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September 9, 2014

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Community, Faith, General, Kingdom of God, Love, Shalom, Uncategorized

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Storied Past – 3

Ramona eased herself into the well-worn but comfortable sofa as Becky went into the little kitchen. Ramona looked around at the sparse but comfortable surroundings. There was a small table covered with a plaid tablecloth and two chairs. Family photos occupied three wooden frames on the wall above the table. A floor lamp and end table with some unopened mail completed the furnishings. To the left, past the half open window she could see the door to the bedroom. Becky lived much more simply than Ramona was used to. By this time Phredy had settled down on his pillow next to the kitchen door. Just then Becky returned with some hot water, honey and lemon.

“Here. This should help you feel better. It’s what I have whenever my stomach gets grouchy, which is pretty often since I . . . well, I don’t need to talk anymore right now. I’ll get some blankets. You can sleep right there on the couch.”

“That sounds good. I guess I am exhausted. I do have to ask you something, though. Are you one of those . . . Christians? Are you being nice to me just to win some goodie, two shoes points?”

Becky smiled. “I have heard about that kind of Christian, in fact, I used to be one. Now I guess I see being a follower of Jesus a little differently. It’s not about doing good stuff to impress Him and other people. For me, it’s about being real and loving all of God’s creation, no matter how badly they have messed up. I don’t mean “let it all hang out real” but I mean genuine and truthful real. It is hard to do but that’s why I have to let Jesus help me be real and help me love people. Does that make any sense?”

Ramona’s forehead wrinkled up. “I need to think about . . . to process this, I guess. Most all the Christians I know seem to have a Sunday face or one they use around other Christians but they really aren’t very accepting of people who don’t go to their church.” Ramona realized she had raised the volume of her voice a little too much for the time of night. She continued more quietly but more intense. “They act pretty content to have Holy Club meetings when just across the street are some broken and messed up people. Why can’t they just walk outside and use some of their righteousness to fix the neighborhood?”

“Wow,” Becky exclaimed. “There was a bunch of hurt right there on the surface, wasn’t there my friend?”

Ramona laid back against the sofa. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been so angry for years that I just don’t buy it when Christians talk a good line about living perfect like Jesus but don’t do what Jesus did in the Bible. Am I wrong? Didn’t he go out and heal people and teach on the mountains and cast out demons and stuff?” Ramona shuddered at the visual that came into her mind of the naked guy in the Bible with demons hanging all over him. He probably got a group discount everywhere he went. But, she recalled, the next chapter in his life brought a huge, wonderful change that the whole town recognized.

Becky answered in a soft, confident voice that calmed Ramona down. “No, you are not wrong about that. I believe Jesus wants us to be like he was and is and be His hands and feet to all we meet. That mission might start in the church community but it really has to be carried out in the local, social contexts where we live, work and play.”

“That sounds different than how I was raised,” Ramona reflected. “I really did mean it when I said, Thank you. I’m sorry I raised my voice. It wasn’t against you.”

“I know. It’s OK. I should really let you get some rest. We can talk more tomorrow before I go to work. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Ramona laid her head back. How different this evening had turned out. Could she dare hope to think that God would have had anything to do with it? Wasn’t God angry with her? After all, she went to that bar. God had nothing to do with that. She agreed to go with Paul, or whatever his name really was. She drank whatever it was that knocked her out and she got knocked up. It was all her fault, all her bad choices. God would be right to be angry. He had warned her plenty and now she was simply reaping what she had sown. Justice. She got what she deserved. It was no one else’s fault but hers.

She dreamed fitfully; dreams of demons dancing all over her pregnant tummy. They were laughing and screaming epithets and curses, telling her it was over, she might as well die, kill the baby and die. God hated her because he hated sin with a perfect hatred and she had sinned, therefore He hated her. Twisted dark demons with sulfur smells and glowing fingernails tried to tear at her body, all the while yelling foul words. She tried to run but her feet were rooted in the mucky mud and she sensed they were sinking, sinking and being pulled down by a senior demon with an upside down face of Pastor Marlowe. Then the ground started to move, slowly at first, then a full-scale earthquake moving.

