Tara

"I was hoping I would get to meet you!" 

Those were the first words out of Tara's mouth when she walked into the kitchen at the summer feeding program, sometime around late June/early July. I had been working as a substitute server in the program in my first summer as a cafeteria staffer, so I had been there off and on, but I didn't feel like the rest of the staff really knew much about me. They were still asking who I was when I'd walk in the back door. 

So when Tara said those words, I immediately started wondering what kind of rumors were going around about me. Who was talking? Was it good or bad? It must have been good, since she seemed excited, but who was it? Who knew me well enough to be saying anything at all?

Tara went on to explain that she had been bringing her family by the program for lunch off and on for the early part of the summer, and I had "always been so nice" to all of them. She knew she was coming in to work the second half of the summer and hoped that I would still be there, hoped that we'd get a chance to actually meet. 

Now, here we were. 

I hear those words a lot in my life - that I'm always so nice. That I'm friendly. That others sense that I'm really engaged with them and that I'm truly offering my service on their behalf. The truth is, I'm nice to everyone. I don't see a reason to be any other way. Even if I'm having a bad day; that's not your fault, so why should you pay the price for it? 

But what Tara didn't know was that here I was, in a food service position just a year after graduating with my Master's degree, unable to find a job in my field, taking the only job I could find that would give me my Sundays off for ministry, still unknown by most of the others in the department, still being evaluated and judged by the members of my own kitchen when the school year ended, serving a population of students who didn't know my name and probably didn't care to...and I was feeling so small and so invisible. 

Then, in comes Tara, someone I had never met...(remember, I do not recognize faces)...and she may not have known my name, but she knew exactly who I was. She had noticed me, had noticed something about me, had recognized something about me, and she was eager to tell me about it. 

Friends, those kinds of moments make all the difference. All the difference. 

I'm still nice to everyone; I still can't think of a reason not to be. But I think of that moment often, that very excited, almost-ambush kind of moment when someone couldn't wait to tell me that they saw me, that I made a difference somewhere...and I look for my opportunities to offer those kinds of moments to someone else. 

Our world is filled with folks who feel invisible. Folks who are just going about their day, sometimes in places they never dreamed they would be. Folks doing the best they can with the opportunities they've been given. Folks who feel like no one even notices them. 

Folks who need a Tara. Someone to just come running up and say, "Oh my gosh! It's YOU! I was so hoping I'd get the chance to meet you!" 

Someone who says, "I see you. I've been seeing you. And you're awesome." 

Yeah, I want to be that someone.  

God Forgives

We are a people who are pretty good at judgment. And Lord help us, we are even better at it when we're certain that we are in agreement with God on it. 

So we judge "sin" when we see it. We write off sinners as hopelessly lost. We "pray for them," or at least, we say that we're going to. 

And we never forget. 

Sometimes, we might forget the specific thing that someone did that caused us to blacklist them in the first place, but we'll never forget that they were blacklisted. 

Look at our cancel culture. For a number of various reasons, over the course of the past 5-10 years or so, we have been willing to completely write someone off. Take their entire life from them. Wipe their name out of our conversations and our history books. Shut them down. Openly mock them. 

We have seen some celebrities try to make their way back from this. We have seen apologies and repentances. We have seen commitments to treatment and to education. We have seen persons fight back hard against a culture that is all too willing to condemn them forever...and a church that is even more willing than that. 

And yet. 

And yet, Proverbs reminds us that while we're busy being petty, being obstinate, being judgmental, God might not be upset with someone any more. 

God might have already moved on. God might have seen something new in their heart. God might have embraced the bigger picture of all the smaller pieces that we're far too fixated on. 

God may have already forgiven them. 

In fact, we know this is true because God is quick to forgive. That's what the whole Cross thing was about. That's why He sent His Son - to make a way for reconciliation and forgiveness. Even Israel, as often as they messed up, could not incur God's anger forever; He kept forgiving even them. 

He keeps forgiving even us. 

So while we're pretty good at judgment and often think that we're doing the good, righteous, and holy thing by latching onto what God despises and condemning it - forever - I wonder what it would do to our world if we were even better at God's forgiveness, at not staying upset with someone forever.... 

God and Wisdom

I love it when I finally understand something on a deeper level. When I'm able to see angles of a situation that I wouldn't have seen in the past, that maybe nobody else sees yet. When I seem to understand the motivations of the human heart, even when it's not mine. Especially when it is mine. 

This is, I think, the essence of wisdom - the ability to have a perspective, an insight, that feels almost objective or, at the very least, understands intimately its own subjectivity, and is able to respond on the basis of what you perceive that is beyond the obviousness of whatever is in front of you. 

The Bible tells us often to seek after wisdom. To pursue it. To desire it. The Bible tells us that wisdom is a great virtue for a man, a help in times of trouble, and a gift from God. 

All of these things are true. 

But they can lead us to believe that wisdom is the greatest thing that we can attain. That wisdom is the end goal. That if only we would acquire wisdom, we would be set. 

But that is not the case. 

Proverbs tells us that God is greater than wisdom. 

God sees more, knows more, understands more, perceives more angles, has a better perspective, understands subjectivity, achieves objectivity, is keenly aware of motivations and wounds and predispositions. God has a better take on the world, on our lives, on us, than wisdom will ever give us. Than wisdom can ever give us. 

And if that is true (and it is, obviously, because the Bible tells us that it is), then acquiring God, acquiring faith, is greater than acquiring wisdom. 

I can confirm that this is the case. 

