Walking Mornings

It takes determination to get out of bed on a walking morning. Every other day of the week is not so difficult, but always, a walking morning struggles with me.

Perhaps it is a mind game, but life feels weightier on those mornings. I am setting about to do some work in that walking, and the burden of my neighborhood thunders down on my belly.  A murmur at my ear says, "Just sleep today, maybe tomorrow will be more fitting." As I reject that idea, another advances,  "You are wasting your time with this useless activity. You have a lot of other things to do today."

How true that feels, but I know better than to trust my feelings. Feelings often defy the truth.  They are fickle, inconsistent friends. This walking feels so unfruitful, but then, we are about unseen work, aren't we? This walking is for rough places made smooth and the crooked made straight. We are not struggling against flesh and blood, root and earth. We are about eternal business on these walks.

I tie up the laces and close the door behind me.

Where do we go today? Turn right at the corner, walk down this street.

What do I see this time around?

This neighborhood is so foreign, but I need it to become home. Home worth fighting for. These residents are a mystery, but I hope they become MY neighbors and I wish to neighbor them. These walks are transforming my eyes to see rightly.

What do you want me to lift into your hands today?

Look down. Liquor bottles, cheap and little, litter my path. Perhaps forty or fifty along the sidewalk in this two mile walk. Ah Lord, the addiction runs so deep and for so many generations. The claws go in so far... throw this mountain into the sea. Please save these families, restore the soul. Help them to fight back.

And what of those barren yards, more weed and dirt than grass? Who is neglected in that home? Lord, love them, come to them, show me how to love them well.

See those ramps for the aged and infirm? See the aging of this neighborhood? Please, Father, bring healing and joy to the shut-in. Help me to learn them, walk alongside them.

What of these flowers and trees and manicured lawns? Praise you, Father, for people who have interest in making beauty. Encourage them to be light in this community. Help them to have kind and humble hearts.

Will you lift up these churches? Come, Lord Jesus, be in our presence. Be high and lifted up in these places. Move mountains through your people.

See how graffiti smears these fences, the tokens of gang and violence? Please, please bring your peace here. Help the disenfranchised. Remove the drugs. Light a desire for a future, for a different life, for freedom.

Notice these schools? Please Lord, provide for these children. Help them to grow. Give them nurturing teachers and parents. Protect them from harm. Keep them safe. Teach them truth. Help them to know their value.

Hear those angered voices? Please, Father, destroy the violence in the home. Remove hearts of stone and make flesh. Provide for the finances, bring work to this community.

See the skin tones, tan and chocolate next to your white? Lord, the festering scar of racism runs deep and wide. Please heal the wounds of this community. Justified resentments drip from a glance. Bring forgiveness, Lord. Make me an instrument of your peace.

See your neighbors? I will make a way for you. I will show you how to love, and help you step into what you do not understand and cannot control. I will take you beyond yourself and you will see my glory in this place. You will see my goodness in the land of the living. I answer prayer.

Lord, bless my people.

And then I walk up to my front stoop, and close the door on another walking morning.

Beware the Side Effects of the Right Hand

My knee has taken on a clicking noise. Kind of like castanets, but not nearly as nice. It's one of the many signs that my body is not as resilient as it used to be. In other words, my flesh is slowly failing. I know that it will only become more apparent as I age.

And some days, my heart fails me too. Sometimes I am filled with doubts about God. Sometimes I struggle with anxious thoughts, sorrow, confusion and inconsistency. Life gives my soul an occasional beating.

Have I depressed you yet? Good. Because what I really want to talk about is JOY.

Joy in pajamas, circa 1983

Lucky for me, JOY has nothing to do with what is happening to my body or heart. It's not something I can attain for myself at all, and I have to say, you can't attain it either. It only comes one way.

(And to clear up any confusion, JOY is not about feeling happy.  JOY means peaceful, hope-filled, inner contentedness that stays with you regardless of what is happening in your life. It is much bigger and better than happiness.)

JOY is a side effect.

JOY is inevitable when you really begin to understand the state of things. Come, take a mental walk with me.

We live in a messy world.  Within ourselves we are a messy mix of good and bad motives with the consequent inconsistent behavior. Our good-will is circumstantial, and we cannot be good enough for heaven.
What does "good enough" even mean? By whose standard is that judged? Scary to think that each individual would determine it. What if your neighbor's version of "good enough" included robbing your house? No, we can't be so relative about it. We are biased, unfit judges.

