tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27146462637681496742024-02-19T07:01:34.137-08:00The Wilds of WonderInstructions for living a life: pay attention; be astonished; tell about it. ~ Mary OliverKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13089699980849579199noreply@blogger.comBlogger123125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-68786231837334894562021-02-25T03:28:00.002-08:002021-02-25T03:28:23.756-08:00Sir Gawain and 10th Grade Boys<p> "Never forget that you're teaching the students, not the subject."</p><p>I'd heard teachers say this my whole life and mentally assented, but now, after several years in the classroom, I get it in a whole different way. </p><p>In my current job, I teach three rounds of the exact same lesson plan each day. As much as I may love my material (and I do love a lot of it), even I can admit that it could get boring fast, especially the third time around. </p><p>But it doesn't, because even though the material is familiar to me, it's always new to my students. And I can never know for sure how they will respond. Sure, I can predict and prepare and attempt to lead them to a particular response to the subject. I can generally predict which students will make profound comments, connections that I might not even have thought of. But when it all comes down to it, I don't know what any of my students will say when they raise their hand and I call on them. Sometimes we will be in the middle of a great and (I think) captivating discussion. I'll call on an astute student who's had his hand up, and instead of making an insightful comment, he'll ask to go to the bathroom. Other times, the students who usually spout banalities will actually have something really interesting to contribute. I truly never know what to expect - and that's what keeps this interesting. </p><p>In 10th grade Medieval Literature, we started the semester off with <i>Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</i>, which is such a fun book to teach. It includes elements of the eerie and supernatural (one of the first scenes is a giant green knight getting beheaded, picking his head up off the floor, issuing a challenge to his assailant, and galloping from the scene on a green horse). But it also includes a lot of questions about reputation vs. character, best intentions vs. actions, obvious temptation that we avoid and insidious temptation that hamstrings us before we know what's happened. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOmJwvKQSQGJ5tHbxq-4D4Yjj5k2ViCavbftyTH4_OFuSWsnRGZj2JdnHJumWRRb7ysmsjsMKPGgatgV_exxRdT53wilQzyH8C_-pJsyN6OzPeZRUVJXZYjvHmAcJpv6zt6mC_Nl_sY_J/s2048/SGGK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOmJwvKQSQGJ5tHbxq-4D4Yjj5k2ViCavbftyTH4_OFuSWsnRGZj2JdnHJumWRRb7ysmsjsMKPGgatgV_exxRdT53wilQzyH8C_-pJsyN6OzPeZRUVJXZYjvHmAcJpv6zt6mC_Nl_sY_J/w640-h480/SGGK.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>The central episode of the book involves Sir Gawain, our hero, visiting a castle and being accosted early in the morning on three successive days by the wife of his host. She is ravishingly beautiful, skimpily dressed, and very obviously throwing herself at Gawain, who has to walk a fine line between maintaining his virtue and not offending his host and hostess in a very remote location. </p><p>This is a fun lesson to teach. </p><p>I usually start off by sitting on some poor 10th grade boy's desk and getting a little too close for his comfort - just close enough to make him uncomfortable and to make his classmates laugh, but nothing inappropriate. I then remind them that this discomfort is NOTHING compared to what Gawain is facing, in his bed in his skivvies early in the morning with his ravishingly beautiful married hostess almost literally pinning him down so he can't just run. </p><p>Then I ask them what they would do if they were Sir Gawain. </p><p>"Remind her politely that she's already married." (He tried that and it didn't work.)</p><p>"Politely ask her to leave, and if she doesn't, firmly assist her from the room." (That would be great, but he's not decently attired, which makes this a complicated endeavor.)</p><p>"Wrap the sheet around himself and run!" (Like Joseph with Potiphar's wife. Oh wait, five of my students don't know this story. We can't have that. Brief segue to recap the story of Joseph and Potiphar's wife.)</p><p>In my third class of the day, with my supervisor in the room for my formal observation, one of the students I enjoy the most for his confidence and engagement and complete unpredictability, stands up, shrugs his shoulders, grins (I know it's impish, even beneath the mask), and says "I mean...well..."</p><p>I prompt him to use his words please. </p><p>"Well...I mean..." he shrugs again, "I'd probably just go with the flow." </p><p>"Go with the flow how? Like Gawain did? Walking the line between courteousness and virtue and somehow pulling it off?"</p><p>He shrugs and grins again. "I mean...well...it's consent..."</p><p>Split second of silence, and then I hear a short burst of laughter from my supervisor. Bless her - she's taught high schoolers for years and raised three of them - nothing takes her by surprise. Then the class is metaphorically in an uproar. Laughing, incredulous, sheepishly agreeing, attacking the spokesperson, who can totally handle it. </p><p>I'm laughing too, rolling my eyes, and thanking the Lord for the opportunity to engage with these crazy, dear, thoughtful teenagers. This is my kind of conversation. </p><p>"Ok...well, by our culture's standards, unfortunately, that's all that's required to make this acceptable. But what's wrong with this?"</p><p>Classmates chime in.</p><p>"She's married!"</p><p>So?</p><p>"It's against the code of chivalry!"</p><p>"It could hurt Gawain on his quest!"</p><p>"Rumors could spread and ruin his reputation!"</p><p>I nod, affirm the answers, and ask, "What else?"</p><p>Crickets. </p><p>"Y'all. Chivalry is a cultural code that we left behind hundreds of years ago. If this were just about violating the code of chivalry, then if Gawain lived today, it would be totally acceptable for him to "go with the flow." After all, in our culture, consenting adults basically get to do whatever they want. But culture doesn't determine morality. God does. And God says over and over again throughout the Bible that adultery is wrong. Period. That's what's so dangerous about this situation. The Lady isn't just tempting him to violate a cultural code; she's tempting him to violate the law of God."</p><p>They have quieted down now, and they're listening. But I can see that they still think this is just about Gawain and a lady in some long-ago, far away castle. </p><p>So I tell them, "Y'all. This is about us. You might never have thought about this, but I'll tell you straight: many of the people I respect most in the world have been 'propositioned' at some point in their lives. And they had to decide how to respond. Were they going to slip into that sin and excuse it, or were they going to stay committed to their morals? We're all going to face times like this, and it might not be nearly as obvious as the Lady was."</p><p>Now I have their complete attention. I can see them processing. Thinking. This was an unexpected turn. So I let it sink in, and then I move on to the next part of the lesson. </p><p>I don't teach the subject. I teach the students. I truly never know what my students will say, or what avenue of conversation will open up on any given day. </p><p>In the world of literature, we talk often about the idea of cultivating a moral imagination. It's the idea that moral formation is about so much more than a list of do's and don'ts. It's about helping students imagine what it would be like to be in morally complicated situations, and then giving them the opportunities to see how protagonists respond to those situations. Sometimes the protagonists do the right thing; sometimes they don't. Either way, it gives the students a safe space to think through the ramifications of different responses to different kinds of situations. Then, hopefully, that will cultivate their ability and desire to act rightly in their own lives. Will any of my students be accosted in a castle by a ravishingly beautiful medieval woman? Nope. But might they face situations at college parties or later in life that are equally morally compromising? Yep. And my hope is that this conversation will stick for some of my students, and that when they end up in those situations, they will remember not only the biblical commandments about sexual purity, but also the example of people like Sir Gawain, who remained steadfast in a very sticky situation.</p><p>But the beautiful thing about <i>Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</i> is that while it's about moral fortitude, it also deals with moral failure. Gawain stays faithful when up against the Lady's temptation, but he falls in another way later in the book. He is crushed. But rather than staying crushed, he humbles himself, admits his mistake, and vows to always wear a memento of his sin to keep him humble. Gawain went on to accomplish many daring feats and adventures, but rather than getting puffed up by pride, he remembered his human frailty and depended on the character of his Savior rather than his own gleaming reputation. That, too, is something I hope my students will remember when they fail. I hope they will confess, repent, remember, and move forward to do great things in the grace of God. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-90972361278387261932021-02-07T12:27:00.000-08:002021-02-07T12:27:27.817-08:00rational and loving conversations: an approach to disagreement<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm12F1lzFJIpm05EGR51dQ7N1lV7AFUbvYSdUwD6rxTd5hJ3zzoxfTwUHxlAYBc8uwPUgKuE75LraCwgsyTlMNPp1h0EFnqJbrvGIjUPryzoTvUDhJXPHYiy_1frC2J44ZFEb4XjnMolLS/s2048/F6ACDE93-3C47-4C08-A8B9-7D366B5190EA.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm12F1lzFJIpm05EGR51dQ7N1lV7AFUbvYSdUwD6rxTd5hJ3zzoxfTwUHxlAYBc8uwPUgKuE75LraCwgsyTlMNPp1h0EFnqJbrvGIjUPryzoTvUDhJXPHYiy_1frC2J44ZFEb4XjnMolLS/w400-h400/F6ACDE93-3C47-4C08-A8B9-7D366B5190EA.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">{Painting from <a href="https://www.instagram.com/glimpse.art/" target="_blank">Glimpse Art</a>}</span></div><p>"There have been other things you have posted over the last few years that I took violent exception to but I didn't say anything about. And I probably won't again." </p><p>When I read this Instagram DM from a dear longtime friend, my first emotion was sadness. Not exactly sadness that we disagree - sadness for missed opportunities to gain a new perspective and challenge my own thinking. </p><p>These came in the middle of a long and somewhat heated exchange about something I'd reposted. The specifics aren't important for the purposes of this post. Suffice it to say that my friend challenged the logic and presuppositions of what I'd posted and pointed out implications that I hadn't thought about. I'm so grateful for her willingness to engage with me. </p><p><b>While the broad brushstrokes of my opinion haven't changed, as a result of our conversation, I have more questions that I want to pursue answers to, a more nuanced understanding of the complexity of the issue, and a healthy, concrete example of my own fallibility in inadvertently communicating things that I didn't mean to. </b></p><p>If you know me well, you probably know that I tend to live in a world of big ideas, literature, and philosophical ideas. Current events? Not my thing. At all. Too emotional. Too divisive. And, frankly, way too time-consuming and overwhelming for me to keep up with. Plus, in my mind, current events are things of the moment, while my beloved books help me tap into conversations that have been ongoing for centuries.</p><p><b>But I'd have to be a special kind of ostrich to have kept my head in the sand during the Year of Our Lord 2020. </b></p><p>As I've begun to educate myself on a lot of issues and begun to develop my understanding of them, I initially limited conversations to close friends and immediate family members who I could expect to have a moderately similar perspective to my own. It was a safe space to process, and the kinds of issues that I've been processing can be highly emotional and divisive, so I wanted to play it safe. </p><p>But then I was convicted. As I've watched the polarization of media and politics spiral out of control, I and many of my friends and colleagues have bemoaned the lack of healthy civil discourse in our country. <b>Why can't we have rational and loving conversations about divisive issues and seek at a minimum to understand the other side, even if we can't reach an agreement?</b></p><p><b>Then I realized that if I want things to change, I have to start seeking out those kinds of conversations. </b></p><p><b>I realized that my effort to avoid these sorts of conversations is, in many cases, much more telling of my failures than the failures of those who disagree with me.</b> When I imagined opening conversations with specific people, my gut reactions were "I know what they have to say is going to make me so angry" and "I don't know nearly enough about this to defend my opinions to someone who disagrees with me." Guess what? Both of those things are my problem: <b>I need to work through not feeling personally affronted when my ideas are challenged, and I need to have the wherewithal to put in the legwork to actually know what I'm talking about. I</b> also need to be ok to admit when I don't have an answer and need to revisit the conversation later, after I've done more research.</p><p>So, slowly, I've started engaging in conversations with people who I value highly and also disagree with on some pretty key issues. Sometimes I initiate the conversation. Other times, a conversation lands in my lap (or, rather, an email lands in my inbox), and I have to formulate a response to an issue that I didn't really intend to address. </p><p><b>My primary goal in these conversations is not to win the other person over to my opinion (though of course it would make me happy if that eventually happens). Rather, it is to learn to understand their perspective and, hopefully, give them a gracious and well-articulated defense of my ideas so that they can also understand my perspective. Sometimes one (or both) of us end up with a slightly different perspective than we started with. Always, I want them to walk away knowing how much I love them, and that however big a disagreement might seem, it's small potatoes compared to how much I value the relationship.</b></p><p>I'm new at this. I've made mistakes. And that's scary, because I really like to be right. But more than that, I really like my relationships to be in a comfortable place, and these conversations are not comfortable. But they are ultimately much more productive than just skating around uncomfortable issues. </p><p>This summer, <a href="https://oursavorylife.com" target="_blank">Bri McKoy</a> was talking about her own learning process in starting to speak up about some things she thinks are important but that can be divisive. She admitted that she felt like a beginner and that that's intimidating, because beginners make mistakes. She's a recipe blogger and cookbook author, and she compared the experience to her early forays into cooking. She forgot to salt her chicken SO MANY TIMES that when she finally remembered to salt her chicken, she felt like a huge success and posted the recipe on her blog. Now, she says, she would never recommend that recipe. But then, for baby cook Bri, it was a really big deal. And she could not have become the excellent cook she is today without being a beginner in the kitchen and making all sorts of beginner mistakes like not salting your meat. </p><p>The moral of her story was that <b>if we want to learn something challenging, the ONLY way to get there is by going through the beginner phase. There is no way to skip this phase. It's part of the learning process. </b>Essentially, she was reminding me to give myself permission to flop. As long as I picked myself up, dusted myself off, made the necessary apologies and kept trying afterward. </p><p>I took a couple of days to respond to my friend's Instagram DMs. I know that people tend to bemoan the effects of communicating digitally rather than via face-to-face, but <b>I found myself grateful that we were having this conversation online rather than in person.</b> It gave both of us space to reflect and consider before responding. I know I needed that; my friend wasn't attacking me, but I felt attacked. I don't know how the conversation would have gone if we had been face-to-face, but I don't think I would have been happy with my response. <b>I would have been defensive, and probably focused on the details of disagreements rather than operating from what I know is our common ground: a love of Jesus and a desire to love his people well in a crazy complicated world. </b></p><p>If I know my friends disagree with me on important issues and just ignore it and avoid those subjects, that does not necessarily contribute to Christian unity. In fact, if I don't give the people I love the opportunity to share their opinions with me, then it's easy to forget that the people "out there" who have those opinions are often thoughtful, nuanced, complex people with perspectives that I can learn from. <b>Now, there are times to agree to disagree and move on. Sometimes that's the healthy course of action. But not always; avoiding a subject is not the same thing as living in unity with one another. </b></p><p>And can we talk about unity for a moment? It's a catchword right now, and a word that shows up often with regard to Christian community. Psalm 133 starts "Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity." It's a beautiful and biblical idea, but often I think our understanding of unity is impoverished. I was listening to Dr. Lucretia Berry recently, and she pointed out that often we interpret "unity" to mean "uniformity" - complete agreement and an identical approach to issues. This is the understanding of unity that leads to silencing conversation on complex issues, because we fear that lack of uniformity in an approach to something means disunity. </p><p>But what if that's not what unity means? Dr. Berry pointed out that the New Living Translation, among others, translates that verse, "How wonderful and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in harmony!"</p><p>Harmony only happens when there are different voices singing different melodies. Same goal - pursuing Christ's kingdom - different approaches. <b>Differing voices - differing opinions - don't have to be the clamor of discord. </b>They can come together into the richness and beauty of harmony. </p><p>I've recently started following <a href="https://www.instagram.com/sharonsaysso/" target="_blank">Sharon McMahon</a> on Instagram. She's a government teacher on a campaign to start a gracious, fact-based conversation about all things current events (and whales). She's an invaluable resource, and I've really appreciated her perspective on how to approach disagreement. One thing that she says over and over and over again is that "we cannot work for the opposition's destruction." In our current political climate, it's easy for Republicans to think that life would be so much easier if the Democrats disappeared, and for Democrats to think the same about Republicans. But here's the thing: <b>communities that eliminate the opposition turn dictatorial very fast. Healthy democracies - and healthy communities - learn how to listen to one another, understand the other side, and work together in the face of strong disagreement. </b></p><p>What if, instead of being afraid of tension and disagreement, we entered into it with the hope of harmony? Especially among believers, we know that our goal is Christ and his kingdom. Christians have been disagreeing since Jesus called the first disciples - but what if instead of avoiding that disagreement, we entered into it with the desire to learn from one another and grow together?<br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-5592851575191514242020-06-25T17:46:00.000-07:002020-06-25T17:46:07.315-07:00My Soul Shelf: A Tribute<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;">The professor that had the most impact on my faith and vocation is a dynamite American lit professor named Christina Bieber Lake. I could rave endlessly about how the way she teaches and lives shaped me, but that's not the purpose of this post. Suffice it to say that when I saw this scrawled on a bulletin board in a dorm my junior year I thought that the Bieber was referring to Dr. Bieber, as her students call her. </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">Alas - most people are as untouched by her influence as I am untouched by the Justin Bieber fandom. Their loss. One of my best friends and I have declared that Dr. Bieber and Dr. Mazzarella (one of the other professors in the English department) are our spirit animals and we will be a dynamic duo like them when we grow up and achieve our professorial dreams. </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br />Anyway. Dr. Bieber wrote a book that just came out this month:<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="https://bookshop.org/books/the-flourishing-teacher-vocational-renewal-for-a-sacred-profession/9780830852840" style="color: #954f72;" target="_blank"><i>The Flourishing Teacher: Vocational Renewal for a Sacred Profession</i>.</a><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I preordered it, squealed when it arrived in the mail, and read it in four days. It's a mix of wit and wisdom - practical and spiritual - for the teaching life. Though, to be honest, I would give it to just about anybody because it's basically just a good perspective on life in general. I laughed and nodded and underlined and cried and wrote notes in the margins that only I or friends who actually took her classes would understand. </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br />That was the huge gift of this book - I got to see how Dr. Bieber approaches teaching very deliberately and that the impact that she had on me and my friends was not by chance. I got to marvel anew at the privilege I had of sitting under her as a college student - and of being able to learn from her again as a new teacher, since she is one of the main reasons I figured out I was supposed to teach in the first place.</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br />One of the many life-giving tips Dr. Bieber gives in her book is to build what she calls a soul shelf - a shelf of the books that you can always count on to rejuvenate, inspire, and give your soul rest.</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br />Being the good student that I am (and also being someone who never needs to be told twice to rearrange a bookshelf as a good pastime), I went and built my soul shelf this afternoon. It only took me about 10 minutes, because I know the books that speak to me like that - I just had to collect them on one shelf. It makes me happy just looking at it. </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /></span></b>Dr. Bieber ordered her soul shelf according to three categories:<span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Beauty -"What makes me remember that my life here is a gift of immeasurable beauty?"