This is the case because all the wisdom in the world can tell you one thing about a situation, about a person, about a heart, about yourself, but faith can tell you something completely different. The ability to perceive, to see from multiple angles, to assess your own subjectiveness...it's great. But the ability to believe in something you can't understand, let alone imagine, is something even greater. 

I can't tell you (I'd love to, but we have neither the time nor the space) that God has done something greater than all my wisdom could ever have accounted for. I can't tell you the times that I have seen faith play out in absolutely amazing ways, beyond what the human mind - even in all wisdom - could ever understand. I can't tell you what a great moment it is, what a great feeling, when you finally finally understand, only to have God totally blow your mind with the unexpected, incredible, awesome, wonderful thing only He can do. 

Wisdom is good; God is greater. Proverbs is right. 

Seek wisdom. Obtain it if you can. But cling to faith. For even a mustard seed of faith is greater than all the wisdom in the world. 

God's Single Standard

We live in a world of cutting corners. Recently, I saw a satirical post that showed a woman getting to the checkout line at the grocery store and quickly peeling all of her bananas before placing them in a produce bag, thus paying only for the part of the fruit she was going to eat. (In return, the cashier proceeded to then crack all of the customer's eggs....)

We only want to pay for what we're going to use. We don't want to pay surcharges and upcharges and weights of the disposable parts. And I get it, especially in today's economy. 

But did you know that God has always been concerned with this, too? 

The Bible repeatedly tells us that God hates dishonest weights and measures. (Proverbs 20:10, for example.) God hates it when we're cheating each other. He hates it when we're trying to get more and pay less...or when we're trying to pay less and charge more. 

Did you know that He hates it just as much when we aren't talking about commerce?

Our God is the God of a single standard. One rule. One expectation. And we have all failed to meet it. That's what the New Testament means when it says that all have sinned and fallen short and that there is no one righteous, not even one. 

Every single one of us has exactly the same standard to meet: holiness. And every single one of us has failed miserably to meet it. And every single one of us requires the sacrifice of Christ on the Cross to make up the difference for us. 

We like to think that some of us need more of Christ and some of us need less of Christ. We like to think that some of us are better at this holiness thing than others. We like to think that some of us are less sinful than others. 

But God has one standard. None of us has met it. So every single one of us needs exactly the same measure of Christ: 

All of Him. 

Period. 

Our reward might be different. Our judgment might be different. The measure of His grace poured out on us might be different. Each according to our need (as the Bible also says). But the measure of our salvation is all the same: it's the Cross.

Jesus did not die a little bit for you, a little more for me, a little more for someone else, just a tad for yet another person. He died a full and complete and total death for each and every single one of us. 

That is God's standard.

God and Injustice

We talk a lot about justice in our world today. Our culture seems obsessed with it - racial justice, social justice, criminal justice, civil justice. As soon as something bad happens, we start our rallying cries and start making our signs: "Justice for _______!" Whatever the cause of the day is. 

But underneath our cries for justice are pleas, really, for vengeance. There's this constant undertone of the idea that "someone has to pay." Bad stuff is not allowed to just happen in the world. We have to hold someone accountable. There's no such thing as an accident any more; someone must make restitution for the wrongs of the world. 

The problem is that we're often so intent on making sure someone faces the music that we get lost in the noise. It doesn't take long before our quest for justice no longer even pretends; it's all-out vengeance we're after, and we've honed in on our target. We've identified the responsible party, rightly or wrongly, and we won't give up until they get what's coming to them. 

No wonder our criminal justice system is so messed up. Someone has to pay. Here's this guy. Why can't he pay? And now, we have an unknown number of completely innocent folks wasting their lives away for crimes they didn't commit. (Thankfully, we are now in a period where we are starting to rectify these injustices that we once pursued in the name of justice.) 

Of course, it's not just criminality we're talking about. There are folks walking around with scarlet letters, reputations they didn't earn, nicknames they didn't merit, whispers they can't un-hear. For what? 

For the offense of being perceived as responsible in some way, shape, or form for something "bad." 

JUSTICE! 

But it's not justice. In fact, it's the opposite of justice. In fact, this kind of injustice might be the worst kind of injustice because it's not even grounded in our true desire for accountability; it's rooted in our anger and lust for vengeance. We don't care who pays as long as it's somebody. 

This is detestable to God. Proverbs uses that exact word - detestable. Acquitting the guilty and condemning the innocent - both are detestable to the Lord.

Most of us get the first part of that - we hate it when the guilty go free. We hate when the technicalities let someone off the hook. We hate the responsible party gets to just walk away and leave the trauma trailing behind them. But we're not so good at the second part, though we're finally working on it. 

We have to let justice be justice, and that means sometimes, we don't get answers. Sometimes, we don't get restitution. Sometimes, we don't get accountability. Sometimes, this world is just plain broken and there's nothing we can do about it. 

But we can stop settling for placing the burden on just anyone's shoulders. Because that isn't justice, either. Condemning the innocent? Disgusting. 

And does it really even satisfy that thing in your heart that you think it does? 

(Spoiler alert: no.) 

Angi

Nights were hard for me. Like, really hard. I spent most of them awake, then zombied through my days trying to function like a normal human being. For days at a time, I would go with no sleep at all. 

My one saving grace was when I would hear that little door open on AOL Instant Messenger and see the notification - Angi has signed on. 

Angi is here. 

