Little Cross With the Man on It

So......you know what that is

A crucifix. A cross displaying a dead/dying Christ on it..I never liked those crosses. As a Methodist, we don't put the little man on our crosses. The closest we get to having something on the cross is our trademark flames shooting from it. During Lent, we drape it in dark purple and if we are truly bold, we drape it in white on Easter - ooooooohhhhh - very daring.

I am teasing, but we really don't like to see a suffering Jesus. And I really wonder if the religions that do have him affixed, have become somewhat desensitized to the whole thing. I heard the sermon of Adam Hamilton from his blog, Seeing Gray, the other day. He showed a old black and white picture of a slave that had been beaten severely for trying to flee his master. His back is a massive collection of rough scars, crisscrossing top to bottom. Much like Jesus' back might have been, had he lived long enough to tell the tale. I had never seen the picture of this man, much less the story that followed. Evidently the slave was successful in one of his attempts and did reach freedom. A journalist took this picture and circulated it widely throughout the northern states. Complacent northerners were incensed and the picture did much to excite and promote the anti-slavery sentiments already brewing there.

What did the picture of Jesus dying on the cross do? Did it have any affect on those who saw it. The soldiers, the friends and family, the disciples. How about the people that heard about it from Paul and Barnabas or Peter and John. After a moving message, did they describe the pain and agony of Christ as he slowly died on the cross. That the pure, sinless Son of God died for the miserable sinners they were. I can only imagine.

No, I will do one better. I have been there. I have heard the story of his death and suffering and been moved to tears, moved to guilt, and then moved to grace. Moved along the flow of the blood from his precious, bleeding side. Amen, brother.

To be or not to be

In November of 2003, my husband suffered a heart attack and almost left this earth. Literally he came back from the dead, and is living still today. The year 2004, was one fraught with complications and healing. As his caretaker, I was immersed in the operations of our company and the day to day routine of his care. I did not check out that year, but I can only describe it as the year of "auto-pilot". God allowed me a type of aftershock, that provided a coccoon of security and peace amidst the struggle. It was an incredible year, and that is meant in the very worst and best way.

The person I was after that year was not the person I had been. I laughed, but no longer with quite the same freedom. I lived, but it did not seem laced with the same abandon. I hoped, but it was not with the hope was slightly colored with loss and grief experienced. I was not a better or bitter person. Just a different person.

I somewhat liked where I was. The pressure to be the life of the party, the rock of Gibralter, the Pollyanna of the family was no longer there. I was me, in all my raw glory - you get what you get. I longed for the person I was. But I could not find me. I was nowhere to be found and I did not know how re-organize or re-make myself.

A very wise woman told me this past week, that perhaps that person does not exist any longer. I was totally caught offguard. How could that be? She is in the mirror and I see and feel her in the small joys and struggles of life. She is there - isn't she. She suggested that I have entered a different season of my life. That the advent was not only camoflauged but ushered in through the crisis of that year. That the last half of life is one of being, not doing.

But what was I to do with this new life, I asked. What ministry would this result in? What would I be able to do for God? How would this work out? But even as I said the words, I realized how redundant they sounded. Being is not doing. It is just being. I am not comfortable with that. I am a do-er, not a be-er. My worth, my abilities are caught up in the doing of things, not the being of a person. But by whose standard am I measured. Mine, others, or God.

She suggested, now get this, that God was pleased with just me. Devoid of action or ministry or purpose. That just as I loved my grandchildren with a love that was not dependent on their goodness or performance, so was the love of God. God as a grandfather is a picture of benevolence beyond the Father image. It is one that embraces the prodigal, that finds the lost sheep, that forgives Peter for denial, that gives Paul that second chance on a Damascus road.

It is one that says, "It is OK, you are OK. And I love you"

A Child Shall Lead....

Yesterday I attended the funeral of a baby - a preemie and one of two little boys born to a young couple in their twenties. So very sad, not in that there was not a chance that the baby or babies might not survive, but in the fact that this baby was never really known. How do you remember a child that is less than 2 pounds, that never even opened its eyes, nor uttered a sound?

The young couple expressed their hopes that in the loss of this little one, we would embrace the children we have or those we know and love. That each and every life is precious and to be treasured. How difficult this must have been for them, yet they could look beyond the pain to those around them.

They were so appreciative of those surrounding them, loving them through this. I thought how many times in my life I have been brought to my knees by the pain and suffering this life has dealt me and mine. How these tragedies brought me to a new awareness of the fathomless love of my God and those who claim kinship. I think it is hard to not "assign" the tragedy or trauma to God's will because the outcome so many times is far beyond our ability to comprehend. The depth of love, the peace amidst turmoil, the jewel of wisdom or understanding that we might never have known had we not walked that way.

But God does not choose to be labeled or slandered, given credit or discredit for the things of this life. He holds, caresses, and comforts us through the ordeal. He suffers and shares the burden of our pain and grief. How does it work, I know not, nor do I want to.