<span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Simplicity - "What helps me recognize that it is possible to live in the present moment in peace and the fullness of joy?"<span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Love - "What inspires me to come out of myself and cultivate a healthy love for others?"<span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Now. These are lovely and very helpful categories. I fully intended to order this list according to them as a handy reference for anyone who stumbles across it. However. Most of the books on my soul shelf fall into at least two of them, and there are many that belong in all three categories.<span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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So here they are. In an order that makes sense to me. Some of them are already on <a href="https://thewildsofwonder.blogspot.com/p/the-bookshelf-alphabetical.html" style="color: #954f72;" target="_blank">The Bookshelf</a>, while others are new to me in the two years since I created that list. I'll add those to <a href="https://thewildsofwonder.blogspot.com/p/the-bookshelf-alphabetical.html" style="color: #954f72;" target="_blank">The Bookshelf</a> soon.<span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">BEAUTY * SIMPLICITY * LOVE</span></b><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /><i>A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>edited by Czeslaw Milosz - </span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">I found this at a used bookstore in January and bought it because I loved the title, I know Milosz, and most of the poets were unfamiliar to me (highly unusual when I pick up a poetry anthology), and most of them did not originally write in English. This book is truly luminous. I read it from cover to cover, which is actually unusual for me when it comes to poetry anthologies. In case you're curious, and these names mean something to you, some poets included who I was previously familiar with are Denise Levertov, Mary Oliver, Walt Whitman, Raymond Carver, and Robert Frost.</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br />Milosz says this in the introduction to one section:</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /><i>Epiphany is an unveiling of reality. What in Greek was called </i>epiphaneia<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i style="caret-color: rgb(26, 26, 26);">meant the appearance, the arrival, of a divinity among mortals or its recognition under a familiar shape of man or woman. Epiphany thus interrupts the everyday flow of time and enters as one privileged moment when we intuitively grasp a deeper, more essential reality hidden in things or persons. </i></span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /><i>A Thousand Mornings</i>, by Mary Oliver<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"> - This is the only volume of Oliver's poetry that I own (hopefully that will change soon), but it's a good one. Her poems are exquisite, humorous, and bracing by turns. I am always refreshed when I turn to them.</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /><i>The Stream and the Sapphire,</i> by Denise Levertov<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">- I actually first encountered Levertov through Dr. Bieber, who gave me this slim little volume when I graduated. This is a collection of her poetry engaging with ideas of faith. I particularly love "Annunciation," which is too long to include here, and "Avowal":</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">As swimmers dare</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">to lie face to the sky</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">and water bears them,</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">as hawks rest upon air</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">and air sustains them,</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">so would I learn to attain</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">freefall, and float</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">into Creator Spirit's deep embrace,</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="caret-color: rgb(26, 26, 26);"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">knowing no effort earns that all-surrounding grace.</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">Come and Eat, </span></i></b><b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">by Bri McKoy </span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">- I wrote about this book </span><a href="https://thewildsofwonder.blogspot.com/2020/05/a-life-in-food.html" style="color: #954f72;" target="_blank">in this post</a><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">. Bri winsomely and with great joy makes the case that if we want to share the love of Jesus with the world, we need to start by inviting others to share meals at our tables.</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /><i>"Too often I notice how I can become hardened by the seemingly insurmountable evil in this world. But here's the thing: we know who ultimately wins the battle. We know our Rescuer's name. He is not calling us to rescue anyone; he is calling us to pull out a chair and sit amongst the broken. He is the Rescuer. We are simply an extension of his great love and peace. And he calls us to continue stepping into brokenness and gives us the strength to face the unimaginable under the banner of his love. So we must show up."</i></span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">Adorning the Dark</span></i></b><b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">, by Andrew Peterson </span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">- This book. It's a Christian creative manifesto. Peterson started the </span><a href="https://rabbitroom.com/" style="color: #954f72;" target="_blank">Rabbit Room</a><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">, a collective of Christian creatives inspired by the Inklings and Wendell Berry, among others. I underlined and starred and annotated the heck out of this book.</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /></span></b><i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">"Righteousness means more than pious obedience; it means letting a strong, humble mercy mark your path, even when - especially when - you don't know where it is taking you. . .Your heart is so full it must be must be poured out. You see the world as a dark, messy place that needs rearranging, and with all that light shooting out of your pores your just the person to do it."</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">The Hiding Place, </span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">by Corrie Ten Boom</span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"> – every Christian should read this at some point. As much the story of a family living faithfully in ordinary life as the story of how they handled the extraordinary circumstances of occupied Holland in WWII. </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">“When He tells us to love our enemies He gives, along with the command, the love itself.” </span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i>A Circle of Quiet,</i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> by Madeline L’Engle</b> – lyrical memoir by the author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Wrinkle in Time</i> about faith, life, and creativity.<span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“An infinite question is often destroyed by finite answers...To define everything is to annihilate much that gives us laughter and joy.”</i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i>Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy, and Women’s Work</i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> by Kathleen Norris</b> - very short, practically a pamphlet, on how important small, ordinary things are in developing the rhythms of life that give us space to walk with God. Dr. Bieber assigned it in the first class I took with her. <span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“The ordinary activities I find most compatible with contemplation are walking, baking bread, and doing laundry. ” </i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“My goal is to allow readers their own experience of whatever discovery I have made, so that it feels new to them, but also familiar, in that it is a piece with their own experience. It is a form of serious play.” </i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">One Thousand Gifts</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">, by Ann Voskamp</span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"> – beautifully crafted piece about gratitude, trust, faith, and living in the present. A long-time favorite of mine. </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">“...the secret to joy is to keep seeking God where we doubt He is.” </span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">“A life contemplating the blessings of Christ becomes a life acting the love of Christ.”</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i>Surprised by Oxford</i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">, by Carolyn Weber </b>– riffing off <i>Surprised by Joy</i>, the author’s story of questioning and faith during her time as a masters’ student in Literature at Oxford University. Oozing with literary references and a delightful read. <span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“He quickened his stride: 'The truth is in the paradox, Miss Drake. Anything not done in submission to God, anything not done to the glory of God, is doomed to failure, frailty, and futility. This is the unholy trinity we humans fear most. And we should, for we entertain it all the time at the pain and expense of not knowing the real one.” </i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br />The Chronicles of Narnia</span></i></b><b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">, by C.S. Lewis<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">- beautiful, funny, poignant, and quick to read, these books provide better imaginative and intuitively graspable illustrations of the life of faith than a lot of theology I've read. (Which is why they so often crop up in sermon illustrations.) And they are simply<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i style="color: #1a1a1a;">good stories</i>. The world is a different place with the Pevensie children and the people of Narnia in it. </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /><b><i>The Lord of the Rings</i>, by J.R.R. Tolkien </b>- I reread this trilogy every few years, and it gets better every time. Tolkien creates a world where evil is so palpable and powerful that there is only the slightest thread of irrational hope that good will win. The journey of the members of the unlikely fellowship to overcome evil and restore good is moving, funny, imaginative, and profound. It is a reminder that courage and beauty and hope and friendship can be found in the most unlikely of places - even when the forces of evil seem insurmountable. </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /><i>"There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."</i></span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /></span></i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">(To be completely honest, I'm not 100% sure if the above quote is from the book or the movie, but it's a great quote all the same.)</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i>The Tale of Desperaux</i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">, by Kate DiCamello</b> – I love this book about a very small mouse with very large ears, a kingdom in desperate need of soup, and a princess named Pea. Is it choice or lineage that makes someone what they are?<span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Once upon a time," he said out loud to the darkness. He said these words because they were the best, the most powerful words that he knew and just the saying of them comforted him.” </i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">Les Miserables</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">, by Victor Hugo </span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">– this book. Detective story, redemption story, love story, revolution story, with a good dose of random background information on the battle of Waterloo, the sewers of Paris, street slang, and obscure convents thrown in. Stunning on every level. </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">“A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in--what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.” </span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">To Kill a Mockingbird</i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">, by Harper Lee</b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>– a classic for a reason. It’s so much more than a story of racial injustice in the Jim Crowe South. It’s a story about childhood and growing up, family, community, and walking around in someone else’s shoes. And who doesn’t love Scout Finch?<span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i>“Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.”</i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">Till We Have Faces</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">, by C.S. Lewis </span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">– widely considered to be Lewis' best fictional work, this one blows my mind every time I read it. Reimagining of the myth of Cupid and Psyche, with profound things to say about love, integrity, the longing for home, and knowing oneself.</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.” </span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">Jayber Crow</span></i></b><b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">, by Wendell Berry<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">- This novel is the ruminations of a man who didn't go many places or do much, but who led a whole, good life. It's a book about inward change even when externals haven't changed much. It's like the river which plays a prominent role in the story: it doesn't go anywhere, but it's always changing. It's a book about calling, about valuing what is, about quiet doubts and quiet faith, with a lot of dry humor thrown in. It's about letting go of the need to "make something of yourself."</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br /><i>"You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers. You will have to live them out - perhaps a little at a time."</i></span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"><br />"Faith is not necessarily, or not soon, a resting place. Faith puts you out on a wide river in a little boat, in the fog, in the dark. Even a man of faith knows that (as Burley Coulter used to say) we've all got to go through enough to kill us."</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">Gilead,</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"> by Marilynne Robinson</span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"> – a stunningly beautiful book. One of my top 5 favorite books ever. A letter from a dying father to his young son, it’s a meditation on grace, fathers and sons, forgiveness, faith, and the beauty of this earthly life. People tend to either absolutely love it (that’s me) or be bored to tears because not a ton happens. I love the sequel, <i>Home</i>, too (it’s a kind of prodigal son retelling), but I may just be partial because it touches on themes near and dear to me. </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">“This is an interesting planet. It deserves all the attention you can give it.</span></i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">”</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">The Elegance of a Hedgehog</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">, by Muriel Barbery<i> </i></span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">– pensive, funny, mildly crass and decidedly European book about a concierge in Paris who is actually a brilliant autodidact. A treasury of small and beautiful things. Originally written in French.</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">“When tea becomes ritual, it takes its place at the heart of our ability to see greatness in small things. Where is beauty to be found? In great things that, like everything else, are doomed to die, or in small things that aspire to nothing, yet know how to set a jewel of infinity in a single moment?” </span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">Little, Big</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">, by John Crowley</span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;"> – I read this for a Christianity and Fantasy class in college, and I’m not sure whether I would have fallen in love with it as much as I did if I hadn’t had the guidance of a fabulous professor. That said, the poetry of the dense prose, the multigenerational narrative, the themes of faith, doubt, love, longing, home, and narrative make this a fantasy I’m confident I’ll return to throughout the years. Be alert to skip some bedroom scenes.</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit, serif;">“The further in you go, the bigger it gets.”</span></i><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i>East of Eden</i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">, by John Steinbeck</b> – extremely dark at times but also at times exquisite, this book is well worth the 600 pages. Set in California around the turn of the 20th century, it’s a multi-generational story about individual choice, the consequences of familial love and lack thereof, and asking questions about what determines someone’s character. I love this book for the secondary characters. Like <i>Les Mis</i>, exceptionally well-done on every level. Lyrical description, powerful exploration of themes, excellent characterization. <span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I believe that there is one story in the world, and only one. . . . Humans are caught—in their lives, in their thoughts, in their hungers and ambitions, in their avarice and cruelty, and in their kindness and generosity too—in a net of good and evil. . . . There is no other story. A man, after he has brushed off the dust and chips of his life, will have left only the hard, clean questions: Was it good or was it evil? Have I done well—or ill?”</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-58636835865645972662020-06-08T10:35:00.000-07:002021-02-01T17:24:54.549-08:00how to be a good conversationalistI gave a <a href="https://thewildsofwonder.blogspot.com/2017/05/of-stories-and-vision-and-wonder.html" target="_blank"> talk</a> at the English Department Chapel at Wheaton my senior year. I closed with this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBTmTU7OFYk2YpSRvitu5POEnQ6Bm0sKyKsn4WLabbFVnx2abcdFNmO76QngNOj4gWsg35VaiuspIpUcvVx7medA44-uN4jY3EaAOdm1BALv7qu2UByQcM7iRHvkJOLinQC0qIAx5J-CA/s1600/196F7EB8-E854-4EAF-9254-28D96A5517B0_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBTmTU7OFYk2YpSRvitu5POEnQ6Bm0sKyKsn4WLabbFVnx2abcdFNmO76QngNOj4gWsg35VaiuspIpUcvVx7medA44-uN4jY3EaAOdm1BALv7qu2UByQcM7iRHvkJOLinQC0qIAx5J-CA/s400/196F7EB8-E854-4EAF-9254-28D96A5517B0_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a><i>We have a responsibility to act on the vision that literature gives us. This dovetails with our calling as Christians to see the world for what it truly is. We know that the world is </i>good<i>, because it was created by a good God as an expression of love. We can see goodness and beauty in places where other people see only the mundane. We are called to cultivate that beauty so other people can see and respond to it. On the flip side, we know that the world is deeply broken as a result of the fall. And we are called to see the world's brokenness, wade into it, get our feet muddy, and begin the work of restoration that will culminate in the Kingdom of Christ. This is our calling - to cherish the world's beauty and rebuild the world's brokenness. But in order to do that we have to have the kind of vision that can </i>see<i> beauty and brokenness. Through my time at Wheaton I have learned that literature is one of the most powerful tools there is to mold our vision. And vision leads to action. </i><br />
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In many ways, this was the culmination of my academic experience - an experience that shaped my desire to examine the intersection between the world of ideas and the world of action.<br />
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During my first few years in college, professors encouraged me to ask questions to spark ideas for papers. "Don't start with what you think. Start with a question. And look for an answer to that question. Be willing to be surprised with where you end up."<br />
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Y'all, until my junior year of college, I had no earthly idea how to do that well. I would choose questions so big I couldn't possibly fit them into the scope of a six page paper. Or I would choose questions so narrow that it was ridiculously challenging to stretch my conclusions over six long pages. But the deeper problem is <b>I would start with what I wanted to say and then write a question to which my opinion was the answer. That stunted my learning.</b><br />
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But then I spent a semester in Oxford. I had to write three research essays every two weeks. At the beginning of a week, my tutors would hand me a primary source and a list of about 20 questions to choose from. They always encouraged me to use the list as a starting point to develop my own questions. The essays I brought back to them were NOT meant to be my polished final word on the subject. Rather, they were meant to be evidence I was doing the difficult intellectual work - they were supposed provide a good entry point for a conversation with my tutors.<br />
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<b>The process was about <i>learning </i>and <i>dialogue</i>, not about my establishing my authoritative opinion - which was good because I was 21 and had no business having an authoritative opinion on anything.</b><br />
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To prepare for my conversations with my tutors, I read extensively from vastly different perspectives on the subjects at hand before I began to formulate my response. In reading those sources, I felt like I was listening in to a conversation that had begun long before I walked into the group.<br />
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Basic lesson in human interactions: do not walk up to a conversation that other people are having, assume after two seconds that you know exactly what they are talking about and what you think about it and then jump in to make your two cents known. It doesn't usually end well. At best, you cause some awkwardness and confusion, and at worst you might spark a very unpleasant disagreement in which all the parties are talking past each other rather than listening to each other. (I know this from personal experience.)<br />