I wasn't spelling her name right, but that's how someone else spelled it for me, so it stuck. (We laughed about that later.) Angi was my youth pastor's wife. We had only recently met, during a really rough patch in my life. My dad died after we had known each other just a few weeks, and the aftermath was...heavy. She wasn't really responsible for me, but she cared. And I felt like every night, she was logging on that late just for me. 

I always waited for her to say something first. And she always did. Then, we would talk deep into the darkness and for those few hours of my tortured nights, I would not be alone. 

We didn't solve any problems. We didn't fix the world. Heck, we didn't even fix me. But there we were, attached to our respective computers long past the hour when both of us should have been in bed, and I wasn't alone.

Whenever I'm tempted to walk away from someone in need, whenever I think more about myself than someone else, whenever it seems wiser to, metaphorically, go to bed, I think of all of those nights. Those nights when Angi was tired, when she'd had a long day, when she had her own family to tend to, her own responsibilities, her own schedules, her own desires, and I think of how much it meant to me to see her log on any way. To see that door open. To have that first message pop up. 

I think of how much it changed my darkest nights to not be alone, and I remember that she could have only an inkling of how deep those nights were for me. And yet, she knew enough simply to keep showing up.

This world tells us to take care of ourselves, at the cost of everyone and everything else. It tells us that if we don't have self-care, we can't care for anyone else. But a lot of folks use this as an excuse to be selfish and to never have time for anyone else. 

But you make self-care a routine so that when someone else's world goes dark, you can show up and be the light for awhile without burning out. Even if you're tired. Even if you'd rather be in bed. Even if you have your own stuff to worry about. Self-care isn't self-centered; it's other-centered, so that you can be there when someone else is desperately waiting for you to log on.  

So I take care of myself so that I can show up. Then, I show up. I show up because she showed up for me and because I know what it's like when someone does that. 

We maybe won't solve any problems. We won't fix the world. We might not even fix you. But I'll be there. 

Aidan has signed on. 

Stand in Agreement

Here's the response you're really looking for when you make a bold proclamation about what God is doing: 

Yes. 

When I recently made such a proclamation, I had a couple such responses. One friend I was talking to said, "I stand in agreement with you on that. That sounds amazing! So I'm your two." (Where two or more come together in My name...) 

Someone else said, "Yes! That is exactly the kind of thing God would do. I'm so happy for you!" 

Remember - this bold proclamation has not yet come to pass. But in contrast to the person who wants me to bring it about on my own power and the one who is feigning hope for the remote possibility, these persons who enthusiastically celebrate the awesomeness of our God, unashamedly, in response to something that hasn't even happened yet...these are my persons. These are the kind of persons you want in your life. 

Because here's what else is true about them: these are the persons who are most ready to let you grow. To let you heal. To let you become whatever new thing God is doing in you. 

Someone who stands in agreement with you will come back and ask you how it's going. And when they do, they'll ask you as though it's already a done deal. They will remind you, just by their asking, of your confident assurance when you made the statement. They'll help you remember and continue to believe. In the already and the not yet, when you're still waiting but you still know, these are the persons who don't let you forget. 

God is doing a very cool thing, and He's doing it in your life, because He is who He says He is and you can bank your life on that. 

I am so thankful for persons like this in my life. I really am. There is absolutely nothing like daring to believe, trusting God, taking Him at His Word, and having Him lead someone into your sacred space who, without hesitation, just says Yes! 

I'm your two. 

Let us believe and build on this, for truly, I tell you, it is coming to pass. Right now. To the glory of God who is with us. 

Amen. 

False Hope

When you make a bold claim about what God is doing in your life, some folks will respond with what they call hope. 

"Aww, I hope that happens for you!" 

Thanks, but no. 

The world uses "hope" to mean the same thing as kind of a wish or a dream. Something you want to happen, but you aren't really banking your life on it. It would be nice, but you aren't really making plans. You think about it a lot and want it to come to pass, but your day-to-day hasn't changed because of it. You might not even really expect that it's possible. 

"Hope" is a Christian word. At least, it used to be, but the world has so changed it and made it so commonplace that even Christians are using it in this way now. Even Christians have lost sight of what hope really is. 

It's not a wish. It's not a dream. Hope is a confident assurance. It is knowing with absolute certainty what you haven't yet seen and living like it matters. Living like it's made a difference in your life. Changing your day-to-day on account of what you're sure of. 

Jesus Christ is our living hope.

So when I say what God is doing in my life, and I know it deep in my bones, I don't need you to hope for me. I need you to understand that that is my hope. It's something I'm certain of. Absolutely. It's something I'm already living into, something I already know, even though it may not have come to pass yet. 

It's not a wish I have. It's not a dream. 

The world needs to stop wishing and dreaming in response to the absolute incredibleness of God. We, as Christians, certainly need to stop wishing and hoping. We need to start believing and moving. Acting. Living. 

And we need to stop being dismissive of someone else's hope. 

This is where it gets tricky.

But what you're saying when you say, "I hope your big, bold faith prediction works out for you" is "I don't believe God works that way, but whatever." Why can't you believe God works that way? 

What keeps you from thinking God does miracles? What keeps you from thinking God is still doing good in the world? What keeps you from thinking that God is putting broken things back together right now? What stops you from thinking that God so loves the world that much, right now? Today? 

What is it about your faith that makes you wish when someone else boldly proclaims? 

That's the question we need to answer. 

Because "hoping" that works out for someone...is false hope. It's just a pipe-dream. 

Where is the faith?  

Manifest

One of the dominant responses you receive when you dare to proclaim a bold word of faith comes from the "name it and claim it" person - the one who believes you "manifest" things in your life by speaking them out loud, fixating on them, and believing them. 

