Perspectives: Overwhelming Choices

 

How many choices do we need?

Charred Cross

I wrote yesterday about some of my thoughts when I read Chapter 3 of the book Becoming Jesus' Prayer. The chapter is about forgiveness.  The authors tell the story of Farmer's Chapel UMC in Iowa. The over 100-year-old church building was destroyed by an arsonist. You can image the anger the church felt towards this person. Even so, the pastor wrote an open letter to the arsonist that was published in the local paper. The letter invites the person to church. Not as an empty, let's act like we forgive people invitation, but with an invitation that shares how impossible, and yet how imperative forgiveness is.  You can read part of the letter at this link (scroll down a little on the page). The blog was (is?) written by an Assistant to the Bishop in Iowa.

The image on my page today is of the cross in the rebuilt Farmer's Chapel.  It is constructed from charred pieces of wood left after the fire.  The authors of Becoming Jesus' Prayer wrote, "Every Sunday morning now, the congregation worships with a visual reminder of the arsonist's act, but more that that every Sunday morning they worship with eh assurance that life come out of death, that hope emerges from desolation."

Do we find forgiveness too difficult to attempt? Or do we know how difficult it is, but accept God's help to do what for us is impossible alone?

Note: Forgive the resolution of the image - it's a screen shot of a video.

Light a Candle in Our Hearts

 

I'm still reading Becoming Jesus' Prayer. Chapter 3 is about forgiveness.  The authors write, "Forgiveness begins with an awareness of our shared humanity, a recognition of the tremendous capacity that we have to both destroy and bless one another....This honest self-appraisal can also enable us to see our need for interior cleaning....An African schoolgirl described this need for cleaning when she prayed: 'O Though great Chief, light a candle in my heart, that I may see what is therein and sweep the rubbish from they dwelling place.'"

Yesterday, before I read this today, I was thinking about how much we build resentment within ourselves when we judge other people. Maybe they are meeting our expectations, or maybe they are living their lives (or a part of their lives) in a way we would do so. Or maybe we make assumptions about their inner thoughts when they speak to us.

Think about the time when you thought, "He hated what I just said, and now he is angry with me."  We make assumptions about people's emotions or motivations, and we grow angry with them. I wonder if we are projecting our own thought on them; I'm certain we don't know what is going on in their lives. It's somewhat self-centered of us to assume their reactions or what we perceive of their reactions to be about us.

It seems as if changing this part of us - stopping our assumptions and judgments - we rid us of the need to forgive others at times.  If we just lit a candle in our hearts for some self-reflection.

Perspectives

The last two weeks have been a little bit hectic, and I've missed posting. I've gone back and added some posts dates in those two weeks, but with transparency, I'm letting you know that they are backdated. 

One week is images from Annual Conference, and then I added some regular posts to the next week.  

I should be back on track for now. 

Sarah Laughed

In the CLM class I taught last night, the person who shared a devotional read Genesis 18:1-15. He compared the trust in God's word exhibited by Abraham to Sarah laughing, saying that she was laughing because she didn't trust or believe God would do what God had promised.

How do you view the idea that Sarah laughed?  Is it distrust? Or is it something else?

For me, I've always loved that Sarah laughed. I imagine, if I live to be as old as Sarah was, and God said to me that I would have a child, I would laugh.  Or cry. It's ridiculous. It's laughable. It's unbelievable. And maybe, for Sarah, who had no children, it would be joyous, too, 

I don't think she is a model of distrust we should avoid emulating.  I think she is a slice of humanity.  Disbelieving. Smart enough to know what she's been told is impossible. Afraid, and a little bit joyous, too. And God respected her enough to have a conversation with her. 

Saying our Prayers

I'm reading a book called Becoming Jesus' Prayer: Transforming your Life Through the Lord's Prayer by Bishop Gregory V Palmer, Cindy M McCalmont and Brian K Milford.

The first line in Chapter 1 says, "'Saying one's prayers is not the same as praying.'"  This is a line from Anne of Green Gables, spoken by the title character.  I was struck by the line. It's true, isn't it?