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Continued basic lesson in human interactions: <b>when you walk up to a conversation that other people have been having, it is not only polite but profitable to actually listen to the conversation for awhile. Seek to know what's going on. </b>Ask good questions to help understand what ground has already been covered, what conclusions have been drawn, and the trajectory of the conversation. You may find that you hold even more firmly to your initial opinion, and that it will add value to the conversation. Or you may find that your initial opinion actually is erroneous in the context of the conversation. Or your might find that you now have big questions that had never before occurred to you. Now it's time to join the conversation as an informed, invested participant rather than as a conversation crasher.<br />
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This is what I learned to do through hours in the English Faculty Library and the <a href="https://visit.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/" target="_blank">Bodleian Library</a>, on walks through University Parks, and through conversations with my dinner group (now my online book club).<br />
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At this point you've probably realized that although my experience was extremely academic, it had real application to my actual life. I'm an opinionated person, and through my young adulthood I tended to approach difficult issues with a pre-formed opinion. (Who are we kidding? I still have a natural tendency to do that.) <b>Whether I realized it or not, the questions I asked were often designed to validate my opinion as the right answer, rather than to facilitate listening and learning.</b><br />
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My approach to interacting with people and ideas was profoundly shaped by my academic experience at Oxford, the reading I do on my own time, and my relationships with other people. <b>I have learned how important it is to listen for awhile before inserting myself into a conversation. This is NOT because I think my voice has no value or because I don't have strong opinions. It's because I want to be able to use my voice and my opinions to contribute to and shape the conversation, rather than shutting it down with my ignorance or intransigence.</b><br />
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Why am I saying all of this? You've probably guessed it by now.<br />
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This has been one heck of a week for our country. In the wake of the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd, the nation is in uproar. Peaceful protesters are taking to the streets - as are rioters and vandals. My city has instituted an 8 pm - 6 am curfew until further notice. Not to mention the fact that there is still a global pandemic.<br />
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In a situation like this, it is so easy to shut down the challenging questions. It's hard to listen with humility and grace to a conversation that is so messy. It's easy to feel attacked by people who call for the complete defunding of the police and claim that the violent response to police violence is morally justified. It's hard to take the time to distinguish between those voices and the voices of people who are galled both by nationwide destruction and by the deaths that sparked that destruction. It's easy to state an opinion based on my gut response and biases. It's hard to listen to the voices who are begging us to pause and listen to the conversation and ask questions about the underlying issues.<br />
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But here's the thing. I think everyone agrees something's gotta change. And <b>change only comes when people are willing to wrestle with difficult questions about the way things are in order to begin to imagine the way things could be. </b>People may disagree on what that looks like, but the only way to develop a vision of productive and lasting change is to choose to be still, ask questions, listen to the response, ask more questions, and begin to formulate a way to move forward.<br />
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<b>Please - don't shut out the questions. Don't shut down the conversation. Ask the questions. Learn the stories. Ponder the ideas. And let those questions, those stories, those ideas, push you into action.</b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-23275972567528274682020-05-11T14:18:00.000-07:002020-05-11T14:18:55.531-07:00a life in food<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In her book <i><a href="https://bookshop.org/books/come-and-eat-a-celebration-of-love-and-grace-around-the-everyday-table/9780718090616" target="_blank">Come and Eat: A Celebration of Love and Grace Around the Everyday Table</a></i>, Bri McKoy makes a powerful and winsome case that if we want to share the love of Jesus with the world, we need to start by sharing meals at our table.<br />
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I have underlined and starred and hearted half the book. Many paragraphs have this annotation: "YES! So thankful to have learned this from Mom." I think this book is going to be a kind of handbook for me as I work through how to do life together around the proverbial table - the place where we come together and nourish our bodies with delicious food and build a community that nourishes our souls.<br />
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Somewhere in the book - I can't find the exact spot right now amidst the multitude of marked-up passages - Bri makes the claim that each of us can think of a meal that was pivotal to our lives.<br />
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That got me thinking. To be perfectly honest, I cannot yet identify a single meal that changed or defined the trajectory of my life. And yet - and yet -<br />
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One thing that was very important to my parents in my childhood was that we shared regular meals together. As homeschooled kids, Charlie and I were often left to our own devices for lunch, but nearly every evening of my childhood we gathered around table and shared a family meal. Many of those meals are ones that Mom - and later Mom and I - prepared in 30 minutes or less. Many were at our favorite local restaurant. Many were in the places we travelled. Most of my formative memories are in some way linked to food. I don't remember much about Krakow, but I will always remember the mouth-watering pirogies we ate there. I have many memories in Italy, but one of the most vivid is when the waiters at a restaurant on the coast all vanished to jump into fishing boats because a school of fish was swimming by and they needed fresh seafood.<br />
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While there is no one meal that fundamentally changed my life, the meals that I shared with my family were formative in ways that I can only begin to name. They created a space of security, a space for laughter, a space for hard conversations, a network of memories that is strong and steadfast. If I were asked to, I truly think that I could tell the story of my life as a story of meals. Here's a start.<br />
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I am six. Hair in a "truly" - the half-up hairdo that my family named for <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/236x/56/5f/be/565fbee7f2978c1bfb5a458c26926639.jpg" target="_blank">Truly Scrumptious</a>. I'm all dressed up because I just "graduated" from kindergarten. We are celebrating at the Rose Garden Cafe.<br />
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I am eight. It is the Fourth of July. Pop, Charlie, and I have already participated in the parade. Now it's time for lunch. Perry's BBQ, with all the requisite sides: green beans, mac and cheese, hush puppies, coleslaw, collard greens. We lick our fingers and eat watermelon for dessert. <br />
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<a href="https://apollo.imgix.net/content/uploads/2017/03/Peeters-Mauritshuis.jpg?auto=compress,enhance,format&crop=faces,entropy,edges&fit=crop&w=730&h=512" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="730" height="280" src="https://apollo.imgix.net/content/uploads/2017/03/Peeters-Mauritshuis.jpg?auto=compress,enhance,format&crop=faces,entropy,edges&fit=crop&w=730&h=512" width="400" /></a>I am ten. A loaf from Panera bread, sun-dried tomatoes and olives from big Sams Club jars, cheese, and grapes are arranged tastefully on our coffee table. We are having a "European picnic" - a frequent meal in our home in Virginia as we practiced for a hoped-for return to life in Europe.<br />
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I am eleven. We just moved back to Germany, Dad is deployed, and Mom, Charlie, Nana and I are in Paris. We get crepes from a stand behind Notre Dame - a stand that became a standby for meals on the go in the city of lights.<br />
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I am twelve. We have already had gelato twice, but we've hiked for hours among Italian fishing villages. When we reach the last village and Charlie and I beg for one last scoop, Dad doesn't say no.<br />
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I am thirteen. My fingers and toes and nose are freezing but my throat is burning with too-hot Nurnberg bratwurst chased down by Kindergluhwein - the alcohol-free version of mulled wine that is a staple at German Christmas markets.<br />
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I am fourteen. We take the train to Venice with a friend who lives an hour from the floating city. We ignore all the tourist destinations (which we had seen on a previous visit). Instead, Reba takes us to a corner grocery stores patronized by locals (imagine being a local in Venice). We purchase just-ripe nectarines, a loaf of long white bread, and a cheese that is kin to provolone. We sit on the steps by a canal and make rustic sandwiches. The nectarine juice drips down our fingers.<br />
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I am fifteen. We visit London for the umpteenth time, and beeline for our favorite fast food place - Pret a Manger, which still has the best carrot cake I have ever eaten. Not to mention their prawn arugula avocado sandwiches. We take our loot to the fountains near the lions on Trafalgar square.<br />
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I am fifteen. We walk to Da Silvano, the local pizza place where Isabelle, the waitress, brings out our drinks before she takes our order - we are regulars. Another night we walk to the Greek restaurant that has the most delicious gyros salad you have ever tasted. One time my parents were on a date there, and the owner pointedly ignored Dad waving for the bill, because she had decided their date hadn't lasted long enough. Which would have been fine, except they were then late to Bible study.<br />
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<a href="https://www.divento.com/14448/va-cafe-victoria-and-albert-london.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="800" height="270" src="https://www.divento.com/14448/va-cafe-victoria-and-albert-london.jpg" width="400" /></a>I am seventeen. In London again, we make a pilgrimage to the cafe in the Victoria & Albert Museum. Decorated by William Morris, this cafe has the best scones and clotted cream our family has ever tasted.<br />
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I am eighteen. I have just graduated from high school, and my grandparents borrow a pontoon boat for an afternoon on the lake. My cousin Hannah makes to-die-for strawberry-filled cupcakes. I'm not a cupcake person in generally, but my mouth still waters at the memory of these.<br />
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I am nineteen. It's floor night on the college dorm, and we pass around a pan of <a href="https://www.tasteofhome.com/article/how-to-make-a-fancy-homemade-pizookie/" target="_blank">pizookie</a>, taking ritual spoonfuls straight from the pan. Sure, it's cold season, but who is going to pass up just-barely-baked chocolate chip cookie with ice cream on top?<br />
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I am twenty. Mom and Dad graciously take me along to Charleston on their anniversary trip. We savor the best shrimp & grits in the history of Southern cooking.<br />
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I am twenty-one. I fill my semester abroad with oatcakes and cheese and scones and clotted cream on study dates with friends. Occasionally I splurge on a mouth-watering, artery-clogging full English breakfast - complete with beans and grilled tomatoes.<br />
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I am twenty-two. I fling my tiny college kitchen open to whoever wants to come - the freshman who is a kindred spirit, the surrogate grandparents who bring over veggies from their garden, the core group of friends who have walked through all four years of college by my side. We laugh and we cry and we grow and we learn from one another.<br />
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I am twenty-three, living in Munich after college. A girl from church - a fellow expat - has decided we are going to be friends. She invites me over for countless lunches of scrambled eggs and fried potatoes - comfort food. Over those countless lunches, we become fast friends.<br />
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I am twenty-four. Mom, Dad, Nana and I are in a tiny village clinging to a hill in Galilee - Zafed. There we have the freshest-you-could-possibly-imagine falafel, fingers chilly in the cold rain, bellies warmed by the freshly fried food.<br />
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I am twenty-five. On Tuesdays, my church Community Group has themed potlucks. Asian food, childhood favorites, vegetarian night, appetizer night. Each dish comes with a story that we share as we do life together.<br />
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I have a list of formative/memorable meals that spans five pages of a legal pad - and that was only the ones that sprang to mind effortlessly. There are so many more.<br />
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I have no idea how the rest of my life will pan out, but one thing I can confidently claim is that food - good food, shared with friends, family, and strangers - is going to always be a key part of my life.<br />
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Mom and Dad, thank you. Thank you for building our family around the table. Thank you for recognizing and cultivating the richness of experiences built around food. Thank you for giving me my love of good food and good conversation and safe and holy spaces. What a legacy.<br />
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P.S. Mom, as I write this, I'm listening to the <i>French Kiss</i> soundtrack. Nothing says "dinner music" like that album.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-67106612700715619512020-04-29T18:52:00.000-07:002020-04-29T18:52:34.876-07:00A Letter to Wheaton's Class of 2020<div dir="auto">
<i style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">Wheaton is much on my heart these days. It's Wheaton Gives day - and I gave in honor of Julius Scott, a professor I never met but </i><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);"><i>whose presence at Wheaton indelibly impacted my time there decades later. Several days ago, I got an email asking recent grads to send a note of encouragement for the class of 2020. I sat and typed this out on my phone with my whole heart. </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dear Wheaton Senior,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The first time I cried during the pandemic was for you. I graduated just three years ago, and I grieve with you for the loss of your final quad at Wheaton.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I have also rejoiced to see you responding with hope and resilience. The insta account @overheardatwheaton brings me so much joy. I’ve talked to some of you about the unexpected fruitfulness of online discussion forums, even in the midst of frustrations regarding zoom classes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You didn’t leave Wheaton as you expected to. But you do leave prepared. You spent nearly four years at an institution dedicated to shaping you to go out into this broken world with great hope as you live for Christ and His Kingdom. I believe that even this unexpected end is for the purpose of preparing you to live with that call shaping your life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Your dreams may be crumbling, or taking new forms. God has dreams for you, too, and the pandemic is no glitch in His plans. <b>He is with you. He goes before you to guide you, behind you to protect you, beneath you to sustain you, and beside you to befriend you. Do not be afraid. The blessing of God is upon you. Although you are sad, do not be afraid. Go in peace </b>- the peace that passes understanding, that is the shelter of those whose minds are fixed on the Lord, that is the gift you carry as you endure Coronavirus.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So stay strong as you finish up those zoom class sessions. Relearn your class song and sing it with gusto. Teach it to the family members you are quarantining with. Look through the years of photos and quotes from quote walls and send them to the friends you looked forward to celebrating your achievement with. Remember, and grieve, and laugh, and celebrate. During my last quad at Wheaton I found that laughter and tears are strangely suited to be beautiful companions. But even when it doesn’t feel beautiful - when it feels ugly and wrong and unfair - feel those emotions and bring them to the God who brought you to Wheaton in His own good time and has taken you from Wheaton according to His timing, not yours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He meets you here - in online learning, in uncertainty for the future, in loose ends left untied - and He holds all of you with care and compassion and grace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Be blessed, and know you are beloved.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Grace,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Kate </span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-27088182774822084112020-04-12T11:29:00.001-07:002020-04-12T11:29:23.819-07:00people of the resurrection<div style="text-align: center;">
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Finally - Easter Sunday. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
****</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
an unnamed woman</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<i>I wake with the birds, weary from sorrow. I roll over and look around the room. The other women are also beginning to stir. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We spent the sabbath day in shock. Comforting Mary. Comforting each other. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Today we will serve Him for the last time. I dread it. This is goodbye. After this, there will be nothing left to do for Him. I will have to build a life without Jesus. Is it even possible? I know intellectually that life is always possible with God. That God is still good and still in control. But I can't feel it. I pray that He will have mercy. This is not the normal bereavement experience. I know - I don't just feel it - that the Light has been sucked out of the world and things will never be right again. Lord, have mercy.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We rise and prepare to go. We don't talk much - there isn't much to say.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We walk to the tomb, feeling the cool morning air. Wondering who will roll away the stone. Slightly intimidated at the thought of the Roman guards. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We get to the tomb and discover that the guards are nowhere to be seen, and the stone has already been rolled away. Odd. But it makes our task easier. I brace myself and walk into the tomb.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He isn't there. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's such a shock that I don't know what to think. Rational thought flees. It is too much. All that we have been through and now the body disappears? We can't even do this one last thing for Him? I am just barely holding myself back from hysterics, and I sense the other women in the same perplexity.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As I try to get a grip so we can decide what to do, the soft morning light is suddenly electric. There are two - men - among us, dazzlingly white, of tall and imposing stature. Their faces are otherworldly. I cry out and fall on my knees, looking at the ground because I cannot bear to look at them.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>A voice fills the tomb: "Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>My heart stops. I can't breathe.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Remember how He told you, while He was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified and on the third day rise."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It is not a question, but a command. Remember.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I do remember. Three times He told us, and we hadn't listened. It was too impossible to picture Him dying. But now that that impossible thing had happened, was it really unbelievable that He be risen?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>No. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>In less time than it takes to process, I believe.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I look up and the angels are gone.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>For a moment there is stunned silence. Then chaos - joy - skepticism. Mary Magdalene in particular is too stunned to believe it. But I know that it is true, and that we must go to tell the disciples. I start to run.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>They are all up and gathered together. I burst in first, exclaim, "He's alive!" and then all the other women catch up. Chaos. Uproar. Too many people talking. I look around at the fear and skepticism on so many of these beloved faces instead of the joy that fills me so that I could burst.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Thomas says we must be imagining things. That the strain of the last four days has been too much. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I stamp my feet, dancing in frustration. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I tell him that we were absolutely not imagining things and how could those men be made up and remember what Jesus said???? And if they didn't believe us they should go look at the tomb themselves. Imagining things?!?! </i><i><b>This is the only way that God could still be good and in control. </b>I don't know how I didn't see it before. I am in a frenzy of joy and frustration and impatience.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Peter and John, at least, take my word for it and bolt for the tomb. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