I made a bold claim about something I believe in my bones that God is doing right now in my life, and one of the first responses I received was, "I believe you are going to manifest that in your life. Believe it, girl!" 

Uhm, no. 

See, that's the entire point about making a bold claim of faith - I don't believe I'm going to manifest it. I believe God is already doing it. I am not the actor in this situation; God is. 

"Manifest" has become a fad concept in our society. It's a buzzword now. So many folks seem to subscribe to this idea that you just go out and make the life you want for yourself. That with vision boards and clear focus and self-mantras, you can make anything happen in your life. 

Christians are even using this. Some are even saying that it's a biblical idea because we are creatures created in the image of the Creator to be creators ourselves, and our Creator simply spoke a word and it came to be, so we have been given the same power to speak a word and make things happen. 

Friends, if that were true, there would be unicorns. 

I cannot think of anyone who more sincerely, more earnestly speaks a word into existence than a little girl who asserts she is going to have a unicorn. A little girl created in the image of God to be a creator in the world. 

And yet... 

Do you see what I'm saying? Right now, you already have an idea in your head of why my example is silly. Of why of course we can't speak things like unicorns into existence. Maybe because it's not "God's will" or because it's frivolous or because it's not substantive. Who are you to decide? Who are we?

We confess plainly there are certain parameters under which we should be able to speak something into existence and under which we shouldn't, according to God being, well, God. And yet, so many of us have this default where we tell others to go ahead and speak big things into their lives because hey, that's how it works. 

We are actors, but we are not the actors. In faith, God is the one acting. Every time. 

I made a bold statement about something God is doing in my life, and my friend's response was to affirm that yes, I am doing that. I can make it happen. My friend took my faith and tried to turn it into a work, which is exactly what this mentality advocates. Name it and claim it. Make it happen. Force God's hand. Become your own god. Take control of your life. 

In faith, I don't have to make that happen. I don't have to take control of my life. In faith, I have given my life to God and I am doing nothing; I Am is doing everything. I am simply accepting the goodness of His gift and letting it shape the way I live moving forward.

*I am not really doing nothing. I am living by faith. But you get what I mean. 

Bold Faith

Recently, I made a statement about something I think God is doing in my life. 

Now, I confess plainly that I don't always know what God is doing. I know He is always working for good and that there are things I just can't understand now. I generally know when He's behind something that's happened, something I cannot otherwise explain. 

But there are also times, after more than two decades of faith, that I just know in the pit of my soul, in the depths of my being, with every fiber of every bone in my body, that I have a secure word from God and am confident in what is unfolding, whether I can see it yet or not. Whether I can explain it or not. 

Often, I can't explain it. It would be...unthinkable, to the world's logic and understanding. Impossible. Unlikely. And yet, something is in my soul, tapping on this space of faith and assuring me it's not only going to happen; it's already happening. 

From my experience, these things do come to pass, almost in an instant. I hold them in my heart, knowing and trusting in them. Proclaiming them. And then, there comes this moment when it's just suddenly...complete. And BAM!

God has done a thing. 

Because of my confident assurance, I have become less shy about speaking such things. Might as well let everyone know what I know, right? God is doing a thing. They don't have to believe it. They can roll their eyes. They can ask questions I don't know the answers to yet. But the world is gonna know. 

And you can tell a lot about how a person's faith is going by the way they respond to such a bold proclamation. 

I've been thinking about this recently as I made my most recent statement. Something I know God is doing that doesn't make any sense and doesn't seem possible and "science" wouldn't support and a whole host of other things, except that I know that it is a work that is being done right now, and my bones ache knowing that it will soon be complete. 

The responses I have received have been...interesting. They are the responses that one typically receives to bold proclamations of faith, but they are important to look closer at. Because they can help us understand what faith is...and what it isn't, even when a reaction sometimes uses the words of faith. 

So I thought I'd spend some time this week talking about a few of these common responses. You can probably relate to them. You have probably heard some of them, maybe even quite often, and you might even have said a few of them from time to time. 

For today, what I want you think about is how you respond when someone makes a bold statement about what God is doing in their life. What does it make you start thinking about?  

Barb

She gave me a backpack. 

It was a strange gift. We were sitting in her living room and she said she had something to give me, then told me it was her backpack. Could I use it? 

Sure, I'd said, shaking a bit of confusion from my face. I had graduated college a few years ago and was in definite limbo. I didn't know what came next for me, but I certainly didn't think I would ever be going back to school. 

It wasn't for school, she said. It was for adventure. 

This was the backpack she said she had taken on many journeys of her own. This was the backpack that was sewn with the threads of her mission work. This was a backpack, I quickly understood, that had stories to tell. And for some reason, she wanted me to have it. She thought it could help tell my stories, whatever they were to come. 

Barb thought I had adventures ahead of me. No, she knew that I did. She saw something in me that I didn't see in myself at the time, and she wanted, I guess, for me to be able to draw on the strength of someone who had gone before me - a trailblazer in the world of women's ministry in a historically unaffirming denomination. 

We had a few chats in that living room about adventures. About a life well lived. About service to God, mission work, and, yes, ministry. She invited me to many more. I forfeited many of my opportunities to attend. I let my own insecurities get in the way of what I understand only in hindsight was truly an open invitation. 