I just know that in that funeral yesterday, He sat beside us and cried.

Good vs Evil

By now you can figure that Tuesday night is the evening I take the Living the Question course. Evil and Suffering was tonight's hot topic. They are not one for tiptoeing through the tulips.

God and Satan. Good and Evil. Black and White. Either/Or. You/me. One side or the other. The premise was put before us. What if good and evil reside in me?

To fan the flames, if I my blessed to have children, is a barren woman cursed. If my prayer is answered but yours is not, am I preferred. What exactly is a blessing? You get the point - more questions than answers. In fact I am beginning to think there are no answers.

I sat with a dear, dear friend during her last hours of life. I picked up her Bible to read her some of the hi-lited scriptures. Passages that were so near and dear to her. Ones we quoted and memorized and recited through chemo and radiation. Her favorite was in Jeremiah.

"For I know the thoughts and plans that I have for you, says the Lord, thoughts and plans for welfare and peace and not for evil, to give you hope in your final outcome"

I suddenly realized that the very words we prayed so fervently were answered. That these very words were so true. His plans were for her welfare and peace, not evil, in the eternal and greater sense. He had given her the greatest Hope in the final outcome. I felt more at peace reading them in light of her death than I ever did in her struggle.

I realized there were tears coursing down my face. What was the true blessing? What was the true Hope? But in Him.

It's not Him? Is it?

Is it?

The beginning of the end of what you knew as your staid, tried and true theology. It is like the proverbial crack in your spiritual dyke. You run out of fingers and finally, you sit and just let the water rush in, over your head and through your hair.

You knew it was coming. The more you came to know Him, the less some of it matched. Then the less of what you read or saw made sense with what you knew was the truth. First you were a little stressed and then you thought, OK, it doesn't really matter.....does it?

Then you realized it did matter, because if it is not Him, then it is man describing his experience of Him. Not to be negated, but to pull back a teeny, tiny corner of Who they saw. It is never wrong.....it is their perception in another time, another place.

Same Father, but speaking a slightly different language or version. Because, believe it or not, those folks never heard of our 21st century. It did not exist and in their wildest imagination they could not have perceived it.

So is it wrong that I feel He is speaking to me in an updated version. Is it hypocrisy? Or heresy? Or sacrilegious. He wants to be known, by me. He left His thumbprint on the words of my faithful fathers, for me to find. But He did not do it so I would set up an altar and worship the print. He wants me to search for the Hand that made it. He wants to leave more thumbprints in the lives of me and my peers.

So fellow NCIS & CSI-er's. Get out those magnifying glasses and happy hunting...

Creation?

Taking an abbreviated few sessions on a course of study "Living the Questions". Somewhat radical for my little ole Southern Methodist Church. Many of the sessions can be found on YouTube. Worth looking at.

Tonight we discussed the two accounts of Creation in Genesis. I have not been a literalist when it comes to Creation for a very long time. But in the course of discussion tonight, it was more or less presented that I needed to make a decision. You see, I am not ready to make that. I am perfectly ready to look at the flaws in one, but not ready to swallow the other, hook, line and sinker.

I have had a 360 degree turn around in my views. Kicking and screaming I might add, but nonetheless, I have changed. But you are not going to now tell me what I should think - again. It is as if I have recently been widowed and I am not ready to start dating again. In fact, I am sitting here quite nicely, not having anything figured out. I don't want to go through this grief again, thank you.

I am extremely disillusioned with the evangelical/fundamentalist camp, but I am finding the progressive/emergent church is just as hoity toity. Both find their need to attack the other. Stop that! Go to your respective corners and believe in peace! You will definitely draw more flies to your camp with this type of accepting honey than the vile water you are spewing now.

Not all about me

Duh!!

But let me explain. I visited my parents this weekend with my grandson. They live in a small East Texas town, retired from the big city. This little town was the place of their birth, their childhood, their courtship. They returned to live near my grandparents and do a little ranching/farming. Life is slowing down a bit for them and each time I go, I realize it a bit more and more. When we see someone on a daily basis, it takes a photo from the past to make us realize how they have aged. When our "photos" are taken by our visits from time to time, we seem to notice it a bit more and I feel it saddens us somewhat. Especially when it is our parents.

In my earlier life, I felt it was my duty when visiting to "do something" Keep the conversations going, take them somewhere, do something with them, etc. But on this trip it was cold and wet and we pretty much stayed in. We each had a recliner and a flannel throw and we just hibernated and watched the Olympics and chatted. My grandson of course had his needs, but they were things that I knew my parents would enjoy doing with him. He helped my mom make dinnner. He made a flannel throw with her help. He and my dad went riding around in their little green Polaris. And what was I doing while all this was going on? Taking a nap.

I do not have to be the center for the world to revolve on its own. I am not the source, heck, I am not even a close second. Life can be better without my input. That is a scary thing to come to grips with. But how freeing.