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<i>****</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
John</div>
<br />
<i>I wake worried for Peter. As hellish as the last few days have been for all of us, Peter is at his wit's end. He doesn't talk much. When he does, he keeps saying things about his "perfect [threefold] denial."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I don't know how to help him. I can't express the devastation of being with Jesus as He died, but I also know there is no other place I would rather have been. I want to tell Peter that the Lord understood and still loved him, but that would have to come from the Jesus Himself. And that is not possible. My face crumples.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I look at Peter. He's lying on his side with his face to the wall, but I can tell he's awake. I brace myself to try to get him to get up and have something to eat. Previous efforts have been exhausting.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>A commotion breaks out downstairs. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Peter rolls over and looks at me. Sighs. Says we'd better go down. I am grateful for something to do. A distraction. A flicker of Peter's old tendency to be in the thick of things. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We go downstairs, pause on the bottom step.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's mayhem. The women have seen - something - and the men are questioning them. For a moment I can't understand what anyone is saying.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Then two sentences hit me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Mary is frantic: "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>She is standing in front of me, wringing her hands. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But another woman grabs her by her shoulders and shakes her. She turns to me, face radiant, and before she says it a wild hope springs up. Lazarus...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"He is risen!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I think she says more, but Peter is running and I am running and I have to get to that tomb.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I outrun Peter, but pay the price for it. My lungs are about to burst. I bend over outside the entrance - the stone has been moved and the guards are gone - trying to catch my breath. I look into the tomb, and Jesus isn't there. But His grave clothes are.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Peter arrives, panting, and goes into the tomb.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I follow. He stands, silently gazing at the remnants of burial.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I look. Possible explanations flash through my mind. But suddenly I know it's true. It has to be true. The Lord is alive. Alive! ALIVE! I believe it with every fiber of my being, and the joy is so great that I can barely stand.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Peter is in a stupor. I don't know what he is thinking or feeling, but I don't have to. Jesus is alive. And He will make things right with Peter.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I am going to burst with joy.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I don't understand it, but I know this is not wishful thinking.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>What grave robber would leave the clothes?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And then I remember Mary. His mother. I have to find her, tell her, share with her the great eucatastrophe.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He is alive!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
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<i>****</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mary Magdalene</div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>I follow Peter and John back to the tomb. I don't know what else to do: I had thought of this place as the closest I could come to Jesus, and now He is gone. I weep in grief and fury and frustration. What right did they have? First to kill Him and then to take His body? The last remaining vestiges of His presence among us? It brings the grief of His death - which had numbed a bit - back in full force.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I suspect the others think I am over-indulgent in my grief, but I can't help it: I can't bear it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>WHERE IS HE?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I am still crying, but less violently. I notice the garden for the first time. It is beautiful. Contemplative. Lovingly tended - a peaceful place for a tomb. A bird sings. I wonder who the gardener is. A man who tends a garden with this much care wouldn't disdain speaking to me. All I want is to find the Lord - be near Him even in burial. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I realize subconsciously that Peter and John have left. That there are two strangers in the tomb. I answer their questions mechanically, not really paying attention.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Where have they taken Him?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Where is the gardener?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I sense someone behind me. I turn and glimpse a figure standing there. I quickly turn away again to try to wipe my tears away and compose myself.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I take a deep breath. Try to speak calmly. </i><br />
<br />
<i>"Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where," the tears start flowing again and I squeak out, "tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>So much for remaining calm. But how am I supposed to speak calmly of Him? He is - oh Lord, was - my everything. Oh God, is this a penalty for idolatry? Lord have mercy, and show me where He is. Let this man have mercy toward me, or my heart will shatter.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>How am I supposed to live without Jesus?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I cannot stop sobbing. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Then in a voice so low I barely hear it, but so resonant with compassion and joy it reverberates through the garden: "Mary."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>My name. How many times have I heard Him say it? I thought I would never hear Him say it again. My world, which had come crashing down in the last days, rebuilds itself with a speed too dizzying for me to comprehend. But it doesn't matter. My world doesn't really concern me right now. My Lord does.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I turn - "Rabboni!" - and fling myself at His feet. I don't know what is going on. Intellectually the pieces are all muddled. But I know that this is my Jesus, my Lord, </i>alive<i>, and I will never let go of Him again. My intellect is slow but my emotions are on overdrive and I almost choke on the laughter and tears bursting from my frame.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He places His hand on my head, and I grab it, feel the scar, kiss it. There are no words for this explosion of joy.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He pulls me up, laughing deep wells of laughter and joy. I have heard Him laugh so often, but never like this. Like hell itself has no more power.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Ssshh. Hush. Mary, don't cling to me so. You will have to let go. I have not yet ascended to the Father. And remember? I promised that when I do ascend I will send you a greater gift even than my physical presence. So continue to rejoice! But you must go and tell my brothers the good news. Tell them that I am ascending to My Father and your Father, to My God and your God."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
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<i>****</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the unnamed woman</div>
<br />
<i>I'm jittery and totally unable to stay in one place or focus on one thing for a reasonable length of time. I believed as soon as we saw the angels this morning, but I haven't seen Him and it's driving me crazy. But now </i>four people<i> have seen the risen Lord. I bounce up and down.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Mary Magdalene is near a window, beaming. Sometimes a cluster of people will gather around her and she will speak with animation. At other times she simply gazes out the window, radiant.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Peter is sitting at a table, staring at nothing. He is very unforthcoming about what the Lord said to him. I think he is still wrestling with guilt about denying Him. But he is more at peace than he has been since that night. People have given up trying to talk to him.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Cleopas and Mary Cleopas are now the center of attention. They just arrived, and they, too, have seen the Lord. They are being peppered with questions.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Someone makes sure the doors are locked. Resurrection or no resurrection, the Pharisees may still be out for blood.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The mood is chaotic. The four who have seen Him insist that He is alive. Some, like John and I, have not yet seen Him, but we believe without doubt that He is risen. Others are skeptical - afraid to hope. Unable to wrap their minds around the possibility. Besides - why is He so difficult to recognize? And why doesn't He stay put? Could it be that they were seeing a ghost?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Someone posed this question and instantly voices are raised in an escalating argument. I stay out of it because I have zero evidence. I go and stand beside Peter.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Things are getting heated when suddenly He is in the room. "Peace!" - in the voice that calmed the storm. Instantly there is complete silence.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>My heart leaps into my throat. It is the Lord. I recognize Him at once, though I see why the others didn't. There are lines of sorrow on His face that were never there before, but also unrestrained joy in His eyes, no longer tempered by knowledge of future suffering. His body is whole - no longer battered, shredded, and bruised, though I think I see - is it my imagination? - glimpses of the nail holes. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The silence lasts only a heartbeat. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"It's a ghost!" Someone shrieks - "Only a ghost can pass through locked doors!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Instant mayhem, for the umpteenth time that day. Peter's voice cuts through it all: "Even before, He walked on water. This is no ghost."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>In the hush, Jesus speaks. He released a sigh in the midst of the hubbub, but now a smile plays around His mouth and lights His eyes.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? See My hands and My feet, that it is I Myself. Touch me, and see. As the Father sent me, eve so am I sending you."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He goes to each person in turn, seeking to them quietly. I drink Him in. Marvel that He stands among us, watch the release in each disciple's face as He speaks to them.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He embraces John, tears filling both their eyes.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He stands before Peter, who bows his head and murmers: "My Lord." Jesus touches his shoulder. When Peter looks up, He bends down and breathes on him. Peter's tension relaxes, but he ducks his head again, overwhelmed.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Now Jesus is standing before me, looking at me. I look at Him and marvel at His compassion and joy and strength and love. This is the same Jesus, but as if a veil has been removed from my sight. I fall on my knees at His feet, weeping and laughing with joy. His feet are scarred. He lifts me up, taking my hand in His. When I stand, He shows me the nail holes in His hands.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"You are bound to Me by these scars. As you walked with Me in My death, so now abide in Me in my Life. Apart from Me you can do nothing. Cleave to me."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I want to pour out my soul to Him, but I can't find the words. So I just look at Him, overwhelmed and overjoyed by His presence.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He smiles, leans forward, and breathes on my forehead. "Receive the Holy Spirit." It is the breath of an anointing.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I am the last one.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As He steps away, He glances at the table, where someone had absentmindedly left some dried fish. He raises His eyebrows: "Anything to eat?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I grin and offer Him some fish. He takes it and eats it before us all. This is no ghost. And suddenly we are all dancing, the joy too great to contain. At first, Jesus dances with us. Then He steps back. Later, I look around and notice that He is gone. </i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-5522341242845142922020-04-10T12:27:00.000-07:002020-04-10T12:27:32.845-07:00they call this Friday goodYesterday in my Maundy Thursday piece I shared a bit of what I recorded last year as I contemplated the Passion accounts as part of the Ignatian Exercises. Today, I reread my record of the Good Friday contemplation, and I wanted to share it here as well. Hang tight - it's Friday now, but Sunday is coming.<br />
<br />
<i>The night is cold. Overcast. Breezy. Not a pleasant night. The thugs lead Jesus into the High Priest's courtyard, hollering that they've got Him. He is exhausted, having endured the night in the garden and been roughly run through the streets with His hands tied. But He is firm in His purpose. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The High Priest comes out and rebukes his ruffians: "Quiet! Do you want to rouse the city? Hold him here until the council assembles. Feel free to have some fun. But keep him conscious."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The thugs start shoving Jesus around.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Peter and I slip into the courtyard, staying in the shadows. A group of the High Priest's household, roused by the commotion, is waiting to see what will happen.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I can hear the occasional vicious thud as Jesus is beaten. I want to cry, but the shock and the danger sting my eyes dry. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Eventually the household, tired of standing around in the cold, kindles a fire. Cats skulk in the shadows. Hands numb with cold, Peter and I sidle in to the fire. As we approach, a servant girl looks at Peter. "Hey! This is one of his followers!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Peter opens his mouth, shuts it, and then mutters: "No I'm not. You must have mistaken me for someone else." I can sense his fear, relief, and shame. I'm just glad they haven't asked me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>A little later someone else looks over at Peter: "Certainly I've seen you with Him."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Peter responds curtly: "I don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen Him before. Only heard tell."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The questioner catches my eye as he shrugs and turns away. Peter refuses to look at me. I want to tell him that I understand. I don't know if I'm courageous enough, either. I can't process what's happening.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Nearby, the thugs have blindfolded Jesus, laughing as they strike Him and ask Him who did it. It makes me sick and angry - and there's nothing I can do. He may not even know we're there, trying to stay close. His lip is swollen.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The thugs get tired of their game and sit around, forcing Jesus to stand. It begins to get incrementally lighter. I hear birds waking up.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>This whole time members of the council have been trickling in, some with attendants.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Suddenly everything happens at once.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Caiaphas announces that the Council is complete and the trial can begin.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>An attendant comes over to the fire, takes one look at Peter, and says: "You. Galilean. Weren't you with him?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I sense Peter close to the breaking point. He snaps: "Good God! What is with you people? I swear by all that's holy that I am not with him!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I know the man is about to ask the same thing of me, but before he does, two things happen: the thugs release Jesus' blindfold, and He turns to look at Peter as the rooster crows.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>His face is black and blue, with one eye nearly swollen shut. His gaze as He looks at Peter is not condemning. It is sorrowful, exhausted, and compassionate. Beside me, Peter breaks. He turns and stumbles out of the courtyard. I can hear him choking back sobs. He is finally assured of his own weakness. In the moment he wanted most to be there for Jesus, he failed HIm.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Jesus looks at me next. I try to communicate how confused and scared and upset we all are. How desperately we want to be there for Him, but how with Him under arrest we are panicking like sheep without a shepherd. How every bruise on His face is a punch in my gut. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As He looks at me, I see something beneath His sorrow and exhaustion and loneliness and pain. I see His courage. I see that He is active, not passive in this nightmare. I see resolve and purpose. I barely understand what's happening, but as surely as I know that He is suffering horrifically, I know that He has already counted the cost. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>All of this takes mere moments. I'm ripped from Jesus when the man addresses me: "And you? Are you with Him?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I speak quickly and quietly, before I lose my nerve. "Yes. I am."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>In the beat following my response, the commencement of the trial is announced and all attention turns to the leading figures.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>***</i></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>Torches illuminate the walls of the courtyard, flickering over the faces of the sleepy, bored, impatient, and (in the case of Joseph and Nicodemus) numb Jewish leaders.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Jesus is seated. Silent. His face battered and bruised. Disfigured, a man of sorrows. Yet somehow He is the most calm of everyone in the room. He knows what is going to happen. He has chosen it. All that remains is to endure.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Caiaphas fumes as yet another witness stumbles over his words and contradicts himself. This was supposed to be an open and shut case - verdict predetermined. It should not be taking this long. He slams the palm of his hand down on the table.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Enough! I will question the man myself."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He rises, bypasses the witness, and stands before Jesus. Jesus stands, flinching a bit at the pain.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Do you hear what these men say? What do you have to say for yourself?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Jesus remains silent. Resolute.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The High Priest puts his face inches from Jesus' own. He can smell blood and sweat and tears. His voice is low.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Jesus does not move. Does not falter.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"I am. And you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power, and coming with the clouds of heaven."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Time slows.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Suddenly every member is wide awake, nerves taught. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It is almost absurd to hear this broken and bruised man stand there claiming to be equal with God. Can He even understand what He's saying? Yet He seems to be perfectly sane. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Triumph flickers over the High Priest's face, quickly replaced by outraged incredulity. He steps back and tears his robes theatrically.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"You have heard it from his own lips! What shall we do with him?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Execute!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Only Nicodemus and Joseph remain silent. Stunned. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Jesus does not seem remotely surprised. He gazes levelly at the High Priest until the guards take Him away.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>***</i></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>I gasp when Jesus reappears after being questioned by Herod and Pilate. He looked awful before. Now He is nearly unrecognizable. He has been brutally scourged. Skin is peeling off His back in shreds. He is covered in blood - it's even dripping into His eyes from that brutal crown of thorns. His face is swollen and disfigured. I don't know how He can still be conscious, much less stand.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>They shove Him down the stairs and none too gently hoist the cross onto His shoulders. For one awful moment I am in His skin, feel His pain. The rough wood on the tattered, burning back makes what was nearly unbearable literally excruciating. Blood fogs over His eyes, and He stumbles and blacks out.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I spring forward instinctively to help Him, but someone holds me from behind. Peter? No, Peter is gone. John. He will not let me go to Him. At first I struggle, then give up, sobbing onto his shoulder. John comforts me, watching Jesus all the while.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The soldiers consult. They look around for someone strong, and they grab a man trying to get through the crowd. He clearly wants nothing to do with this, but knows that in a situation like this it's best to do what's demanded. He shoulders the cross. The soldiers splash water over Jesus and pull Him up.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Jesus plods on, followed by a rabble of mockers and a group of lamenting women. He is painfully slow. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>At one point He turns and addresses the weeping women. When He turns again to continue, He stumbles. I have had enough. I elude John, run to Jesus, and put His arm around my shoulder to support Him.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>A soldier considers stopping me, but he decides not to, seeing that Jesus will never make it to the execution site on His own.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Jesus is focusing hard on each step. He has no energy to spare to thank me or comfort me. But it doesn't matter. I would rather be with Jesus, bearing the scorn and shame, than anywhere else in the world. My tears have dried up, and I help Him approach Golgotha. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>***</i></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>I watch them crucify Him.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Nearly cry out with the pain of the nails that go through His hands and feet. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Flinch as nearly every person there mocks Him.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Marvel at His words.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Remember His miracles.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The world goes dark. At first I think it is my vision clouding from the pain, but then I realize it really is dark.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Mary crumples. I help support her - John takes the other side.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>All we want, still, is to be with Jesus. If it is in His death, so be it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He is suffering. Every moment He suffers. Breath ragged. Face disfigured. Blood everywhere. It hurts to look at Him, but turning away hurts more. His eyes are clouded with pain. He is conscious, but only with an effort. I wish He would allow Himself to pass out.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He assures the thief that today they will be together in Paradise.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He entrusts Mary to John. She weeps.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I begin softly singing Psalms for the dying. When I reach Psalm 22, He cries out the first line with me - "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Then I sing a bit of Psalm 31. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Be merciful to me, LORD, for I am in distress;</i><br />
