and the next begins. That means all our doing, all our work, comes first from rest. 

Rest is where we start-  resting with our Creator, remembering God is God and we are not. Sleeping - reviving our cells, renewing our minds, rebuilding our muscle tissue, restoring our souls. 

Then, when we wake, our productivity and creativity begin.

This is such a strange time, where the lines between work and rest are extra blurred - as if they weren't already mixed up enough.  

What if you set aside a whole day to rest?  To play, to lose yourself in the garden, or a book, or a nap, or a phone call?  To lose track of time?  Not listen to the clamoring voices of the world but to listen to the soft sounds of your own soul?  Not to worry about what needs to be done, but to give yourself a break? To receive the gifts right here in front of you?  

What if you started tonight? 

Then you let yourself sleep and awaken to a whole day of freedom?  

Or tomorrow night - and let worship in the morning, and the rest of the day Sunday, be a sabbath time for you?

Here is a Sabbath prayer shared by Barbara Brown Taylor in her book, An Altar in the World: 

Sabbath Prayer
Our noisy day has now descended
with the sun beyond our sight.
In the silence of our praying place
we close the door upon the hectic joys and fears,
the accomplishments and anguish
of the wek we have left behind.
What was but moments ago the substance of our life
has become memory;
what we did must now be woven into what we are.
On this day
we shall not do but be.
We are to walk the path of our humanity,
no longer ride unseeing
through a world we do not touch
and only vaguely sense.
No longer can we tear the world apart to make our fire. 
On this day
heat and warmth and light
must come from deep within ourselves.

(For more, see this article for Sabbath Lessons in a Quarantined Time)

CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps tonight at bedtime, whenever that is in each of our homes, we might pray in this way and so join our hearts.

God rest me. Deep within.
Teach me to breathe again.
In.
Out.
I am alive.
In.
Out. 
I am grateful.
In.
Out.
I am tired.
In.
Out.
I am free.
God rest me. Deep within.
Return me to your rest.
Amen.

A good day for some reminders

Daily Devotion - May 7

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara

(If you don't have the time or attention span today to read this whole thing - jump down to #5 and watch the video).

I woke up to a lot of outrage on social media  - anger, fear and hopelessness breeding more anger, fear and hopelessness, and it's on full display today.  A friend reminded me that social media is not real life, and that is true.

In real life I went for a glorious walk with my daughter and dog, and we explored alleyways we hadn't before, noticed fascinating front doors, and ridiculously plentiful buds on trees and shrubs positively glowing with color (see above!).

I think today is a good day for some reminders. These are things we've talked about before--in passing, in person, in worship, and in these daily devotions.

1-
"There is grace for what already is, not for what might be."  Living in dread and apprehension about what might come and how we will handle it, or not, is not living in the present, the one real life we have - where God is already here caring for us.

2-
Fear asks "What if?"  Hope answers, "Even if..."  Fear dwells on all the terrible things that could happen, and hope says, Even if the very worst things happens, still... God is God, you are loved, there is enough, you will be ok, etc.

3-
Anxiety is a reasonable response.  Anxiety a normal part of life. Resisting anxiety is what causes damage. The movement into new life is always anxious.  We can feel it, let it pass through us, and if we have energy for more, wonder about what new life may end up coming from this.  The way to freedom is always through the anxiety, not by trying to avoid it.

4-
"This is part of the story. This is not the whole story. The world belongs to God." When something terrible happens, we rally our attention to it. We say things like,  "If you're not outraged you're not paying attention."  Sustained outrage and perpetual anger is no way to live, and it is a false response to the world's complexity.  If you are always outraged, you are not paying attention. So how to respond when tragedy feels so overwhelming?? We are limited creatures, bound by space and time, given to specific people in specific places, with one specific life to live. If we try to hold the whole whole world's suffering, we will break. If we try to solve the whole nation's brokenness, we will buckle.  It's impossible. Thankfully, that's not our job, it's God's.
We can - and should - look squarely at evil, and suffering, and injustice and call it what it is, "This is part of the story."  Then we can pull back and remember there is more - there is beauty and love and hope and truth. "This is not the whole story."
And maybe we need to spend some time looking for examples of other parts of the story - the ones where redemption and hope are breaking in, and people are conscious of their belonging to each other and God.  Or maybe we need to return consciously to our own life, the people around us, the community we are in and do something concrete right here that contributes to the wholeness, justice and good God is bringing everywhere.  Both these options can help return us to trust. "The world belongs to God."

5-
Finally, we are people with a further horizon - the people of "eschatological imagination."  We know the end of the story: wholeness, belonging, peace, justice and rest for all - for the whole of the earth and all its humans and creatures.  We trust that what will be is already leaking into what is. And we know we can watch for it and join in it now. We live into a different story than the loud ones about fear, division and hopelessness.  We live into a different future than the one shaped by dread.

I am putting here a video to spark your eschatological imagination. (It made me ugly cry hopeful tears and helped me remember God's relentless agenda always unfolding). If you can't view it below, please click this link and please watch the video).  

CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps today at lunch time, whatever time that is in each of our homes, (or at dinner if I've already missed your lunch by the time I get this shared)  we might all pray again this "World Peace Prayer" - either sung or spoken, which is prayed at noon in every time zone around the world, as an unbroken prayer, and so join our souls with each other and the people of the whole earth:

WORLD PEACE PRAYER

by Marty Haugen

Lead us from death to life
from falsehood to truth
from despair to hope
from fear to trust.
Lead us from hate to love
from war to peace
let peace fill our hearts
let peace fill our world
let peace fill our universe.

(Listen here)