“Wake up, Ramona, wake up. You were screaming in your sleep.” Ramona jerked awake realizing it was Becky shaking her that seemed like an earthquake.

“Wha-a-at?”

“You were screaming. What in the world were you dreaming?”

“That’s just it,” Ramona retorted, “It wasn’t in this world.” She related what she remembered about the dream to Becky.

“That’s awful, Ramona, just awful. But the truth is, there are spiritual forces out there that are against you. They want you to be so discouraged that you give up; maybe even kill yourself. But you need to know that Jesus has good news for you. He loves you and wants to be part of your life.”

“I know that religious talk! Church has been most of my life all of my life,” Ramona said. “I was there all the time, every time they had church and music practice and I even got stuck cleaning the church with my dad way too often. I’m sick of church. Why do you think I’m in this mess? I’ll tell you, because I had to get away from all the church, church, church stuff. You can’t tell me Jesus loves me when he took so much of my life and forced me to run away from His rules and let me make choices that wound up with a baby I didn’t want. That’s not good news!”

Becky didn’t answer right away. She knew Ramona had to get it off her chest. Years of anger, pain, rules and her recent wrong choices had left her with hurts that deserved more than a hasty defense.

“I can’t possibly know how you feel, Ramona but I think I understand where your anger comes from. Life has taken a hard left turn for you after such disappointment from people you didn’t expect to hurt you so much. Maybe you can rest a little before morning.”

Dawn stole into the room. Ramona dressed quickly and waited for Becky to come into the room. A few minutes later she entered carrying her coat.

“Come with me,” Becky said cheerfully. “I have something I want to show you and then we can have some breakfast.”

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September 2, 2014

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Storied Past – 2

This is a story about failure, sin, pain and redemption. The names and story are fictional. It is ultimately God’s story because redemption happens through the faithfulness of God working in humans. They are amazing, adventurous followers of Jesus who desire to see His Kingdom influence increase until the reign of Shalom is a reality.

Storied Past – 2

“Hello?” The voice took on a human shape. “I thought I heard someone as I was walking Phredy.”

“Phredy? Who’s that?

“My mutt dog,” the voice returned. “Oh I’m sorry,” as she moved the light away from directly shining in Ramona’s eyes, now red from crying. “What are you doing here? Are you OK? Do you need some help?”

“I’m OK, I just, I don’t know. I just needed to get away somewhere and think.”

“You look scared, and cold, too. Can I take you somewhere and get some tea or something?”

“Well, I guess so; as long as I stay away from that church on Main Street.”

A few minutes later they found their way to Holy Grounds Coffee Company. Tying Phredy up outside, they went in. As they each cuddled a warm cup of tea, Ramona was still teary. Her rescuer looked at her with tender, inquisitive eyes but had said nothing since ordering at the counter. Ramona wondered if she should say anything, if this person would change her opinion about her and get all judgmental. She just couldn’t handle much more of that.

“I’m Becky,” her new friend offered. “What’s your name?” Ramona decided she might as well be civil. “Ramona.”

“Well, can you tell me a little about why I found you in such a strange place on a dark, cold night? I’m guessing you weren’t sight-seeing.”

Ramona really didn’t feel like responding but she figured she should say something since this person had gone out of her way to be nice.

“I . . . I . . . I’m pregnant” she finally blurted out.

“Well, Ramona, I’d like to help you if you’ll let me. Uh, when’s your baby due?” Becky’s voice was soft but contained a gentle strength that also conveyed genuine concern. Ramona shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t really want to talk about anything, much less her sin, but this whole thing was her fault, according to her father, and the problem was out there now so she’d better just deal with it.

Everybody Ramona knew, and probably some she didn’t know, had heard about the baby but nobody ever talked to her about it. When she was around they just whispered to each other looking out the corner of their eyes knowingly at Ramona.