That backpack went on to take me to seminary. To chaplaincy. To hospice work. To hundreds of sacred moments in holy spaces. When I entered a new season of my life after many years of carrying that backpack, it was somehow still in great shape - like the clothing of the Israelites wandering in the Exodus, whose garments never wore out. I modified it for my next season, taking out a few hems here and there to open up some spaces, and it saw me through another journey. 

There were times, on hard days, when I looked at that backpack and thought of the stories it could tell - many of which, I still did not know - and the stories I was adding to it. And most of all, the story of love and encouragement that had put it on my shoulders to begin with. I would look at that backpack when I was struggling and remember that someone believed in me...before there was anything to believe in. Someone saw a future I couldn't have dreamed of. Someone wanted to prepare me for the journey ahead, that I didn't even know I was taking. 

Someone saw these hard moments coming and gave me a token of love to remember that hard days are not all that there are. There are greater things than this. 

Today, we lay Barb to rest after a full life that had more than its fair share of hard days. But you never would have known it. Barb was, without hesitation, an encourager. A hope-filled, future-thinking, eyes that can see encourager. I would venture to say that there are not many who ever met her who don't have a story like mine of something she said, something she did, some invitation she extended, some gift she gave that took them into a season they never could have imagined. She just had that way about her. 

And yet, I don't know that any of us mourn today. Not really. We grieve our loss, but every single one of us knows that there is no one who has ever been happier than Barb is now. She loved Jesus. She talked fondly of the day when she would finally meet Him. And she finally has. 

I want to leave a legacy one day like Barb's - full of adventures that some know about, full of stories that many maybe don't know, full of gifts left behind and words of encouragement. I want others to one day know that there was a point in their life at which someone loved them and saw something ahead for them that they couldn't have imagined. I want to be an encourager.

As for all of those invitations I passed on, the ones it seems these days that I'm never getting back, I mourn only lightly. I know I will have a whole eternity of them. 

In fact, I'm certain Barb is already getting her new couch ready for guests. 

I still have the backpack - almost 20 years later, it hasn't worn out yet. 

God of Grace

Sometimes, we know the definition of a word, but we don't think about its connection to other words. Take, for example, the word disease. We conceptualize this as sickness, as something wrong, as something infectious or broken. But we do not often think of its component parts - dis-ease. Not being at ease. Being off-balance somehow, being out of sorts. 

The infectious is a dis-ease of our body system. 

But we don't think of it like that. Because we are used to thinking of disease as its own thing, a concrete idea all in its own. 

The same is true with the idea of disgrace. 

We have a concept of what this word means. It is its own concrete thing to be disgraced. To be embarrassed. To be ashamed. To be called out. To be wrong, usually in a very public way. 

So when I read Proverbs 13 and I see that failure to accept God's correction leads to disgrace, I think about all the ways that my own rebelliousness has led to some very public failures. Embarrassments. Shames. Callings out. Obviously, if I had been listening to God better (or..obeying better), I probably could have avoided most of those things. Many of them, anyway. 

But then, suddenly, I read Proverbs 13 again and the emphasis in my head changes. The way my mind processes the word is different. It strikes me in a new way. It's not disgrace as I know it. 

It's dis-grace. 

The opposite of grace. 

Failure to accept God's correction leads to a lack of His grace.

And listen. Grace...is amazing. I have lived that. I want all of that I can get. I will take every ounce of grace God wants to pour out on me. And if that means that I have to listen to (or...obey) God's correction, then correct me, Lord. Show me the errors of my ways. Teach me. Guide me. Discipline me.

Just keep pouring that grace out on me. 

God Feeds

When we talk about the Lord's provision, we refer often to His comments about the sparrows and the flowers of the field - doesn't He know they need to eat? Doesn't He clothe them in glory, though they are so fleeting? How much more so, then, will He do the same for us. 

But the same promise is written in Proverbs, as well. God will not let the righteous go hungry. 

You don't have to worry about what you will eat or how you will provide for things; God is providing for you. 

Listen, He gave manna to a rebellious people in the wilderness, didn't He? How much more will He give you good things when you are at least trying to be faithful. 

That doesn't mean you get everything you want. That doesn't mean the provision looks like what you've been praying and hoping for. It doesn't mean your life is suddenly comfortable or luxurious. 

God gave manna in the desert, but the people had to go out and pick it up. He didn't DoorDash it to the fronts of their tents. He dropped quail on them, knee-deep, when they wanted meat. He told them they would eat quail until it came out of their noses, and they did. They ate quail until they were grumbling about quail. They ate manna until they were grumbling about manna. 

But they didn't go hungry. 

God doesn't leave His people empty. 

If you are His, He will provide for you. 

Don't worry about it. 

God of Wisdom

In the Scriptures, wisdom is often portrayed as a woman. This is especially true in Proverbs, where metaphorical images abound. 

One of the images that I love the most out of Proverbs comes from chapter 7, where we are told that God made wisdom our sister. 

Now, I don't have any sisters. But I happen to be one. And let me tell you.... 

As a sister, growing up, I pestered my brothers quite a bit. I wanted to be involved in the things they were doing. I wanted to learn to do the same things. I wanted to tag along on every adventure, learn the ins and outs of whatever was going on. If my brothers were building legos, I was building legos. If they were swimming, then I want to go swimming, too. I know it drove them crazy, but I wanted to be there. 

So does wisdom. Wisdom wants to tag along with us wherever we're going. It wants to be part of what we're doing. It inserts itself into our lives, begs its way in, becomes our constant companion, whether we're annoyed by it or not. At least, Godly wisdom is supposed to be like this - ever-present. Persistent. Insistent. 