<i>my eyes grow weak with sorrow, </i><br />
<i>my soul and body with grief.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But I trust in you, oh LORD.</i><br />
<i>I say, "You are my God." My times are in your hands;</i><br />
<i>Deliver me from the hands of my enemies,</i><br />
<i>from those who pursue me. Let your face shine on your servant;</i><br />
<i>save me in your unfailing love.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Before I can continue, He cries out: "It is finished."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The earth shakes. We are all thrown off balance. When we regain our feet, He is dead.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The centurion pierces His side - Mary cries out and leaps forward. Blood flows out. The man says under his breath, "Surely this man was the Son of God."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Joseph of Arimathea approaches. "I've gained custody of the body from Pilate. We can put Him in my family tomb. It's just around the corner, but we have to hurry - it's nearly Sabbath."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We take Him down from the cross, bloodstained and bruised. Dead weight. Mary embraces her Son, kissing Him as we remove the crown of thorns, sticky with blood. She holds her Son as we wash and cover Him.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The men carry Him to the tomb and we follow. Nicodemus is there with the embalming spices and oils. But the sun is nearly setting, and there is no time. We wrap Him in linen and step out side, running into a group of guards led by a Pharisee. As we leave, they roll a stone before the tomb. </i><br />
<span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-81909900555645860972020-04-09T20:22:00.000-07:002020-04-09T20:22:40.129-07:00a journey through five years of Maundy Thursdays<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /><i><b>Maundy Thursday 2016 - London, England</b></i></div>
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I slip into Westminster Abbey - late. Much too late to have a seat where I can see the celebrant and the speaker. I walk down the side of the ancient building - one of my favorite holy spaces in the world - and take a seat on a folding chair in Poets' Corner. </div>
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<br /></div>
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A boys' choir sings through the service. Clergy kneel to wash twelve congregants' feet. I rejoice in my favorite line of the liturgy - "Lift up your hearts! We lift them to the Lord!"</div>
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Returning to my seat after receiving Eucharist, I step over the memorial flagstone for C.S. Lewis - "I believe in Christianity as I believe the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."</div>
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Suddenly I am in awe. I feel the weight of glory - the cloud of witnesses. A statue of Handel - who wrote his Messiah oratorio in a bare three weeks - looks down on the scene. William Wilberforce sits in a tucked-away corner. According to the plaque beneath his statue, he added "to high and various talents, to warm benevolence and universal candour . . . the abiding eloquence of a Christian life." </div>
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<br /></div>
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It is not just the witness of these great men that overwhelms me. It is the witness of the hundreds upon hundreds of faithful believers commemorated in this space. It is the witness of the thousands upon thousands who have worshipped in this space every Maundy Thursday for more than seven hundred years. It is the witness of the millions upon millions of Christians gathering today to remember - to remember Our Lord Who knelt with a basin and towel, Who broke His body and shed His blood to heal us, Who remained faithful when we were faithless, Who is the source of our unity and strength. </div>
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<i><b>Maundy Thursday 2017 - Wheaton, IL</b></i></div>
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It is the start of Holy Week services at Church of the Resurrection in Wheaton. I see my friend Karis across the sanctuary and slide into the pew beside her. During the time for the foot washing, she washes my feet so tenderly. I wash hers. </div>
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<br /></div>
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We receive communion for the final time before the cross is shrouded. I will spend many hours in this space between now and Resurrection Sunday, but for all the many services, there will be no communion until the declaration of His resurrection is made. </div>
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I don't know it yet - though I suppose I have an inkling - that those few days will be life-altering. </div>
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<i><b>Maundy Thursday 2018 - Großgmain, Austria</b></i></div>
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I live in Munich, and my college roommates Angela and Bryn are spending Easter weekend with me <span style="font-family: inherit;">and my parents in a tiny town split by the Austria/Germany border. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We read excerpts from T.S. Eliot's "Little Gidding:"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>What we call the beginning is often the end</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>And to make and end is to make a beginning.<br />The end is where we start from. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>[. . .]</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>We die with the dying:<br />See, they depart, and we go with them.<br />We are born with the dead:<br />See, they return, and bring us with them.<br />The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree<br />Are of equal duration. A people without history<br />Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern<br />Of timeless moments. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>[. . .]</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">We shall not cease from exploration<br />And the end of all our exploring<br />Will be to arrive where we started<br />And know the place for the first time.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>[. . .]</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Not known, because not looked for<br />But heard, half-heard, in the stillness<br />Between two waves of the sea.<br />Quick now, here, now, always--<br />A condition of complete simplicity<br />(Costing not less than everything)<br />And all shall be well and<br />All manner of thing shall be well<br />When the tongues of flames are in-folded<br />Into the crowned knot of fire<br />And the fire and the rose are one.</i></span><br />
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<i><b>Maundy Thursday 2019 - Winnweiler, Germany</b></i></div>
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I am working my way through the Ignatian Exercises, part of which involves imaginatively exploring the gospel accounts. </div>
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<i>In the evening, there is laughing and banter, good conversation and good food. Jesus is a little subdued, but we barely notice. It is a night for celebrating. Someone asks, "Why do we keep this feast every year?"</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>A shouted response: "To remember how the Lord God led our ancestors out of Egypt with a mighty hand and outstretched arm and brought them to the Promised Land."</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Simon the Zealot asks Jesus: "Lord, is the time soon coming when You will restore the Kingdom to Israel?"</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>There is a lull in the conversation - people waiting for Jesus' answer. My heart beats faster.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>But Jesus seems not to have heard the question. He rises and leaves the room. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>There is a confused pause. The conversation slowly picks up again, people asking one another why He is in such a strange mood.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I notice Him come back in, a towel wrapped around His waist. He fills a basin with water, kneels down behind John, and starts washing his feet. John starts, but says nothing, going quiet and trying to take it in. I glance around the table. Most people haven't noticed anything amiss - conversation continues.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Jesus dries John's feet and moves to Peter. Peter startles violently at Jesus' touch, clattering against crockery and bringing all conversation to a halt. Jesus smiles and reaches again for Peter's foot. Peter pulls away.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>"Lord! Do you wash my feet??"</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Jesus sits back on the balls of His feet and looks at Peter. "What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand."</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>"You shall never wash my feet!"</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Jesus continues to gaze at Peter. "If I do not wash you, you have no share with Me."</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Peter looks at Jesus, stupefied, jaw dropped. He does not resist again, but looks on in a daze. He has seen those hands heal the sick, multiply loaves, cast merchants from the temple, calm a storm. And now those hands are washing his filthy, callused feet.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>As Jesus begins drying his feet, Peter blurts out: "Lord, not only my feet but also my hands and my head!"</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Jesus smiles - oh, impetuous Peter. "The one who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet, but is completely clean. And you are clean, but not every one of you."</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>He moves on to Andrew.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I am next.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I look at Him as He began to wash my feet, hands tender and firm. The water is cool and refreshing after a long day of preparing and no time to sit down. I don't understand, but I feel His love and care - and also sorrow.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>"Lord," I ask, "Who is going to wash Your feet?"</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>He looks at my face, but gives no answer.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>After He finishes washing everyone's feet, He goes back to His seat. "Do you understand what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them."</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I have been debating ever since it was my turn. Now I decide. As Jesus speaks, I get up as quietly as I can. I wrap the discarded towel around my waist, take up the basin, and kneel down behind Jesus. I take a deep breath, then I gently take His feet and start pouring water over them, spongeing them off. He turns toward me, and I am startled to see tears in His eyes. My own brim. </i></div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Maundy Thursday 2020 - Montreat, NC - Church of the Resurrection, Wheaton, IL</b></i></div>
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Tonight I am in the guest room at my grandparents' house in Montreat, North Carolina. For the first time in three years, I join the Church of the Resurrection Maundy Thursday service - one silver lining of a pandemic is that I am able to worship with the Rez community even though I'm hundreds of miles away.<br />
<br />
The service is bittersweet - as the bishop asked, "Who would have imagined a Maundy Thursday in which we cannot gather around the Table?"<br />
<br />
And yet, I am reminded of the clouds of witnesses I felt so overwhelmingly four years ago in Westminster Abbey. I may be alone in this bedroom, but I am joining in community with over 400 people tuning in to this livestream, and with hundreds of thousands who are celebrating Maundy Thursday from the shelter of their own homes.<br />
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The longing for kingdom community is real - and it is a reminder that even we can gather together in churches, we are still waiting for the time when all things are made new and we feast at the wedding supper of the Lamb - with Jesus in His Kingdom.<br />
<br />
But for now I ponder the words of the sermon-<br />
<br />
<i>He gives us provision in the wilderness.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He places us in a family.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He prepares for us a feast.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He plans for us a future. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Jesus' suffering on the cross is so that His Father can be our Father. He places us in His family with His Father, because He knows the wildernesses we will walk through, and He gives us one another to wash each other's feet and love one another to the end. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He gives us Himself. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>This is Jesus' Story. This is why He came. Jesus longs for the fulfillment of the Passover Feast in the Kingdom of God. </i><br />
<br />
<i>He waits for us and He waits with us. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in Me. In My Father's house are many rooms. . . And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also . . .Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. . .This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. . . .I have said these things to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have trouble. But take heart; I have overcome the world" (John 14:1, 3, 27; 15:12; 16:33). </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We rehearse the story of Jesus, Who has overcome. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Though we are quarantined, the Power of Jesus is not. The Holy Spirit is not on lockdown. We shelter at home, but we shelter under the wings of Jesus. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We have been shaken, but we hold fast to a kingdom that is unshakeable.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Every night for three weeks I have read a poem on my instagram stories. Tonight's poem is "Judas, <span style="font-family: inherit;">Peter," by Lucy Shaw.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">because we are all</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">betrayers, taking</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">silver and eating</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">body and blood and asking</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">(guilty) is it I and hearing</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">him say yes</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">it would be simple for us all</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">to rush out</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">and hang ourselves</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">but if we find grace</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">to cry and wait</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">after the voice of morning</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">has crowed in our ears</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">clearly enough</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">to break our hearts</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">he will be there</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">to ask us each again</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(55, 55, 55);">do you love me?</span></i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-40737218968152898532020-04-04T14:19:00.000-07:002020-04-04T14:19:22.545-07:00unexpected fellowshipOnline church is not my thing.<br />
<br />
Which is something I need to work on, since online church is the modus operandi for churches worldwide these days.<br />
<br />
Maybe tomorrow I'll gear myself up and attend an online Palm Sunday service. But to be honest, the last few weeks, I haven't even tried. Don't get me wrong; in many ways I'm more connected to my spiritual community right now than I was before a global pandemic kept us all at home - praise the Lord for technology. But that doesn't mean I'm watching the weekly sermons.<br />
<br />
Strange how the Lord provides even when I don't feel like showing up.<br />
<br />
Last Sunday, my grandparents' previous pastor and his wife, whom I have known my whole life and absolutely adore, appeared on the front porch with a guitar and a pie. They came around back and announced that they were there for a 10-minute church service - and they meant a full-blown church service, complete with prayer, sermon, hymns, offertory (the pie), special music, and benediction.<br />
<br />
They are absolutely amazing.<br />
<br />
We all kept our distance (probably the hardest thing so far - I dearly wanted to hug these precious friends) and reveled in the fellowship.<br />
<br />
The sermon, well, it was something else.<br />
<br />
After a couple of songs, Owen directed us to open our Bibles to John 11:35. We chuckled as we all leafed through imaginary Bibles, until he "arrived" at the text:<br />
<br />
<i>Jesus wept. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"As we examine this text together, it occurs to me to wonder <i>why </i>Jesus wept. Yes, Lazarus was dead, but Jesus knew that before long, He would raise His friend from the dead. So why did he weep?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DwNfEg0wuhwwAI14_wP-uStD7SM9IpQ4H3IT7I7YwfuL5lsdWoOG2891af48mieDu3ku0T_yG-gzUUY_U7JADdpr2fm3ujIFR4NNjcB_mRZuWuQ8AODu1YePgPDVy7ItOecFogABKDol/s640/Jesus-weeping.jpg" style="-webkit-user-select: none; display: block; margin: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James Tissot / Public domain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<div>
"There are many theological reasons that people have proposed, but there are two that I want to focus on today. For the first, please turn with me to Isaiah 53:3 (more imaginary leafing): 'He was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.'<br />
<br />
"The first reason that Jesus wept is that He knew the pain of sorrow and grief. He knew the hearts of Mary and Martha in their grief and confusion, and He sorrowed for their sorrow, even though He knew that the cause of their weeping would soon turn to joy. He weeps with those who weep.<br />
<br />
"Now, as I said, there are many theological reasons why Jesus wept, but it strikes me in this time that one of those reasons was that <i>He simply missed His friend</i>" - Owen choked up - "just like we miss you, precious friends."<br />
<br />
Wow. What a sermon for this time. <i>Jesus wept</i>. He knew what it was to sorrow with devastated friends - friends who were at least partly devastated because they knew He could have stopped the death, had He so chosen. He did not stand back callously and refuse to share their sorrow, knowing that it was temporary. He entered into their grief with them, because even though He knew the ultimate story would be one of resurrection, this part of it hurt like hell. Because death must precede resurrection.<br />
<br />
He also knew what it was to miss dear friends - to face the pain of separation on earth. And He wept for it.<br />
<br />
I've been talking to my students about two things as we prepare to enter into Holy Week during a pandemic. First, God is in control. He is not surprised. He is not overwhelmed. He holds each of us in His hand and guides our steps. He <i>will</i> work out all things for the good of those who love Him and who are called according to His purpose.<br />
<br />
Second, He is not removed from us in sorrow and confusion and pain. He steps into those emotions with us, even though He knows the bigger picture. He is not impersonal - He is deeply personal and caring.<br />
<br />