No, there is a standard outside of us, and that standard is perfection. Heaven is a perfect place and only perfection is allowable there. Met any perfect people lately? Me neither. All that is wrong in us sticks like unscrubbable dirt. We cannot make ourselves clean, no matter how much good we do. Our presence in heaven would be like a stain on white cloth. So we are a bit stuck, or at least we would be but for this beautiful truth. Here is the beginning of JOY.

God loves us and wants us close to him. He has made a way. He does the cleaning. He does for us what we cannot do.

"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my life and my portion forever." Psalm 73:26

"He saw that there was no man, and wondered that there was no one to intercede; then his own arm brought him salvation, and his righteousness upheld him." Isaiah 59:16 

"Now I know the Lord saves his anointed; He answers him from his holy heaven with the saving power of his right hand." Psalm 20:6 

It is the saving power of his right hand, his arm. The "right hand" is used in the Bible to mean authority, power, strength. How did he use this for our benefit? How does his right hand save us?

Isaiah tells us:

"Who has believed our message, and to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?"

"Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed."53:1, 4-5

In other words, His "right hand" suffered the consequences for us, in our place, to make heaven available to us. He came as a man, Jesus Christ, to take away the sins of the world. We are saved by the power of his sacrifice. As Jesus was being condemned to die for us, they demanded, "Tell us if you are the Christ, the Son of God." And he replied:

"Yes, it is as you say. But I say to all of you: In the future you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven." Matthew 26: 64

This is where the JOY really takes hold. After he ascended into heaven, Stephen, Peter, Paul and John all talk about his being there, seated at the right hand of God.

For example, Paul tells us in Romans that Jesus is at the right hand of God interceeding (pleading) for us (8:34). It is what he promised to do seven hundred years prior in Isaiah, where it is written that he made intercession for the transgressors and bore their sin (53:12). Stephen, as he was being stoned to death, saw a vision of Jesus at the right hand, and it filled him with such peace that he asked Jesus to forgive those who were killing him (Acts 7:55-59).

I think Stephen felt peace because he knew that Jesus was for him, mediating for him, bearing the brunt of any wrong that he had committed in his lifetime.  In the face of death, he didn't have to worry, because in Jesus, Stephen was made perfect. Stephen could be with God because Jesus had stepped in to save him.

That is a cause for deep JOY. If we only accept his sacrifice for us, Jesus makes us fit for heaven, fit to live forever in the presence of God. He, the right arm of God, has made us clean. Through Jesus, it is possible to be close to this perfect, loving, creator God. It is possible to really know him and talk to him, to enjoy Him. JOY! And heaven is all about enjoying God. (This is a brilliant gift- but I'm afraid if you don't want this, you probably don't want to go to heaven either.)

What on earth can steal this JOY from you? Nothing. No bad thing you do can override your perfection in Christ Jesus. No bad thing can separate you from His loving presence. No loss or need can make your place in heaven less secure. JOY!  You have the love of God to bolster you in any misery, and his promise to turn all things to good for you. JOY! You have been given life forever with a perfect and beautiful God- no earthly happiness can come close. JOY!

JOY is a side effect of being close to God through Jesus Christ. Ingrain this in your heart and mind. Do not forget it. It is a deep treasure of your life.

"You have made known to me the path of life, you will fill me with JOY in your presence, with eternal pleasures at YOUR RIGHT HAND." Psalm 16:11

"Do not fear for I am with you. Do not anxiously look about you, for I AM your God. I will help you, surely I will strengthen, surely I will uphold you with MY RIGHTEOUS RIGHT HAND." Isaiah 41:10

Via Crucis

Hello there!
Happy Holy week to you. Sorry for leaving the sonnets up there for so long.

If you are in Denver, perhaps you'll have a chance this week (or month) to visit an art show called Via Crucis (Way of the Cross) that is being held at Now Artspace on Tennyson St. (Link:Via Crucis)

It is a modern representation of the stations of the cross and the grand opening is tomorrow night. I have created a painting for Station 14: Jesus is buried.
It's based on photos from friends that were in Haiti after the 2010 earthquake. Here is a quick preview.

Jesus is Buried, Acrylic on Canvas, 30"x40"

When I though about what it meant for Jesus' followers to bury Him that terrible friday, the words that came to mind were: devastation, catastrophe, unimaginable loss and hopelessness. They did not know that Sunday morning would dawn with the Son of glory back in their midsts. 

I felt that the survivors of the Haitian earthquake felt much the same thing. Their world had collapsed and yet, they were left behind trying to pick up the pieces. I tried to capture the varying responses to tragedy: overwhelming sorrow, despondency and shock, confused sadness, and insufficient attempts to make things better.

The proceeds of this painting will go towards the continuing work of my friends and their church to help the people of Haiti recover from this tragedy.