As a sister, I have felt like it is my duty, at many times, to take care of my brothers. I have a more sensitive, seasoned, rational side than they sometimes do (being males). I'm more prone to think things through, to see the bigger picture, to want better things for them. They may want to run stark naked through the mud because something like that sounds fun to boys (I guess - also, not a true story), but I'm over here thinking about contaminants, pests, and potential legal consequences for indecent exposure. There's something tempering about my presence that says, "Oh, you boys," but in the same breath has a suggestion for a better way to approach things or a consideration for something they might have missed. I'm a girl, taking care of boys. 

So is wisdom. Wisdom is that protector, that rational mind that comes in and says, maybe we should think about this a little bit harder. Wisdom wants to take care of us, even when we don't want to take care of ourselves. At the moment when we are most prone to be reckless, there's our sister again, thinking things through more than we have, caring about us more than we sometimes care about ourselves. 

As a sister, I benefit from the protection of my brothers. They don't always like me. I know that. We aren't always best friends. But at the end of the day, they've got my back. If I need something, I can ask. At the end of the day, they do actually care about me, whether they want to admit it or not. 

So it is with wisdom. We really do care, whether we want to admit it or not. We want to be guided and pestered and cared for by this understanding of better things, of Godly ways, of right and wrong in the world. We want wisdom to corral us, to make us better, to get us to think things through in a better way. We would do anything for wisdom, for what is right, if push really comes to shove. Truthfully, we love wisdom way more than we pretend to. 

Wisdom. A sister. Our sister. She loves us. 

And we love her. 

God's Discipline

Many of us have heard, over our lives of faith, reflections on Proverbs 3:12 - that God disciplines those He loves. That the discipline of God is the act of a loving Father who cares about the well-being of His children and who wants nothing but the best for them. We have heard comparisons about His discipline to the more familiar earthly discipline we might have experienced as children - such as the smacking of a hand when reaching for a hot stove or a short period in time out to cool our jets. 

As I was preparing to write a reflection on this passage and this idea - that God disciplines those He loves - I confess I was thinking about some of these same things. And thinking about how I wanted to reframe and resay them in my own way, something new. Something to help us all (because I always write to myself first) think about this in a new way. 

Then, I read the heart of the passage again. 

God disciplines those He loves. 

Parenting is different today than it used to be. It's different than it was when I was growing up. (I'm about to be 40, just for reference.) Back then, you loved your kids. You wanted what was best for them. You wanted them to grow up to be well-adjusted, productive members of society. Your aim in life was to mature them, to make them into the kind of adult who could make this world a better place. You loved them, so you disciplined them, but you did your best to make sure they understood that you loved them. 

I have spent several of my recent years working in the local schools, with middle-aged children. I have some nieces and nephews of my own running around. They have friends. I have friends who have kids. 

Parenting today is different. 

Parenting today seems to take an approach that says, "I want my kids to love me." I want my kids to be my friends. I want my kids to think the world of me. I want my kids to appreciate what I'm doing for them. I want my kids to have fun being around me. Yes, parents today still love their kids, but the emphasis in today's parenting seems to be on making sure that our kids love us. 

We could trace this through a whole host of cultural movements, ways that our thinking about this or that or the other have changed over time. But that would be a distraction here. Anyone honestly looking at the way that parenting has changed even in the past 20 years or so can see the dramatic shift between wanting to raise a well-adjusted, productive member of society...and wanting whatever adult your kid turns out to be to be one who loves you back and doesn't carry whatever baggage or trauma or whatever that generations like mine have been convinced they collectively carry. 

So when I read this passage, this reflection, that God disciplines those He loves, I wonder how today's youngest generations can connect with that. I wonder how they feel about the idea of being loved. I wonder if they even recognize it. I wonder how being a generation that has been raised to love changes their understanding of God's discipline as He loves them. 

Once upon a time, God was like a good Father, who disciplines His children because He loves them. He has never been one of these more modern dads who chooses to act only in ways that will make His children love Him. 

I think that one little shift has a lot of power to change an entire generation's understanding of God. 

I know it changes mine. 

Sarah

We hadn't even met, and I liked her already. 

I was a first-year seminarian, and a first-time solo traveler. At least, to spend the night somewhere. My first intensive class was set to take place at a Catholic retreat center in another state, and the rooms were designed for two. You could pay a separate fee to have a private room, but I was an unemployed dreamer on a shoestring budget, only able to pursue my Master's by the grace and goodness of God. A private room was out of the question. 

I remembered what it was like to share a room with a stranger from my freshman year of college. My roommate back then became one of my best friends, but I was so overwhelmed by the enormity of the undertaking of really going back - as a female in an unaffirming congregation - to get a Master of Divinity. I hadn't met any of these seminary folks yet. I wasn't sure what kind of experience I would have. And now, I have to 1) drive myself to another state with 2) a suitcase that I'd packed myself to 3) stay for an entire week and now, 4) in a room with a stranger. The mere thought of it all knocked the wind right out of me. 

And then, this: 

"There is only one other female scheduled to take the course this time around, and she has requested - and paid for - a private room." By sheer dumb luck, then, I would also be getting a private room. At no extra cost to me. 

One burden off my shoulders. 

As it turned out, Sarah was freshly pregnant for the first time, and it wasn't an entirely smooth experience for her. She had morning sickness. She correctly predicted that she would spend most, if not all, mornings of that week vomiting. And, well, that makes one want a private room.