That precious ten minutes on the back patio on a Sunday afternoon will be one of the sweetest memories from this time - sweet for the unexpected fellowship with longtime friends, and sweet for the reminder that God fellowships with us.<br />
<br />
Grace be with you. </div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-62778123522860546812020-04-03T07:07:00.000-07:002020-04-09T20:37:53.327-07:00Blind Bartimaeus<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Blind Bartimaeus."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes the moniker was mocking.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes compassionate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes matter-of-fact.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The epithet fit; after all, he was blind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He had not always been blind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He had known sunlight - not just through the warmth seeping into his skin.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He had known the whiteness of milk - not just the taste of its richness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He had known a time when darkness heralded the advent of night, not its perpetual presence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He had known what it was to see. </span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But now,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Blind Bartimaeus" begged for charity -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> for compassion</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> to be seen, though he could not see</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">- on the side of the road. </span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Blind Bartimaeus"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">used his ears to see the commotion of the crowd coming up the road.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Used his smell to see the ripeness of the bustle on the highway outside Jericho.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Used his touch to see the sun beating down, the dust clinging.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Used his ears to decipher the cause of the commotion.</span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Jesus of Nazareth!" "Rabbi!" "Master!" "Healer!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Healer?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Could a blind man be healed of his malady? </span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Jesus!" Desperate. Hopeful.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Jesus! Son of David!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Feet shuffled by and kicked him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Voices reprimanded - "Hold your peace!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He cried all the louder</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Jesus! son of David! Have mercy on me!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Please.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Please. </span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A pause in the whirling currents eddying around him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A voice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Bartimaeus."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The blind man held his breath within himself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Bartimaeus."</span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Not "blind Bartimaeus."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Simply Bartimaeus.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He sat perfectly still, unbelieving.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Unsure. </span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Get up, man! Take heart!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He's calling you."</span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He scrambled to his feet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Cast aside the cloak that tripped him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Groped his way to the center of the crowd's energy. </span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"What do you want me to do for you?"</span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Blind Bartimaeus caught his breath again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Could he dare to ask?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Could he do it?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All at once:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Rabbi, I want to see."</span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Silence. </span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He strained his ears and heard nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The sensation of touch vanished.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Even the pungent smell of the crowd evaporated. </span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But he saw.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Rabbi.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Master.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Lord.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He saw. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Blinked his eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Squinted at the harsh sunlight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Stepped back from the awed faces.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Looked back into the face of Jesus. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Go." He said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Your faith has healed you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bartimaeus had not always had sight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He knew what it was</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To not be quite whole.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To decipher the world through the testimony of taste, touch, sound, smell.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To put together a simulacrum in his mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A poor excuse for sight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And now the world was dazzling. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Blind Bartimaeus."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The moniker seemed a joke.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">No one who knew him had ever known anyone else who relished sight so ravenously.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The man was more observant than anyone around him.</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And he had eyes for only one man:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jesus of Nazareth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The One who called him by name. </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-33580930633234051402020-02-26T18:00:00.000-08:002020-02-26T18:00:07.021-08:00An Ash Wednesday Meditation<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Remember that you are dust. To dust you shall return.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
On the top floor of the Billy Graham Center in Wheaton, there is a nearly life-sized crucifix. As crucifixes go, it's fairly typical. Jesus' arms are opened wide, nailed to the cross. His head hangs under the crown of thorns and the weight of sin.<br />
<br />
It's not the form of the crucifix that's unusual; it's the substance. This crucifix is made of dust. Literally.<br />
<br />
The sculptor - whose name I cannot remember, which is why I have no image to share with you - collected the contents of the campus vacuum cleaners for months upon months. Then, he compressed the dirt and dust and used it as his medium to craft a crucifix.<br />
<br />
It seems sacrilegious, almost, until you remember: we humans are formed of dust.<br />
<br />
In the moment of the Incarnation, God Himself became human - He humbled Himself and took on the form of man - made of dust.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Remember that you are dust. To dust you shall return.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I found myself contemplating the memory of that crucifix during the Ash Wednesday service that I attended this evening. Believers throughout the world gather on Ash Wednesday to mark the beginning of Lent - a season of fasting and repentance as a time of preparation for Easter.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In a dimmed sanctuary, the members of the congregation silently stepped to the front to receive the ashes. The priest dipped his finger in a mixture of ashes and anointing oil and imposed the sign of the cross on each congregant's forehead. He spoke softly: "Remember that you are dust. To dust you shall return." Somehow, in a quirk of acoustics, all that was audible unless you were the one receiving the ashes was "dust...dust...return...dust...dust...return...dust...dust...return." </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In the ten minutes of silent listening to this refrain, I contemplated the anointing. That cross on our foreheads is an mystery and a reminder: we are dust; Christ became dust for us; though once we were sinners under judgment we are now covered by the work of the Messiah on the cross. We are marked by His grace.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Because He became dust, our return to dust is not the end of the story. When we return to Him, He begins the mysterious work of renewal in us that will be completed when He comes again.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Remember that you are dust. To dust you shall return.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This refrain stems from the curse in Genesis 3, when God pronounces judgment on Adam for his rebellion against the Lord. In other contexts, the word refers to ashes; hence, Ash Wednesday. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But there is another Hebrew word used earlier in Genesis 2 in the account of man's creation. It's actually the word that the name Adam comes from, and it means land, ground, or soil. It is from this idea that the layperson, Mary, who delivered the homily this evening, developed her question:</div>
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<br /></div>
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How is the soil of your soul?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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Mary went on to paint an image of Lent that I wasn't familiar with: a time for tilling the soil of our souls, so that we are ready to receive the seed of joy that Easter brings. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It's a beautiful image, made more beautiful by a story she told. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Early in her marriage, she and her husband were directors of a community called <i>Selah</i> out in California. The community shared apartments around a courtyard. Initially, the courtyard was barren, with dead bushes and some scraggly plants - not a welcoming place. But the members of the community decided that they wanted it to be a gathering place, so they went to work - weeding, preparing the soil, planting seeds. It became a beautiful garden. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
One day Mary came down the stairs with a load of laundry to find a sweet Japanese lady on her knees in the garden. She had a plastic sieve, and she was carefully shaking the dirt through it. As she sifted, she threw out rocks, twigs, and pieces of trash. </div>
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<br /></div>
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When Mary asked what she was doing, her friend replied, "If I don't do this, the soil won't be any good."</div>
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<br /></div>
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If I don't do this, the soil won't be any good. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
What an image for the discipline of Lent - a time to sit with the Lord and sift the soil of our souls, opening up to His work in our hearts to sift out rocks and twigs and trash so that we can bear the fruit of abiding in Him. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Remember that you are dust. To dust you shall return.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
As I sit on the couch in my PJs, preparing for rest, these images are settling in my heart. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The sibilant refrain "dust...dust...return...dust...dust...return."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The sensation of ash and oil on my forehead. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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The image of a woman kneeling in the dirt to sift the soil so that living things could grow in it. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The image of a Jesus made of dust stretching out His arms on the cross. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Remember that you are dust. To dust you shall return.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We are dust - but thanks to the work of the Creator and Redeemer, we are anointed dust. Consecrated to carry out His work and bear the fruit of abiding in Him as we walk through the brokenness and beauty of this fleeting life. As we dwell on this turning world, may we continually return to Him. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-36190215586090348382019-07-25T18:35:00.001-07:002019-07-25T18:35:25.654-07:00hummingbirds and toads<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5ATt35srdJCINVKzmKeRjIPLJzrd6dAIWXxWWaqcnbge8vpkVWRI3mqniqAJY2GMMVZuh9tmGDhpa4GgpVKO_qkCDIIneDbraGRIcP7GtrWRAkBegCPN_PdY5Z1oYi3Y7wjK4YygobwQ/s1600/IMG_1266.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5ATt35srdJCINVKzmKeRjIPLJzrd6dAIWXxWWaqcnbge8vpkVWRI3mqniqAJY2GMMVZuh9tmGDhpa4GgpVKO_qkCDIIneDbraGRIcP7GtrWRAkBegCPN_PdY5Z1oYi3Y7wjK4YygobwQ/s320/IMG_1266.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
There are cicadas whirring outside my window. It is 9:30 pm and it's already dark outside. It was 85 degrees Fahrenheit today and people were sighing at how nice and cool it is.<br />
<br />
I'm on day three in my new stomping grounds in the Raleigh, NC area. The last two months have taken me from Munich to Austria to the Lakes District in England to the West Highland Way in Scotland to Raleigh, North Carolina. It's been a wonderful whirlwind.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to lie: transitions are hard and culture shock is real (you can see my friend Angela's take on that <a href="https://angelahw.com/2019/07/24/coming-home-the-good-and-the-weird-reverse-culture-shock/" target="_blank">here</a>) and there have been tears. This morning, in fact.<br />
<br />
But there have also been many small, good things today that remind me that this is where I want to be.<br />
<br />
Here are some of them.<br />
<br />
~ a tiny toad the size of my thumbnail on the sidewalk<br />
~ hummingbirds zipping in and out of the garden<br />
~ a bunny rabbit meandering through the yard<br />
~ cicadas so loud I hear them through my closed window every night<br />
~ a pool with water that is pleasantly tepid, not freezing<br />
~ gracious people<br />
~ magnolia blossoms<br />
~ crepe myrtles<br />
~ white pine trees<br />
~ a dryer so my laundry is finished after two hours total<br />
~ garlic bread<br />
~ iced tea<br />
~ a screened-in porch<br />
<br />
In the middle of so much newness, little things like these go a long way toward helping me keep my chin up. As does the audiobook of <i>Charlotte's Web</i> narrated by E. B. White himself. Just saying.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-27934752559634969362019-05-16T01:54:00.000-07:002019-05-16T02:01:44.007-07:00The Art of Leaving WellOne thing I've learned through many moves over the years is that leaving well is an art form, not a formula.<br />
<br />
It would be easier if it were a formula: I could make a list, check off all the boxes, and tie up all the loose ends before moving on.<br />
<br />
But that's not how life works. Uprooting is a messy, unpredictable business. Just as I successfully pull up one tie to a place, I inadvertently establish another. Somehow I always manage to be putting down new roots until the actual moment of being transplanted.<br />
<br />
I'm moving away from Munich in less than a month, and it is really tempting to check out now. But <span style="font-style: italic;">I’m still here</span>. <b>If I’m called to <a href="https://thewildsofwonder.blogspot.com/2018/05/mamas-wisdom-bloom-where-youre-planted.html" target="_blank">bloom where I’m planted</a>, that means I’m called to bloom here until the day I go. </b><br />
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So even while I set up final visits with friends, I allow myself to spend time with new acquaintances. I initiate a four-week Bible study with a teenager from church. I invite a couple of kids over for a tea party.<br />
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I visit familiar haunts for the last time while still discovering new, delightful places.<br />
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<b>Even while I'm preparing to leave, I still live here. There are still things for me to do here.</b><br />
<br />
<div>
None of this means living in denial. Closure is important. But the truth is that there will always be loose ends. There will always be unfinished conversations and unexplored possibilities and things on the to-do list that never got done. People that I wish I’d sought out over the last two years that it’s now time to say goodbye to. It’s enough to make me crazy. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the weeks before I graduated from college, I was under immense pressure and immense blessing. I was preemptively grieving the loss of a community that was precious to me while daily receiving all the riches that community had to offer. I did not know how to process it all, and I was afraid that I would leave important things undone - that somehow I would miss something crucial and have no chance to rectify my mistake.<br />
<br />
During that time the Lord gave me a word through a friend: "Rest easy. I'll take care of the loose ends. Fear not. Trust Me."<br />
<br />
While this transition is not nearly as devastating as that one was, it is good for me to remember the assurance God gave me in the midst of it.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
It’s a reminder that <b>the work I’ve been doing here in relationships and community isn’t actually my work: it’s the Lord’s work.</b> And it is being accomplished in His timing. If it feels unfinished to me, that’s ok, because I’m not the one responsible to finish it - He is. </div>
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<br /></div>
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In the meantime, I write myself reminders, give myself space to grieve and to rejoice, hang out with friends, and practice the art of leaving well.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-18739440898450664542019-04-30T06:45:00.000-07:002019-04-30T06:45:29.577-07:00Things I Learned This Month | April 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
After a brief hiatus, I'm back on track with sharing a list of some of the things I learned this month. I got the idea from <a href="https://emilypfreeman.com/" target="_blank">Emily P. Freeman</a> a year or two ago, and it's a simple practice that I really enjoy.<br />
<br />
<b>1. I learned all sorts of interesting things about T.J. Maxx.</b><br />
<br />
I was curious about the store's name in Europe. Over here, it's called T.K. Maxx. But it's obviously the same store - it has the exact same branding and products. Turns out, when the company extended into the UK it didn't want to be confused with T.K. Hughes, another well-established brand. So in Europe it's T.K. Maxx. Further fun fact, T.J. Maxx and Marshall's are owned by the same parent company, <a href="https://www.tjx.com/company/history" target="_blank">TJX</a>. What I could not discover is why the store is called T.J. Maxx in the first place. The internet has no conclusive evidence, so I suppose it shall remain a mystery.<br />
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<b>2. "Critical thinking without hope is cynicism. But hope without critical thinking is naivete."</b><br />
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I heard Maria Popova say this in an <a href="https://onbeing.org/programs/maria-popova-cartographer-of-meaning-in-a-digital-age-feb2019/" target="_blank">interview</a> with Krista Tippett on the show <i>On Being</i>, and it has really stuck with me.<br />
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<b>3. A mantra for discerning a possible next right thing: Do what you know. Finish what you started. Use what you have. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I got this one from Myquillen Smith during a <a href="https://emilypfreeman.com/podcast/the-next-right-thing/myquillyn-smith/" target="_blank">bonus episode</a> of Emily P. Freeman's podcast <i>The Next Right Thing. </i><br />
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<b>4. The crepe man I remember from childhood has been there for 20 years.</b><br />