“Umm, October” she replied. Becky waited a moment before she spoke. “From where I found you and the crying and all, I take it you’re not very excited about it.” Ramona hadn’t thought about that part of it. All she felt was guilt and shame and how this nightmare needed to be ended. The “A” word surfaced in her mind many times a day. But immediately the “M” word came screaming from the far recesses of her mind and she certainly didn’t want to be a murderer.

“No. No I’m not excited, I’m scared. I don’t really know who the father is and my father . . .” Her words trailed off. “Look, could we talk about this some other time?”

“Of course. Can I take you to your house? Oh, your dad . . . Look, I have a place for you for a few nights, if you’re OK with that.”

Ramona didn’t know. She didn’t want to intrude on this new friend’s generosity but she really didn’t have much choice. The bridge overpass idea was much less attractive anyway.

“That would be very nice of you but I don’t deserve any kindness. I screwed up, you know.”

“Well, we’ve all screwed up, Ramona. Thankfully, someone was there for me and loved me through my pain.” Becky led the way out of the coffee shop to her car. Ramona was surprised at herself. Since the horrible experience was confirmed at the hospital, this was the first time she voluntarily offered the truth about being pregnant; and to a stranger! Well, at least it was likely this stranger didn’t know her friends and would gossip. And what pain was Becky talking about? Did she have a baby, too? Maybe she had a dad like hers. In any case, Becky sounded like she had some kind of an idea how Ramona felt. That was comforting.

“I just have a small apartment but you can crash there. I work evenings except Sundays and Mondays so you can have some sleeping privacy. Have you had morning sickness yet?”

“Just a few times so far. It wasn’t as bad as I’ve heard but I definitely hurled.” They both smiled. Ramona started to relax. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. She did need to talk to someone and Becky’s bedside manner made her feel like she could finally let some of her pain out.

A few minutes later they walked up to a modest apartment building. As they headed up the flight of stairs Ramona said, “Oh, I forgot. Thank you for this, and thanks for the tea. It’s been a while since . . .”

“No worries,” Becky quickly replied. “Like I said, I am here to help out. Someone showed kindness to me and changed my perspective on life.” They walked into the tiny but welcoming main room. Phredy was finally free from his leash and bounced around excitedly. “You see, Ramona, I try to be aware of God’s leading and He obviously led me to you!”

“Oh, no!” Ramona thought. She suddenly felt weak in the knees. “Another religious zealot! What did I get myself into? I let down my guard and got trapped by another one. Why was I so stupid? I’m better off dealing with this problem myself.” Fear rushed in and overwhelmed her for a moment. Must condemnation be her lot in life? And this . . . this baby, some people called it a fetus, whatever, this baby was really more like a forbidding, future death sentence. A dark thought clouded her mind for a moment. She could bring this whole thing to a sudden stop. Maybe that was the best. Just end it; maybe her and the baby. That’s why cowering under the bridge seemed so . . . appropriate. The railing above was convenient. She suddenly realized Becky was staring at her with a worried, almost frightened look.

“Are you OK,” she enquired? “You turned real white there for a second. It’s not morning, either. You’d better sit down.”

-To be Continued-

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August 26, 2014

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Storied Past

We, some of my friends and readers, have a shared past. After reading today’s post maybe some of the story will resonate with you, as well. The historical highway of Christianity is littered with wounded fellow travelers. A review of ancient Israel tells of abusive activities of the priests against the worshipers in the name of JHWH, the God of Israel. Recalling the account of Jerusalem during the time of the historical Jesus reveals that he, too, witnessed the religious sects of that day using the law and tradition to perpetrate and justify abuses. The priests of that era took advantage of those trying to meet the demands of a God who seemed full of His own harsh religiosity. Religious requirements detailing the worship activity, sacrifice, diet, tithing and other legal strictures belied and clouded God’s prophetic intent to point to covenant relationship, not rules.