No doubt, there was at least a hint of consideration for me in her decision, but Sarah was primarily taking care of herself in making that decision. She wanted a private space. She needed a private space. For her own well-being, she needed to be able to take of herself in the most optimal way. So she paid for a private room. 

I don't know if she knew how much that decision also took care of me at a time when I was feeling so uncertain and also desperately needed my private space that week. (I would not know how much I needed that private space until a couple of days in, but boy, did it turn out to be a tremendous blessing.) 

I am someone who doesn't always take care of myself. I mean, I do, but I don't prioritize my own well-being. I am known for going above and beyond to take care of others, always, as the Bible says, "considering others" more highly than myself. I will go to the ends of the earth to take care of someone else, to give them what they seem to need, to take into consideration the impact that my decisions will have on them. 

But maybe there's something to taking care of myself, too. 

Sarah didn't know me. We had never met. I didn't know her name, so I'm not sure that she even knew mine. She simply made a decision to take care of herself and in doing so, she gave me a great gift. 

It makes me wonder what gifts I might be giving to others if I choose to take care of myself. Others I haven't even met yet. Others I don't know. Others who don't even know me. What impact might I have on the world, that I could not have possibly predicted, if I simply choose to do what God leads me to do as the best thing for me? 

It's something to think about.  

Understanding

One of the questions that our culture seems to be wrestling hard with, even if they don't know that they are, is How do I gain understanding?

There are a lot of controversial ideas coming up as we experience another shift in political power, and one of the things that is becoming clear is that most persons have absolutely no understanding about what they claim to be upset about. They don't know the fundamental truths about...whatever the topic is. Rather, they are simply spouting something that they read or heard somewhere else, and somewhere in their brain, it clicked - that must be it. 

When one group does this, the other shouts very loudly, calling them conspiracy theorists and telling them to get some understanding. At the same time, when they themselves do this, it is because they know the actual truth that everyone else is just blind to. 

The truth is...neither. Neither group is conspiracy theorists and neither holds sole claim on the truth. 

What's really happening is that both lack understanding. 

And neither is really interested in it. 

We live in a world where things "sound true" based on the biases we hold that we aren't even aware of - the experiences we've had, the lessons we've learned, the teachings we've picked up from our families of origin or our culture or whatever. If it sounds true, then it must be true, and most of us are willing to defend our perspective to the death of us. 

Add on top of that a world in which we have been told that truth is relative, that our feeling that something "sounds true" makes it just as valid as if it were actual truth, at least for us. 

There is no impetus any more for learning anything, for improving ourselves, for gaining understanding. It doesn't have to be true; it just has to be true for me. It just has to sound true enough to be plausible, and all of a sudden, most of us are willing to build our lives on it. And fight like fools against anything that might attempt to change our understanding. 

We aren't listening to each other because we've been told we don't have to. We've been told that the minute someone else has a different perspective, the minute they are seeing something that we didn't see, they are a fool. They are a conspiracy theorist. They are wrong. At the very least, they are disrespectful to us because they aren't taking into account our truth. Something that is very real for us. 

The thing is...is it really that real for you? I mean, really? Is it a truth you're really building your life on or is it something your party or your platform has told you you're supposed to hold dear and fight for, so you're doing that because what you really hold dear is your party or your platform? 

Our lack of understanding, and our complete disinterest in it, is actually a byproduct of our desperate need for belonging. We have struck up with sides and causes because it gives us somewhere to fit in, and we are so desperate to have a place in this world that we'll buy into whatever they sell us. Just please don't ask us to leave. 

So such things become our identity. 

We have the world at our fingertips - literally - and yet, we are the most misinformed generation that has ever existed. We are more mal-informed today than we were when we believed the world was flat. And it's because of this very thing - an aversion to true understanding in favor of a sense of belonging. 

We could talk about this forever, but I'll leave it here for now. Just something to start thinking about. 

What do you really believe and why do you think you believe it? Have you looked into the truth, or have you simply taken what you've been fed by a source you think you trust? How much can you tell anyone else about that source...besides your personal feelings about its reliability? What would happen to your life if it didn't fit so neatly in the box they tell you matters most? 

Rest Day

When we talk about the Sabbath, we're talking about setting aside a deliberate day of rest - a time when we sit back, stop our ordinary work, and are thankful. This is a time of trust, a time that reminds us that it is God who takes care of us and not we who take care of ourselves. It is a time to reflect not on what we have, but on what we have been given, which seems like close to the same thing, but there is a very fundamental difference. Our souls just do not thrive without this time of rest and trust and reflection. 

Nor do we grow. 

As I was writing yesterday's post about the Sabbath and ordinary work, what popped into my mind was the other concept I have of a "rest day" - the concept that comes from being a runner. (Or really, anyone who exercises.) 

Anyone who exercises knows that you have to build rest into your regular routine. If you don't, you'll never get stronger. 

That seems strange to those who do not exercise. To someone who spends most of their life on the couch, or someone who is just starting to exercise, it seems that if you lift a few weights today, then a few more tomorrow, then a few more the day after that, then you just get stronger over time by virtue of repeatedly using the muscle and repeatedly using it more. The same way with running. Novices and sideliners tend to think that if you run a mile today, a little more tomorrow, a little more the day after that, then well, by a month or so, you ought to be able to just run a marathon. 

But it doesn't work that way.