Move over, Jon Donne!

Not really. Not even close. But I was looking through some old sketchbooks and found these sonnets I wrote a long time ago.

I know. Sonnets. Iambic pentameter and all. I suppose this reveals something about what I do with my free time.

Anyway, here they are. They are not good poetry, but the insights surprised me a little bit.  (And a warning, they have a lot of O's and thy's and whatnot. I forgot what century I belonged too.)

Shadow Man, Shadow Woman

O shadow man where lies your weary soul?

Thy lady veiled awaits a fallen mask,

So Truth may speak and honest question ask

Sans repercussive fears in heart to toll.

O shadow woman, awkward as a foal, 

Release thy timid steps to canter free.

'Neath shroud, thy form your suitor cannot see,

Or tread the path which light does not extol

O son and daughter, Eden's offspring cursed,

A barricade of shame doth separate,

And sinful wounds with arrows prick pure love,

Each slung by minds askew with lies well nursed.

O Rescuer, redeem our wretched fate! 

Unite and Cleanse, O Father, Son and Dove!

(Didn't I warn you about the language? But it does have some truth in it. )

Isolation

Why, Jack, do mumbles fall across your lips

And dribble down your bristled, unshorn  beard?

Among your tombs, a mind encased, afeared;

You dwell alone, with phobos your thoughts drip.

What brought you to this sorry, unwashed state,

Where reason left a vacant room inside?

In living death your broken soul resides.

Innert to love, true joys no longer wait.

What can I do? Though you my neighbor be,

Sufficient word or deed remains unknown.

Your shroud no human work can sure remove, 

No earthly salve can make your blind eye see.

But in the darkness, you walk not alone.

I pray your freedom by His perfect love.

(I think I was hoping to bring back the word "shroud" into everyday language. Every good sonnet needs a shroud.)

This one was literally for an old, senile neighbor of mine. I think he might have been a Vietnam Vet. No electricity, no running water, a house overgrown with weeds and dead wood.  His property abutted a beautiful estate where I worked. The contrast was remarkable. He was a difficult man. Obviously I was at a loss at how to love him well.

So there you go. God alone can reconcile the sexes, and prayerfully hope for your neighbor's redemption, no matter how far gone he is.

...And remember to include 'shroud' in a few of your sonnets.

No, I'm not Tina Turner.

When I was six years old, I went to a party for a young friend. In my little party-favor bag was a keychain that proclaimed, "No, I'm not Tina Turner". This was quite a thoughtful gift because, as you can see from these pictures, many people were mistaking me for Tina Turner, and the keychain would help set them to rights.  

Tina Turner, circa 1984

Beth, age 6 

It was on my house key for years, drawing awkward stares from people who had no intention of confusing me with Tina Turner. 

I was reminded of my honest keychain recently, and it has me thinking about mistaken identity (perhaps of a more believable nature).

I attend an art class for adults. The teacher is a very dear woman, but she has this crazy notion that I am very sophisticated and elegant.  I wonder how her opinion might change if she saw me rushing out the door in the morning, dropping my egg and toast on the patio, picking it up, brushing it off, and eating it anyway. Appearances can be so deceiving.

My husband and I often joke about the proverbial "hall pass" given to those who look like they have it together. If you look squeaky clean and well kept, many will assume that you have got your life in order. On the other hand, those who are a little rough around the edges, have the "wrong" skin or hair, wrong clothes, carry a few extra pounds... well, good luck to them. 

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."  Antoine de Saint-Exupery

But who truly sees with the heart? Who is it that knows us rightly? Who are we, really? 

For those who celebrate Lent, Ash Wednesday was yesterday, and my husband and I went to a night service.  I love these forty days, culminating in the passion week and Resurrection. On Ash Wednesday, Lent begins with the reminder that we are dust, destined to experience death, caught by the curse of sin.

I went forward and received my mark, a cross of ashes on my forehead. The missteps of the week flooded my mind. All these petty, angry, selfish, fearful thoughts and actions played out before me.   Even the good deeds were tinged with pride and self-congratulation.  A slew of failures.

So this is who I am. Dust and Ashes. A piece of clay, full of cracks. 

But the Cross. It is a cross of ashes, a cross for ashes. The cross to save us... because make no mistake, we need saving. We are a compendium of private and public failures, trapped by inevitable death. 

The Cross for ashes. The great love symbol. The symbol of the One who sees with the heart, knows us completely, and loves us anyway.

So this is who I am. Beloved. Sought after. Saved by gracious love.

I place myself beneath the cross, a beggar with nothing to offer, so that I may be filled with Love again. And perhaps then this ash and clay, full of cracks, will show God's glory. 