Sadly, our institutional church landscape the last many years has not brought much improvement. There does seem to be an awakening from the importance of religious rule-minding and returning to our mission given by Jesus himself, and this is encouraging. We must not live in the past because . . . well, it is in the past. But there are a few friends who still struggle with the various stages of healing and some who have yet to begin the process.

My Doctoral dissertation is on the topic of spiritual abuse but it is an academic piece whose purpose is to meet certain university standards. If you wish to read it, it is at this link: http://catalog.georgefox.edu/search/?searchtype=X&searcharg=spiritual+abuse&searchgo=

With that preface, I offer this piece of fiction in my meager effort to promote healing. The characters do not exist but their story does. You may identify with their experiences, as well.

Storied Past

Coldly held tight by her memories and her guilt, Ramona crouched next to the damp concrete bridge abutment. The dark evening and rocky soil held no promise of comfortable accommodations. Why had she let him so close to her? Perhaps his affirming compliments about her features disarmed her usually impenetrable wall of protection. She didn’t particularly think of herself as beautiful but it did feel good to hear someone tell her nice things. Ramona’s father certainly couldn’t. All he ever did was demand obedience from her and make her feel like she wasn’t good enough. He did talk about love, a kind of detached, theoretical love, especially in church. But now she couldn’t recall ever seeing much of anything that sounded like the kind of love she wanted and needed.

Church! There was a joke if ever she heard one. The way most people acted there she didn’t care if she ever heard another “Amen!” or “Praise the Lord.” Take the worship leader, for instance. Randy was a nice guy and all but Ramona knew he was always hitting on Jenny, the main vocalist. Maybe that’s why she was the main vocalist. And the pastor seemed preoccupied with the Old Testament laws and rules and stuff and kept reminding everyone that God wanted us to be perfect like He was. He suggested that “real” Christians did stuff like fast and pray a lot and read their Bibles every morning. She tried for a while and liked that she was making God happy by obeying what the ministry said but she got tired of doing it and decided it was too much work. She had more fun hanging out with the kids at college. At least they knew how to party!

At first Ramona felt guilty. She recalled being warned that University would destroy her faith because she would be dragged down by sinners. But Ramona enjoyed her imperfect friends. The kids her age in the church would never go to the show or even be seen with their neighbors. The pastor said the evil in this would influence them and cause them to sin so they should stay away from worldly attractions and people who were not Christians.

So that was it. Ramona had tried to be a good girl, she really did. It did seem funny that very few others in church had the same problems with rules that she did. But how could she know? No one ever talked about any struggles they had—maybe they didn’t have any. Maybe she was the only one who couldn’t live like Pastor Marlowe demanded. So she quit going to church and put a wall up to anyone who seemed to be telling her what to do. It seemed like the only one who understood her was Paul. He was the guy across the bar from her who smiled kindly a few weeks ago. It was only the third or fourth time she had gone to The Rock Ness Bar and Grill. The music was fun and kind of like what she listened to anyway.

Paul asked her to dance. Not having much experience with dancing she declined so Paul sat down next to her. “What’s a nice girl like you . . . never mind. And yes, I say that to all the girls I meet.” Ramona laughed. He had a great smile and pretty teeth. A few minutes later they were speeding along on the way to a private party Paul had told her about.

Several hours later she slowly came to and felt something was terribly wrong. Her body hurt and her head still pounded like her blood pressure was going crazy. Where was that guy, what was his name, Paul? She slowly sat up and looked around now realizing she was on someone’s lawn; someone’s lawn she didn’t recognize. A few beer bottles were lying here and there. Pushing herself to her feet she went to the front door. She knocked several times but there was no answer.

What happened last night? Why didn’t she remember anything? But this nagging pain below was the scariest. Suddenly she knew what must have happened and a dreadful fear gripped her. Why had she been so stupid? Surely this is what Brother Marlowe predicted.

Now, here in the cold darkness the guilt seemed to smother any hope for a way back home. Her father had thrown her out of the house when he heard about the baby. He was embarrassed. She had made him look bad to the whole church. She deserved it. She was only trying to have fun, something no one in church would understand. But how could she explain that now.