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Mom and I went to Heidelberg for my first visit since we moved in 2012. A highlight of the day was getting a crepe from the crepe man. (Did I think to ask his name? No.) He has a little stand in an alcove in the outside of the main church in Heidelberg, and when we lived in Heidelberg we would often get his crepes for lunch and eat them on the bridge. I was pleased to discover that they are still the best crepes that I have ever had. It was fun to visit with him a little bit and discover that this is an art that he has perfected over 20 years. Apparently once a French school group bought his crepes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner because they are so delicious. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-82402381702697624622019-04-21T13:53:00.000-07:002019-04-21T13:53:58.813-07:00Poetry Corner | Two Easter Poems<div class="c1" cwidth="944" eza="cwidth:944px;;cheight:22px;;wcalc_source:child;wcalc:78px;wocalc:78px;hcalc:44px;rend_px_area:20768;" style="background-size: auto; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); max-width: 750px; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;"><i>I couldn't choose which of these to share, so here are both. </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">I</span><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">kon: The Harrowing of Hell</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">by Denise Levertov</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">Down through the tomb's inward arch</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">He has shouldered out into Limbo</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">to gather them, dazed, from dreamless slumber:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">the merciful dead, the prophets,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">the innocents just His own age and those</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">unnumbered others waiting here</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">unaware, in an endless void He is ending</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">now, stooping to tug at their hands,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">to pull them from their sarcophagi,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">dazzled, almost unwilling. Didmas,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">neighbor in death, Golgotha dust</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">still streaked on the dried sweat of his body</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">no one had washed and anointed, is here,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">for sequence is not known in Limbo;</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">the promise, given from cross to cross</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">at noon, arches beyond sunset and dawn.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">All these He will swiftly lead</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">to the Paradise road: they are safe.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">That done, there must take place that struggle</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">no human presumes to picture:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">living, dying, descending to rescue the just</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">from shadow, were lesser travails</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">than this: to break</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">through earth and stone of the faithless world</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">back to the cold sepulchre, tearstained</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">stifling shroud; to break from them</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">back into breath and heartbeat, and walk</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">the world again, closed into days and weeks again,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">wounds of His anguish open, and Spirit</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">streaming through every cell of flesh</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">so that if mortal sight could bear</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">to perceive it, it would be seen</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">His mortal flesh was lit from within, now,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">and aching for home. He must return,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">first, in Divine patience, and know</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">hunger again, and give</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">to humble friends the joy</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;">of giving Him food—fish and a honeycomb.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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***</div>
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***</div>
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***</div>
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(117, 117, 117); font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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Easter Day</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">by Christina Rosetti</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="max-width: 750px;" />Words cannot utter <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Christ His returning: <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Mankind, keep jubilee, <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Strip off your mourning, <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Crown you with garlands, <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Set your lamps burning. <br style="max-width: 750px;" /><br style="max-width: 750px;" />Speech is left speechless; <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Set you to singing, <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Fling your hearts open wide, <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Set your bells ringing: <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Christ the Chief Reaper <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Comes, His sheaf bringing. <br style="max-width: 750px;" /><br style="max-width: 750px;" />Earth wakes her song-birds, <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Puts on her flowers, <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Leads out her lambkins, <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Builds up her bowers: <br style="max-width: 750px;" />This is man's spousal day, <br style="max-width: 750px;" />Christ's day and ours.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-79692193206541444442019-04-19T13:48:00.001-07:002019-04-19T13:52:52.696-07:00we call this Friday "Good"<div style="caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 204); line-height: 2em;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">From T.S. Eliot's poem "East Coker"</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">IV</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The wounded surgeon plies the steel<br />That questions the distempered part;<br />Beneath the bleeding hands we feel<br />The sharp compassion of the healer's art<br />Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Our only health is the disease<br />If we obey the dying nurse<br />Whose constant care is not to please<br />But to remind of our, and Adam's curse,<br />And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The whole earth is our hospital<br />Endowed by the ruined millionaire,<br />Wherein, if we do well, we shall<br />Die of the absolute paternal care<br />That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The chill ascends from feet to knees,<br />The fever sings in mental wires.<br />If to be warmed, then I must freeze<br />And quake in frigid purgatorial fires<br />Of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The dripping blood our only drink,<br />The bloody flesh our only food:<br />In spite of which we like to think<br />That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood—<br />Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-28859359582303067502019-04-15T03:36:00.000-07:002019-04-15T03:36:18.514-07:00finding home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The soul finds its own home if it ever has a home at all. </i>~Marilynne Robinson, <i>Home</i>, 282</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dear Katie,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On Sunday after church, you asked me if I ever wondered where home is. You are bright and outgoing and wistful and twelve years old. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The question caught me off guard, and I answered with my knee-jerk reaction: Yes. I do wonder that, often. And as I wonder, sometimes the only thing that enables me to keep moving forward is the promise that our citizenship – our ultimate home – is in heaven. It seems abstract, but it is more concrete than any other answer I can offer in the space of a brief interaction in the church foyer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I’ve kept thinking about it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I've lived in nine different cities. Not counting the three places my parents have lived since I left for college. Two continents. Three countries. Zip codes that all run together in my head so that I always have to double-check before writing my return address. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm moving to my tenth city in two months. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When do I not wonder where home is?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For both of us, home is not a particular house on a particular street in a particular city, state, and country. And there’s a certain sadness to that – a sense of loss that I hear in the way you ask the question. When you ask where home is, I wonder, <i>What would it be like to have one home?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is cardboard boxes and moving crates and knowing that this place is only temporary - and I hate that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And yet. <i>And yet.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is every place I have unpacked those boxes. Would I really want to give any of those places up for the boon of just having one home?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have a home that is far bigger than one house in one city. I have not one home, but many. I look for hints of home wherever I go, and often I find it in unexpected places. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I discover a piece of home every time I walk into an art gallery. Also every time I walk into a bookstore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is James Taylor's album "October Road" on repeat from July through November. And my mom's collection of Christmas music. And Handel's "Messiah."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is a dorm room filled with more people than is entirely comfortable - a jumble of coats and books and mugs of steaming tea and rich conversation - or silence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is wherever my parents live. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is Orion in the clear winter sky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is gathering friends together to cook and laugh and visit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is humid days on a screened-in-porch in North Carolina, swinging in a hammock, listening to the creek. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Airports are home. And train stations. Any place where people occupy liminal space - in transition from one place to another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is the sound of the Amsel - the German blackbird with an orange beak that has the most beautiful song in the world. It is also the sound of cicadas whirring in the North Carolina heat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is the community of believers learning what it means to be pilgrims to the city of God. Sometimes we speak German as we walk through life together. Sometimes English. The language doesn’t matter as much as we sometimes think it does. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is the quilts my grandmother made.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is a kitchen in a church basement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is whatever hotel I'm spending the night in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is the collection of postcards and posters and photos and paintings that I tape to the wall and then take down again when it's time to go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home is a gift that I often find when I least expect it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home the way we want it doesn't exist. There is no place in the world where all the people who are precious to us gather to do life together. And even if there were, a lot of the people we love don't speak the same language. There is no one house in the world that holds all the smells we associate with home and holds all our memories. There is no place in the world that can possibly satisfy the yearning for a place where we are fully known, fully at rest, where all is truly, deeply, profoundly,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>well</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That yearning is only fulfilled when Christ's Kingdom is made manifest. And that is why I cling tight to Paul's proclamation that our citizenship is in heaven: because it gives me hope that one day the yearning for home will actually be fulfilled. Though the ache seems to last forever, it will only last a lifetime. A lifetime seems long when you're in the middle of it. Especially when you're twelve. Or even twenty-four. But then there's forever.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Forever</i> at Home. What a weight of glory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For now, we get to carry around that yearning as we live the live of nomads. And we carry around more than that longing - we get to carry some of the things that make a place a home. My mom puts the Mary Engelbreit "bloom where you're planted" magnet on yet another fridge. I turn on the music that holds sustaining memories. We cook food that nourishes our bodies and reminds us of other meals around other kitchen tables. We schedule FaceTime calls and send text messages and write letters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We refuse to be defeated by the reality of how temporary this all is. We choose to put down roots even though we know that when it's time to move on the uprooting is agonizing. Because as long as we are willing to put down roots, we have access to a foretaste of home. As long as we look for them, we will find bits of home that we can carry with us wherever we go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Grace,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Kate</span><span style="font-family: , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-62638738562165453162019-03-24T23:59:00.000-07:002019-03-24T23:59:43.049-07:00Living by Prayerfrom <i>The Valley of Vision</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
O God of the open ear,<br />
Teach me to live by prayer as well as by providence,<br />
for myself, soul, body, children, family, church;<br />
Give me a heart frameable to thy will;<br />
so might I live in prayer, and honour thee,<br />
being kept from evil, known and unknown.<br />
Help me to see the sin that accompanies all I do,<br />
and the good I can distill from everything.<br />
Let me know that the work of prayer is to bring my will to thine,<br />
and that without this it is folly to pray;<br />
When I try to bring thy will to mine it is to command Christ,<br />
to be above him, and wiser than he:<br />
this is my sin and pride.<br />
I can only succeed when I pray<br />
according to thy precept and promise,<br />
and to be done with a it pleases thee,<br />
according to thy sovereign will.<br />
When thou commandest me to pray for pardon, peace, brokenness,<br />
it is because thou wilt give me the thing promised,<br />
for thy glory, as well as for my good.<br />
Help me not only to desire small things<br />
but with holy boldness to desire great things<br />
for thy people, for myself,<br />
that they and I might live to show thy glory.<br />
Teach me that it is wisdom for me to pray for all I have,<br />
out of love, willingly, not of necessity;<br />
that I may come to thee at any time,<br />
to lay open my needs acceptably to thee;<br />
that my great sin lies in my not keeping<br />
the savour of thy ways;<br />
that the remembrance of this truth is one way<br />
to the sense of thy presence;<br />
that there is no wrath like the wrath of being governed<br />
by my own lusts for my own ends. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-65598780703878785662019-03-23T03:41:00.000-07:002019-03-23T03:41:42.529-07:00Israel no. 1 | The LandThey say that after you've visited Israel, you'll read the Bible from a whole different perspective.<br />
<br />
It's true.<br />
<br />
Walking and driving through the land of the Bible makes all the little geographical details come alive - details that I never paid much attention to before.<br />
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Call me crazy, but it never hit me until I was standing at the ruins of Caeserea, in a palace part of which is literally underneath the Mediterranean, that Israel is a coastal country. Should I have realized this? Duh, yes. I've looked at maps. I've seen the strip of coast that Israel occupies. But somehow it didn't sink in what that meant. That's the point, I guess - I've read the Bible my whole life, looked at maps of Israel countless times, and it took standing in the wind and looking out at the waves to grasp Israel's location - the center of the fertile crescent. No backwater, but a key stretch on the route joining the Assyrian, Babylonian, and Egyptian empires, with access to all the riches of a shipping trade that stretched across the Mediterranean.<br />
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The land in northern Israel at the beginning of March is lush and fertile, with large herds of cattle grazing on the hills. That was unexpected to me, somehow. I expected sheep and goats and camels. Not cows.<br />
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And yet -<br />
<i><br /></i><i>Every beast of the forest is Mine, </i><br />
<i>the cattle on a thousand hills. </i><br />
<i>I know all the birds of the hills, </i><br />
<i>and all that moves in the field is mine. </i><br />
<i>Psalm 50:10-11</i><br />
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Speaking of birds, Israel isn't just in an essential location when it comes to ancient civilizations. It's also a land bridge between Africa, Europe, and Asia for migrating birds. They don't like to fly over water, so rather than flying over the Mediterranean, they fly over Israel. We were there during migration season, and we saw countless flocks of storks flying North. I have never before seen a flock of storks. There is a pair that nests near my parents' house, and I'm accustomed to seeing them in rural Germany, but they come in pairs - occasionally in foursomes. Not in flocks!<br />
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But apparently they do come in flocks, and each family peels off to their own village after migrating.<br />
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<i>The trees of the LORD are watered abundantly,</i><br />
<i>the cedars of Lebanon that he planted.</i><br />
<i>In them the birds build their nests;</i><br />
<i>the stork has her home in the fir trees. </i><br />
<i>Psalm 104:16-17</i><br />
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I still marvel at the lushness. The Galilee mountainsides are covered with wildflowers and grass. The Jordan River rushes through, a strong current making crossing impossible without a bridge. Pomegranates, lemons, and oranges grow casually in people's gardens. But Anna, the owner of the apartment we stay at, tells us that when the heat of summer comes, everything is dry and brown, toasted to a crisp.<br />
<br />
<i>All flesh is like grass</i><br />
<i>and all its glory like the flower of grass.</i><br />
<i>The grass withers,</i><br />
<i>and the flower falls,</i><br />
<i>but the word of the Lord remains forever.</i><br />
<i>1 Peter 1:24-5</i><br />
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I collected minuscule seashells and pet an extroverted cat on the edge of the Sea of Galilee. Now, when I read that when Jesus was in Capernaum, and "the sun was setting, all those who had any who were sick with various diseases brought them to him, and he laid his hands on every one of them and healed them," I think of that cat. I know the view of the lake from the hamlet of Capernaum, and I know what mountain the sun sets over.<br />
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Once the sun sets, villages on hilltops shimmer with light. Impossible to hide, those cities on hills. Jackals howl in the darkness. In the morning, I sit on the balcony and watch the haze on the Sea of Galilee. A pair of swallows builds a nest over the door to the apartment. As we drive to our destination, we see a fox - grey, with very large ears.<br />
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<i>Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head. Matthew 8:20</i><br />
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We say that Israel is a small country - and it is, if you're measuring by car or train or airplane. But it's nearly one hundred miles from Jerusalem to Nazareth, and forty more to Capernaum. When you read the gospel accounts, it seems that Jesus and His disciples are constantly traipsing back and forth between these cities. The authors barely give it a second thought, but that is a LOT of walking. Especially when you consider that nearly every footstep was accompanied by teaching or a miracle.<br />
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We drop south and rewind several thousand years: we float in the Dead Sea and are refreshed at the oasis of En Gedi. This is where David hid from Saul - a narrow strip of lush, hardy greenery running towards the Dead Sea, surrounded by arid rocky mountains. I cannot describe the relief of hearing the rush of water and the sound of birdsong in that starkly beautiful landscape. Now that I've seen the wilderness, the images in the Psalms are so much more real. As I hiked by the brook at En Gedi, I found myself thinking over and over,<br />
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<i>As the deer panteth for the water, </i><br />
<i>so my soul longs for You. </i><br />
<i>Psalm 42:1</i></div>
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Hiking up to Herod the Great's palace at Masada before sunrise hammers home the power-hungry heart of the notoriously feared king - and the beauty of this desolate part of the land. We look across the Dead Sea into the mountains of Moab - Ruth's home.<br />
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Back up in Galilee, we had not only looked across into Jordan, but also at mountains that border Syria. With all the political tension and tragedy in this area today, I am struck by passages like this:<br />
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<i>So his fame spread throughout all Syria, and they brought Him all the sick, those afflicted with various diseases and pains, those oppressed by demons, those having seizures and paralytics, and He healed them. And great crowds followed Him from Galilee and the Decapolis, and from Jerusalem and Judea, and from beyond the Jordan. ~ Matthew 4:24-25</i><br />
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The hope of Jesus is not bound by regional boundaries or ethnic differences or cultural conflicts. It wasn't then, and it isn't now. Being on the land brought that home to me in a whole new way.<br />
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And Jerusalem. What a city. I will have more to say about it, but I will close with this for now:<br />
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<i>As mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds His people both now and forevermore. </i><br />
<i>Psalm 125:2</i><br />