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us." 2 Corinthians 4:7 

I think it's safe to say that no one will ever mistake me for Tina Turner, but maybe, on a very good day, when I have surrendered afresh, someone will see my cracks and mistake me for Christ. 

Meditation Exercise: A Testament

This reflection was created by a Jesuit from India named Anthony De Mello. It's intended to help us live more reflectively. I think it's worth doing with people we care about, a spouse, sibling, friend... And it's worth doing between ourselves and God, to take stock of who we have been, and who we are now. Perhaps you can take a moment, and think about one or two of the "points" listed below. 

A Testament

I imagine that today I am to die.
I ask for time to be alone and write down for my friends a sort of testament.  The following points could serve as chapter titles.

1. These things I have loved in life:
    Things I tasted,
    looked at,
    smelled,
    heard,
    touched.

2.  These experiences I have cherished:

3. These ideas have brought me liberation:

4. These beliefs I have outgrown:

5. These convictions I have lived by:

6. These are things I have lived for:

7. These insights I have gained in the school of life:
    Insights into God,
    the world,
    human nature,
    Jesus Christ,
    love,
    religion,
    prayer.

8. These risks I took,
            these dangers I courted:

9. These sufferings have seasoned me:

10. These lessons life has taught me:

11. These influences have shaped my life
            (persons, occupations, books, events):

12. These scripture texts have lit my path:

13. These things I regret about my life:

14. These are my life's achievements:

15. These people are enshrined within my heart:

16. These are my unfulfilled desires:

I choose an ending for this document:
       a poem-- my own or someone else's;
       or a prayer;
       a sketch or a picture from a magazine;
       a scripture text;
       or anything that I judge would be an apt conclusion to my testament.


 (taken from Hearts on Fire: Praying with the Jesuits)

Got an Anxious on your back?

My Anxious

It is so easy to acquire an Anxious. All you need is something to worry about, an unknown with some negative possibilities attached, and presto! An Anxious can be yours.

I made mine fuzzy purple and green. Although cutely muppet-like, make no mistake, it is heavy. And it hangs on.

It thinks it's so welcome because of all those dire circumstances. It makes itself at home on my forehead when I try to go to sleep. It tags along in the car, reminding me that there could be dark clouds on the horizon.  It sits with me over tea, categorizing all the ways that something bad can happen. Its favorite phrase is "What if..?", but never with a nice outcome.

It really is a nuisance, this Anxious.

I know that for some folks, an Anxious is the result of a little faulty brain chemistry, eased quickly with a bit of medical help.

But my Anxious capitalizes on another faulty brain system: my memory.  I am so forgetful sometimes.  I forget that I am on a journey with a very good God, who loves me better than anyone else ever could. I forget that my big Father knows what is good for me and had made certain promises to me, like "I will never leave you or forsake you...I will help you, I will strengthen you, I will hold you up with my righteous right hand... I will work out all things for the good of those who love me... Every good and perfect gift comes from me.... I am your refuge, and nothing can separate you from my love."

When storm clouds start their ominous rumble, I forget all these true things.  I also forget that this Savior-Friend of mine has a track record of faithfulness. Even when my life has been horrible, he finds a way to make something beautiful. He has always provided for me. He's always taught me something new and important. He's never let me down... but I forget.

I forget all those things and the Anxious seizes an opportunity to latch on to my cable-knit for a ride.

I suppose I'm a slow learner. What was it that all those old testament prophets and patriarchs always said? Remember... Remember how your clothing and shoes did not wear out? Remember that sea, parting for your freedom when you thought all was lost?  Remember the child, promised and delivered in old age? Remember?  What was it that those New Testament disciples kept proclaiming? Remember... Remember how he fed 5000 people with so little food? Remember how he healed that woman, stopping to listen to her history of woe? Remember Lazarus coming out of that tomb? Remember "It is finished!" and "I have overcome the world"? Remember?

But if I really want to get the Anxious off my back, I have to do more than remember.  I have to trust. Trust that He who began a good work will bring it to completion. Trust that he will lead me if I will follow, and he never goes the wrong way. If I can remember his faithfulness, and commit my heart to trust him, that Anxious hasn't got a snowflake's chance in hell.

I need to remember. I need to trust.  Those things that hover threateningly? God is not surprised or frightened by them.  He's pretty big, you know, bigger than any ill wind or night terror. So if I am with him, hiding out under that big arm, holding that big hand, I don't need to worry about a thing.

I really can be anxious for nothing. I just need to remember the truth and trust it... He has always, always, always been faithful.

I love him, and oh man, I KNOW he loves me.  He is such a good God.