What choices, what kind of life, if any, would there be for a 20 year old who was pregnant, didn’t know her baby’s father and worst of all, she had burned the only bridge of hope when she swore off the church and all those hardcore, hard-hearted perfectionists?

“Anyone here?” Ramona heard a voice. “I thought I heard someone crying. Are you OK?” She looked up as she saw a dim flashlight.

-To Be Continued-

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August 19, 2014

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Get out of the (Fear)Boat

“Fear causes a kind of contraction of the heart. As such, it inhibits godly actions such as love, hospitality, risky mission, and generosity.” Frost and Hirsch; The Faith of Leap.

Fear of rejection, fear of past guilt, fear of incompetence and fear of imperfection enslaves many in a prison of defeat. They (maybe some of us) become paralyzed with doubt, anxiety, self-loathing and others’ expectations and become ineffective quasi-disciples of a disfigured image of Jesus. What ever happened to the bold, courageous, risk taking, adventurous disciples of a risen, victorious Jesus who calls us to live on the edge of life (and in the middle of life) with Jesus-confidence and living faith?

What does this look like? First, a life lived with confident faith requires a character infused with integrity. We cannot advance into faith-full activity with sullied consciences. Deal with your issues honestly and then live in truth.

Second, we must carry the presence and power of the Spirit. This is the only pathway to effective ministry. Words and/or actions alone are not enough.

Thirdly, we must be in community. Life is lived together and after all, we can’t be and make disciples if we are hermits or afraid to mingle and minister in the middle of the pain and joys of others.

Fourthly, we must live large and bold. By large, I mean our minds, hearts and hands must be open, understanding, welcoming and giving. By bold, I mean we must live with proactive initiative (yes, I know that may sound redundant). But “Step into the water, go out a little bit deeper,” as the old song says.

Fifth, expect results (hint . . . faith). I know, I know, our religious culture allows for failure, even if we “pray in faith.” “It must not have been God’s will” we say apologetically and I know God is sovereign and all that. I may have missed something but I can’t recall Jesus in a puzzled quandary about not being able to heal someone. True, the disciples didn’t always return with a positive report, but Jesus patiently (usually) shared how they could bring home the bacon . . . er . . . right, they didn’t eat pork. He taught them how they could triumph over Satan’s activities. The good news is that we are evaluated by our faithfulness, not our “successes.”

Sixth, retell/share the story. There is, I believe, unplumbed power in the fresh, testimonial narraphor. Again, a recall of Jesus’ story telling example confirms the facts. People want to know this stuff works and hear real, not platitudes.

Seventh, (notice the spiritual significance of the number seven. Just kidding, there is no magic about my having seven points). Repeat. Take up the adventure where you left off. Get out there and walk on water, or whatever risk taking activity you engage in. If God confirmed His activity and presence by moving through you and your community He will do it again.

So, I challenge you and me to try, just try this. Take a risk by being bold. The prefaced caveat is Spirit aware direction, of course. But don’t shrink from a divine opportunity by blaming it on not feeling bold or not having an affirming tweet from Jesus. Living in the Spirit is part sensing, part intuitive and part risk taking. Those are not necessarily divided into even thirds but I think those elements should be there. When you have met Jesus and he has forever changed you, you are ready to meet others and forever change them, by the power of His Word and the presence of His Spirit.

Connecting with others to build relationship, to love them and make disciples is not the only way we take risks and carry the Spirit’s scent. Many live out their call in less obvious ways. They live generously; they live faith-fully and in a daily witness of a life saturated with integrity and congruence. Others simply and graciously do tasks of mercy for and with others in mind. Some extend ministry into their children’s and grand children’s lives with love and mentoring only they can provide. Still others open their hearts and hands in self-giving of time and resources. Countless are the ways we look and smell like Jesus.