Strength depends upon not the use of muscle, but the rebuilding of it. Exercise disrupts the muscle as it is, creating a series of micro-tears that then restore themselves thicker and stronger. But they only restore themselves if they get a sufficient period of time when they are not being used. Like stretching a rubber band, it doesn't get the tension out of it if you never let go; you have to give it some rest if you want it to go back to the way it was. Keep just stretching it, and it will snap. 

As physical rest is to the body, giving it the time it needs to restore itself stronger, so is spiritual rest to the soul. Our faith grows on a Sabbath rest. 

And the reason is much the same. 

This life we live, it inflicts upon us a series of micro-tears. Of stresses. Of challenges. It chips away at who we are and breaks us in these tiny, almost imperceptible ways. Except that if we don't give ourselves times of rest, these things never heal. Instead of making us stronger, they make us weaker. If we don't get rest, these stressed and strained areas of our lives never restore themselves. They are not built in with the faith that makes them more durable. They do not become anything more than they ever were. And eventually, we snap. 

We might have been using our faith every day, but if we do not give it the time to replenish and restore, it does not become stronger; it becomes weaker. 

We need our rest. 

Maybe that's why God gave us the Sabbath. Don't you think?  

Ordinary Work

We are a culture that is not good at resting, and if you want to talk about a Sabbath, forget it. Our world is on the go 24/7/365 and we have to keep up. 

Don't we? 

The idea of a day of rest seems old-fashioned, antiquated, out of touch with present reality. Nobody can rest for an entire day per week, can they? 

That depends, I guess, on your definition of rest. 

I have been observing a weekly Sabbath for 14 years or so, consistently. Not perfectly, but consistently. A big part of this is that I spend my Sundays disconnected (a little hiccup has been streaming online church, but that is an exception I'm willing to make). I don't turn on my desktop computer, and without social media on my phone, I am unplugged on Sundays. Period. I also try to limit my going out, my shopping, etc. Anything that can wait, does. If I am taking a day off of work, it is only right that I should not make others work on my day of rest. 

The Bible has plenty to say about the Sabbath, and most of us read it as a day of rest. Period. We have read the stories of the Law, and we have read Jesus push back. "If your livestock fell into a ditch on the Sabbath, wouldn't you pull it out?" So we have some inkling that the Sabbath is not about not doing any work. It's a little more nuanced than that. 

And indeed, when we read certain translations in English, we see that a distinction has been made. The Sabbath rest, we see, is not from work, but from ordinary work - the kind of work you do the other 6 days of the week. 

Actually, it's really interesting. In the same place in Leviticus where Moses is giving the Israelites commands about days of rest, he is also telling them about festivals, which start and end with days of rest. Sabbaths. And he says they are to do no ordinary work, but they are to go out and gather palm fronds and things. 

So here we are with an OT example right off the bat, right in the instructions about rest, that it means no ordinary work. But you can definitely do un-ordinary work. Like gathering palm fronds. 

Or pulling your livestock out of a ditch. There's something you wouldn't do every day. You'd only do that on a non-ordinary day when your livestock happens to get itself caught in a ditch. (Unless of course, you have extraordinarily dumb livestock and this actually is a regular occurrence for you.) 

The point is - your Sabbath day of rest sets the day apart in a special, meaningful way. It separates it from the other days by separating it from the things you would normally do on a regular day. Like spend several hours scrolling social media. It's not a prohibition against ordinary things as much as it is a creation of space for the extraordinary. 

So how are you creating space today?  

Lamb of God

Every year, I read through the Bible in its entirety. I keep a journal every day as I read, and my rule is that I'm not allowed to write down something that I wrote down previously, whether that was 1 year or 15 years ago. So I am always looking for something new. 

Sometimes, I find something so obvious, I can't figure out how I've read the Bible through that many times and still missed it. 

Sometimes, it makes me have to come back to this space and correct myself. 

Today is one of those days. 

I have previously been known to talk about the sacrifice of Jesus as the lamb of God and connect it to the sacrifices in the Old Testament, specifically in Leviticus. When you read through the prescribed sacrifices in Leviticus - the burnt offering, the guilt offering, the sin offering, the thankfulness offering, etc. - the only time you see a male lamb as an acceptable offering is in the fellowship offering. 

I think this is important when we talk about Jesus, the Lamb of God. I still think it is important. 

But there's something else I've been missing. 

Because when you keep reading in Leviticus and you get into the nitty gritty of offenses against God and others, of cleanness and uncleanness, of boils and mildews and bodily emissions, we see the lamb again. The lamb was required, even of the poorest Israelites, as a purification offering after a period of uncleanness. 

When the boil healed, the mildew cleared, the bodily emissions ceased, the Israelite was to bring a male lamb to the priest to serve as a purification offering, to make him- or her-self clean with God again. To become ceremonially pure. To be restored to participation in the community, fellowship with others, and fellowship with God. 

And I think this is more important. 

It's closely related to the fellowship offering, as both have to do with our relationship with God, but it is in this sense, in the matter of purification, that we truly understand how it is that Jesus takes away the sins of the world. That we understand what God was doing on the Cross in full - at least, as full as our finite, limited minds can fathom of it. 

It's strange to me that I never really caught this before. I have always gone to the prescribed sacrifices to try to understand the Lamb, not to the sins. Not to the failures. Not to the uncleanness. But of course, I should most definitely have gone there, since that is where Jesus went.

So I hereby correct myself and expand on my previous reflections to embrace this more full meaning of the Lamb of God. 

(But can I also just say that as many times as I have talked about the fellowship offering, not a single person has stepped forth to correct me on this point, either. So perhaps I'm not the only one who has been missing it. Anywho, now you know.)