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<i><br /></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-67014343114788507292019-02-28T11:49:00.000-08:002019-02-28T11:49:25.752-08:00Things I Learned This Month | February 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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WOW this was a full month. I spent a whirlwind long weekend in New York for an event celebrating the mark of 100 days before Charlie's class graduates from West Point - one of the crazier good decisions I've made in the last few years. I'm so proud of my big little brother. And he got me flowers. Major brownie points.<br />
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I also got to meet the wonderful, beautiful Ellie, my best friend Liza's daughter. Also seeing Liza was super. She's a wonder woman - flew up to NY from SC solo with an eight-month-old.<br />
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Anyway. This monthly post has turned into an excuse to share the photos I would have written posts about if I had my life together, but the actual purpose is to share a handful of the things I learned this month with y'all. So. Without further ado, some things I learned this month.<br />
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<b>1. Samin Nosrat, the author of the cookbook <i>Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat</i>, had enrolled in a program to get her MFA in poetry when she learned that she had the opportunity to apprentice under a famous Italian cook in Florence. </b>The rest is history. There's a strong connection between poetry and recipe writing, y'all - economy with words, vivid descriptions - I'm not even kidding.<br />
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<b>2. Tossing a spoonful of baking soda into the cooking water for dried chick peas makes them heavenly</b>. I got this tip from <i>Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat</i>, and those chick peas were melt-in-your-mouth tender. I never would have thought I'd get excited about a new method to cook dried beans, but I so am.<br />
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<b>3. <i>The Greatest Showman </i>soundtrack is superb. </b>I'm super late to the game, I know, and I still haven't seen the movie. But Charlie's pals played this music nonstop during the weekend I was at West Point, and I love it. I will forever associate "A Million Dreams" with a bunch of cadets singing their hearts out as they prepared a spectacular brunch for their dates and friends.<br />
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<b>4. "Tradition is to communities what memory is to individuals." </b>This is a quote from Irish poet John O'Donahue that has me thinking quite a bit.<br />
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<b>5. There are lyrics to the traditional clock chime. </b>You know, the chime that you think of when you think of Big Ben or any church tolling the hours. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cR7IvFxyec" target="_blank">This one.</a> The words inscribed on a plaque in the Big Ben clock room are:<br />
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">All through this hour</i><br />
<i style="font-family: inherit;">Lord be my guide</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">That by Thy power</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">No foot shall slide</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span></div>
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I learned this from a recent episode of Emily P. Freeman's podcast, <i><a href="https://emilypfreeman.com/podcast/" target="_blank">The Next Right Thing</a></i>. Which, by the way, is one thing I look forward to every single week. She's actually the inspiration for my monthly practice of sharing what I've learned. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-10797951662224791552019-01-31T13:10:00.001-08:002019-01-31T13:10:27.489-08:00Things I Learned This Month | January 2019After a brief hiatus, we're back to things I learned this month! (The main reason this didn't happen in December is that my brain wanted to remember all the things I learned in 2018. Which was, frankly, overwhelming.)<br />
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<b>There's a "magic" lipstick that looks bright green but turns red when applied. </b><br />
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A friend of mine visiting from North Africa brought me a stick, because apparently it's all the rage there. I was seriously skeptical until we tried it - and it worked. I did some googling, and different sources say different things about the magic. <a href="https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2325665/Would-wear-GREEN-lipstick-The-magic-make-reacts-body-chemistry-perfect-pink-hue.html" target="_blank">The Daily Mail</a> says that the lipstick reacts to your skin's pH level to turn just the right shade of red. <a href="https://intothegloss.com/2015/02/color-changing-lipsticks/" target="_blank">Into the Gloss</a> says that it contains a dye called Red 27 which is colorless when dissolved in a waterless base, but which turns red upon contact with moisture. Either way, it's fun to apply lipstick that looks like it should belong to Elphaba and turns out to be as full of pizazz as Galinda.<br />
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<b>Coffee does have its uses.</b><br />
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If you know me at all in real life, you know that I drink tea by the gallon and avoid coffee as if it were drinkable mud. I just don't like the taste. But on some days, it is a valid option to functioning like a normal human. I got up at 3:30 am to take a friend to the airport, and after I dropped her off, I had several hours to kill before going to work. So I hied me to Starbucks, got myself a grande Americano that I doctored liberally with cinnamon, cocoa powder, cream, and sugar, and took my medicine while doing my devotions and lesson planning. It worked: I stayed functional until my classes ended and then went home to take a nap. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.<br />
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<b>I really enjoy the enforced contemplation of MRIs and acupuncture. </b><br />
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I've been having mild, ongoing ankle issues that are exceptionally difficult to diagnose. As a result, I've spent awhile lying in dark rooms with lots of banging (MRI) and pins sticking in my ankle (acupuncture). I thought I'd chafe at the empty time, but instead I've found myself actually looking forward to it. For once I have an excuse to lie on my back and do nothing except daydream and pray. It's strangely rejuvenating. Silver linings, and all that.<br />
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<b>Sometimes you have to learn by doing</b>.<br />
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My church is piloting a translation ministry - the dream is to provide simultaneous translation of each evening service from German into English. When I was asked to participate, part of me thought, "I have no idea how to do this." A bigger part of me thought, "I'll never know how unless I try." I got to do a run-through while we tested technology during a service last week, and I actually really enjoyed it. Though, arbitrarily, my brain decided to fly through the sermon (the difficult part) with barely a hitch, and stumble haltingly through the announcements (the easy part). Lesson learned: concentrate just as much on the easy parts instead of assuming that since they're simpler they require less attention.<br />
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<b>Rachel Huffington's <a href="http://www.lipstickandgelato.com/2016/10/ultimate-ginger-cookies-recipe.html" target="_blank">Ultimate Ginger Cookies</a> are every bit as amazing as they look in her pictures. </b><br />
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I've been wanting to try these cookies ever since I realized they call for a full 3/4 cup of minced fresh ginger, and they did not disappoint. They smell heavenly, the texture is everything I wanted it to be, and the sharp kick of ginger is a perfect companion to a cup of tea. Also, they are good with peanut butter. But then, I think that just about anything is good with peanut butter.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-50114695586202152712019-01-24T13:48:00.000-08:002019-01-24T13:48:32.961-08:00wisdom from friends (and Taylor Swift): remember to enjoy this stage of life <span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m so glad I’m not in my twenties anymore. It can be overwhelming and confusing and frustrating, because so many things are uncertain - where you’ll live, what you’ll do, who (if) you’ll marry. <b>But remember to enjoy the freedom. </b>Because while you gain stability with years and narrowing down options, you also lose the freedom of having your options wide open.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My friend smiled at her baby and took another bite of her salad while I mulled over her words. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s strangely comforting to hear people in their thirties and forties and beyond talk about how difficult things could be when they were in their twenties: it helps to know that my uncertainty and occasional frustration are the norm. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cue Taylor Swift's "22": </span><i><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">We're happy, free, confused, and </span>lonely<span style="font-family: inherit;"> at the same time. It's miserable and magical. </span></b></i></span>My friend Angela and I have decided that this song is about all of your twenties, not just 22.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">My least favorite question is “what do you want to do?” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know that until June I want to teach English in Munich. After June, when my contract ends, I have absolutely no idea. (Ok, well, <b>I have lots of ideas, but zero plans.</b>) I don’t know where I’ll be seven months from now, much less have a five-year plan.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I’m learning to accept that, and even enjoy it. My friend was right - I enjoy a kind of freedom as a young, single woman in my twenties that I probably won’t have for the majority of my life. So <b>why spend my time fretting that I don’t have plans when I have the freedom to entertain all sorts of possibilities?</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s a process, but the Lord is helping me work through it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For my last few big decisions, <b>God has faithfully shown me the next step - but it’s been about three months later than I think He should have let me in on His plans.</b> So I’m working on preparing faithfully, but not freaking out when I don’t have concrete plans. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One thing I have learned: <b>I have a habit of declaring that I will absolutely not do something and then, in the course of a year or two, turning around and doing it. It's gotten to the point that it's rather ridiculous.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"I am absolutely not interested in going to Wheaton.”</i><b> </b><span style="line-height: 1.45;">I went to Wheaton - and can't imagine a better place to have spent my college years.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"I am studying English Literature. Not German. Not as a minor, definitely not as a major. Nope.” </i><span style="line-height: 1.45;">At the eleventh hour I added German as a second major. It was a fluke - I still didn't want to study German academically, but it got to the point where it would have been dumb not to. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.45;"><i>"No way am I studying abroad during college - I've lived abroad. I want to spend four years rooted in one place.</i></span><span style="line-height: 1.45;"><i>”</i><b> </b></span><span style="line-height: 1.45;">My semester abroad in Oxford was a highlight of my college career. Not only did I learn to love research papers (yes, I'm crazy), but I still keep up with friends that I made there via a monthly Skype book club. We've read 26 books together in the last two years.</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 1.45;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"I'm not going to live in Germany after college. I do not want to continue down a road that could leave me torn between two countries for my entire life...Ok, fine, I’ll move to Germany, but it will only be for a year, and then I’ll go back to the states.”</i> I write this from my apartment in Munich, which I am living in for year two as an English Teaching Assistant. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.45;">I'm beginning to learn wisdom. I</span>’<span style="line-height: 1.45;">m working hard to not make any hard and fast declarations about what I will - or won</span>’<span style="line-height: 1.45;">t - do. Which gives me even more freedom, since I</span>’<span style="line-height: 1.45;">m learning to consider things that I might want to automatically rule out. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the meantime, I’m putting into practice an Instagram caption I wrote in June: Life is all about learning what to hang on to and what to let go of, always maintaining a strong sense of fun.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Some things I’m learning to let go of:</b></span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">My desire to be settled without uncertainty - </span>because<span style="font-family: inherit;"> let's face it: <b>even when I think I'm settled, something is bound to change. </b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">A self-imposed need to know what I want to do with my whole life - because even if I had a 50-year plan, it would so not last. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">A fixed plan for any given day - because interruptions and changes of plan happen all the time.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Comparison with other people’s jobs, relational status, or bandwidth. </span></li>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some things I’m learning to hang on to: </span></b><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Jesus. Always. </b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">A commitment to making space and time for the people in my life - whether that’s through FaceTime, messaging, and snail mail with friends stateside; having friends over for lunch; or initiating coffee/tea dates with an acquaintances who I want to get to know better. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">A sense of wonder and adventure - this applies to small things like stopping to enjoy the smell of scented candles as well as larger things like taking an overnight bus with friends to go to the Italian coast.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Making time for things that make my soul rest - at the moment primarily cooking and reading. </span></li>
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Where are you in your journey? Are you feeling settled? Uprooted? Clueless? Completely pulled together? In the midst of all of that, what do you cling to? What do you need to let go of?</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-7840635230934662442019-01-20T05:57:00.000-08:002019-01-20T05:57:03.293-08:00Poetry Corner | A Song of Creation<div class="page" title="Page 47">
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<i>My dear friend Angela is visiting, and this morning we did the Book of Common Prayer's service of morning prayer. I have always loved this canticle, so I want to share it with you this January Sunday. </i><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">A Song of Creation </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Benedicite, omnia opera Domini </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">nvocation</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O all ye works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye angels of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">II The Cosmic Order
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye heavens, bless ye the Lord; *</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
O ye waters that be above the firmament, bless ye the Lord;
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O all ye powers of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye sun and moon, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye stars of heaven, bless ye the Lord;
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye showers and dew, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye winds of God, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye fire and heat, bless ye the Lord;
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye winter and summer, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye dews and frosts, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye frost and cold, bless ye the Lord;
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye ice and snow, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye nights and days, bless ye the Lord; *<br />
O ye light and darkness, bless ye the Lord;
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye lightnings and clouds, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">III The Earth and its Creatures
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O let the earth bless the Lord; *<br />
O ye mountains and hills, bless ye the Lord;
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O all ye green things upon the earth, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye wells, bless ye the Lord; *<br />
O ye seas and floods, bless ye the Lord;
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye whales and all that move in the waters, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O all ye fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O all ye beasts and cattle, bless ye the Lord;
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye children of men, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.
</span><br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">IV The People of God
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye people of God, bless ye the Lord; *<br />
O ye priests of the Lord, bless ye the Lord;
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye servants of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever.
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye spirits and souls of the righteous, bless ye the Lord; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">O ye holy and humble men of heart, bless ye the Lord.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let us bless the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit; * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">praise him and magnify him for ever. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714646263768149674.post-13822643011727617192018-12-02T09:07:00.000-08:002018-12-02T09:07:41.642-08:00What I Learned {Last} Month | November 2018I seem to have developed a habit of writing these posts a couple of days late. Well, <i>c'est la vie. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Without further delay, here's the November edition of what I learned this month, inspired by <a href="https://emilypfreeman.com/blog/" target="_blank">Emily P. Freeman's regular practice.</a><br />
<br />
<b>Anne Bogel, (aka the Modern Mrs. Darcy) has a degree in Christian education. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Bogel is best known for her blog, <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs. Darcy</a>, and her podcast, <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/what-should-i-read-next/" target="_blank">What Should I Read Next</a>. I've enjoyed her work for ages - thanks to her my to-be-read list is massively long. While I knew that she had a German minor, I had no idea that she had a degree in Christian education. You learn something new every day if you're lucky.<br />
<br />
<b>I crave a multi-generational friend-group.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Last year I almost exclusively spent time with peers, which had me feeling a little off-kilter. So this year I decided to join a women's Bible study group, of which I am by far the youngest member, and to help lead my church youth group. So far, so good, but I recently started feeling off-kilter again. I'd swung too far in the other direction and was craving some solid time with peers! Y'all, we all need people from various generations in our lives. I'm currently working out how to cultivate friendships across generations while also doing all the things necessary for life. Figuring out a social life can be challenging!<br />
<br />
<b>Turning the heel of a sock is not nearly as intimidating as I thought it would be. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I knit my first sock last month, due to an impulse-buy of a sock-knitting kit at Aldi. I've knit off and on for years, but never attempted socks, due to the notorious difficulty of turning heels. But thanks to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ex_4oc7ZyLQ" target="_blank">this YouTube tutorial</a>, I got through without a hitch.<br />
<br />
<b>There was, in fact, turkey at the first Thanksgiving. I quote William Bradford:</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>"All ye somer ther was no want. And now begane to come in store of foule, as winter appoached, of which this place did abound when they came first. . .besids water foule, ther was a great store of wild Turkies." </i><br />
<br />
Every year news stories crop up about how there really wasn't turkey at the first Thanksgiving. Those journalists are not doing their research.<br />
<br />
<b>I cannot define pie</b>.<br />
<br />
I'm not talking about the numeral here. I'm talking about the dessert. Pie isn't a thing in Germany, so when I had some friends over for pumpkin pie last week, they were all quite intrigued. Being German, they hadn't ever had pie, and being German, they wanted a definition. It was entertaining: as I started to slice the pie they all gathered around and started peppering me with questions.<br />
<br />
"How is it different than Kuchen [German torte]?"<br />
<br />
"Well, it has a crust."<br />
<br />
"Is the crust always the same?"<br />
<br />
"No..."<br />
<br />
"Is the filling always a similar consistency?"<br />
<br />
"No..."<br />
<br />
"Doesn't it sometimes have a top crust?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, but it doesn't have to..."<br />
<br />
"Is it always sweet?"<br />
<br />
"No..."<br />
<br />
"Is quiche a pie?"<br />
<br />
"Yes? No? Sort of?"<br />
<br />
Eventually they gave up trying to get a definition out of me and simply contented themselves with the goodness that is pumpkin pie.<br />
<br />
According to the dictionary, a pie is "a baked dish of fruit, or meat and vegetables, typically with a top and base of pastry," but that doesn't quite seem to capture the essence of pie. Help!<br />
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