I can’t tell you exactly what an encounter will look like because that would quantify and limit your expectations of how God works. A paradigm doesn’t exist. God is so creative it could happen a million different ways and in as many environs. But be assured, you and I are not alone in this adventure. Remember Hebrews 12 and the huge crowd of cheerleaders along the way to a destination certain? They are witnesses and believing users of risky faith. Can you hear them and their now-realized faith-became-sight shouts for you to take that first halting step? They know that just ahead is the potential for explosive, culture altering Kingdom activity in your adventure that will usher in the kind of victory in Jesus we used to sing about.

Get out of the boat. Jesus is waiting.

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August 12, 2014

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Calling, General, Kingdom of God, Liminality, Mission, Spiritual Growth

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The Great Re-Quest

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” Helen Keller, The Open Door.

Ever been on an adventure? Remember the beating pulse; the looking forward to some new, as yet unknown thrill? Dictionary.com says an adventure is an exciting or unusual experience. It may also be a bold, usually risky undertaking, with an uncertain outcome.

Yes, there is a huge unknown factor that could bring more than surprise or thrills. It could bring notoriety, personal fulfillment, undiscovered knowledge, education or even wealth. Just as potent a possibility is the opposite experience; embarrassment, personal loss, danger, loss of a dream or even death. What is it about the front end of an adventure that quickens us though? You see, unless there were hope of some positive life change in us, we likely would not risk being thought a fool.

I was visiting recently with some close friends who adopted twins. They stood on the liminal threshold of hope for these new family additions presaging a major change in their family rhythm. They trusted that with God’s help and blessing they could provide love, security and care to a pair who never could have hope without someone’s open heart and a hand up. A few years after winning custody and two beautiful, grateful children the adventure still holds challenging, unanswered issues. They, as all of us do, must remind themselves that they embarked on this adventure full of hope, confident of God’s direction and hearts filled with love for two of His dear children. As an observer can only cite what he sees, I must say that I believe this adventure has served to bring them greater faith, dependence on and relationship with God.

A review of my own story places me both in the middle of an adventure and the not yet of a dynamic narrative still to be written. With hope we all advance into tomorrow, the great unknown, possessing only faith that our story will leave a Jesus legacy that includes trusting Him explicitly for the outcome that brings the most glory to Him.

Everything we read and hear about Jesus in His-story involves a dynamic life. Movement, not a static, congealed existence. At the intersection of crisis and a word or touch from Jesus, amazing, super- (beyond or above) natural adventures were manifested. These occurred wherever Jesus travelled and he was gone from home all the time, on his adventure.

“The church should be one of the most adventurous places on earth–the locus of all quest(s), the . . . Jesus community at the very forefront of what God is doing in the world.” Michael Frost; Alan Hirsch, Faith of Leap. They continue; “When we consider the biblical stories that have inspired the people of God throughout the ages, we find that they are stories involving adventures of the spirit in the context of challenge. In fact, that is exactly why they inspire.”

We must be explorers seeking new venues of Spirit activity. We must continually ask questions, for that is our destiny. When Christianity stops its quest because it is satisfied in the security of the known, it will die. The “known” is that qualified, quantifiable, corralled body of predictability that becomes stagnant and spoils; like the manna hoarded by the Israelites on that great forty-year adventure. Leaving the tamed with the timid, we must press forward to undis-covered joys and unrealized experiences on this adventurous quest; a quest of mission, which is our missio Dei.

What adventure lights a fire inside your spirit? Dream a little. Want to tutor some poor kids? Does mentoring men to be great men of The God Adventure and great husbands inspire you? How about joining a skydiving team to share life and Jesus’ love of risk? Get together with a group of senior ladies; listen to their stories and wisdom while you share faith and a skein of yarn. Take some friends with you to help clean up a trashy beach. Doesn’t sound spiritual enough? This generation loves a cause and wants to believe in something greater than petty, polarizing political or spiritual tiffs. They want what they do to matter and make a difference. And, don’t we all?

The adventure begins . . . now get out there, inspire others and really live.