I had a pastor once who would speed through the Lord's Prayer when he led the congregation in praying it.  We asked him in a meeting one time if he could slow down a little.  "I'm just praying it as I would pray it," he replied (or something close to that).  Unfortunately, we do sometimes pray the prayer without thinking about it.  We say the prayer without praying.

Truthfully, I resented the high speed of the prayer when he led us. I didn't want to pray it that fast. What I learned is that I could pray it without saying it, and just let the prayers of others wash over me, praying with them silently. It quieted my resentment while surrounding me in the prayers of others.  I recommend that you try it.

We do sometimes take a casual approach to prayer.  "I'll pray for you," is commonly heard, but when I say it, I don't always do it. I hope God hears our prayers even when we are not very good at praying them. I hope we hear God at least a little when we aren't very good at listening.

 

Perspectives: Peaceful Place

This is a pier on the lake at Stonewall Resort near Weston, West Virginia.  Steve and I had dinner here one evening during Annual Conference.  It's a peaceful place to visit.

 

Annual Conference at WVWC

 This is a view of West Virginia Wesleyan College. Steve and I were taking a break at lunch. I grabbed this image and sent it to our son, who is an alumnus of the school - just to tell him we were thinking about him. 

This is a lovely campus and a holy place to hold Annual Conference.

One Matters award

 This is an image of a church in our Annual Conference receiving a One Matters award. What struck me about this presentation is that the person at the far right of the line is the church's pastor. I love how he has positioned himself farthest away from the Bishop (the woman shaking hands with those on stage). It feels like he is highlighting how important the work of the laity is in the ministry of the church. 

Perspectives: Street Mural

 

The Measure of our Mind

 

In church on Sunday we sang the hymn There's a Wideness in God's Mercy (UMH 121).

The third verse reads:

For the love of God is broader

than the measure of our mind;

and the heart of the Eternal

is most wonderfully kind.

I love the idea that the love of God is broader than the measure of our mind. We cannot understand or even grasp a little bit how much God loves us - it is beyond the measure of our mind. God loves us more than we can understand - all of us.

It occurs to me that if the love of God is bigger than we can understand, then God, as well, is bigger than we can understand. We should remember that in our certainty about God. When we claim we "know" something about God, then we are not speaking out of humility. To think we understand God, or can speak for God, is arrogance.

God is more than the measure of our mind can grasp.

Gone Fishing, Part 3

 But we can’t forget Simon Peter – one of my favorite disciples.  Hear these words from John 21:15-19.

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.”  A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.”  He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.  Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.”  (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, “Follow me.”

Earlier in worship today, we read from John, chapter 18.  I wanted us to pause and remember what Peter had experienced as Jesus was being tried, convicted, and tortured.  At the Passover supper, Jesus told Peter that he would deny him three times before the rooster crowed.  And, as we heard today, that is exactly what happened. 

Peter is a leader of the disciples.  Does he lead? No. He takes them back to unsuccessful fishing. Why is that?

Earlier in the passage we are reading, when Peter realizes Jesus is on the shore, he puts on his clothes and jumps into the water to swim to shore.  Now I know that at this time in history, fishermen often worked only in a loin cloth, and to go to the teacher undressed would have not shown proper respect, but I can’t help but be reminded of Adam and Eve, in the Genesis story. After they eat of the Tree of the knowledge of good and evil, they know that they have sinned. They hear God looking for them, and they hide, because they are ashamed of their sinfulness and of their nakedness. I think Peter, who dresses before diving into the water, feels the same way.

Sometimes the scarcity we focus on isn’t what we do not have – it is who we are. Sometimes we focus only on our sin, our fears, our shame. This is where Simon Peter was that morning. He knew he had betrayed the teacher and friend he loved, and this betrayal is all he can see. Jesus pulls Simon Peter aside after breakfast, and changes his viewpoint and his life, once again. 

Peter, do you love me? Peter, do you love me? Peter, do you love me?  Three times. Three betrayals, three questions, until, finally, Peter can move forward, and feed Jesus’ sheep. Jesus is connecting the love Simon Peter feels toward him into action – love “my sheep” as you love me. 

Several years ago, Jeff Taylor, the president of the Foundation, and I met with a potential donor named Linda.  She died last month, but she left a legacy for her church and for those her church reaches who suffer from mental illness. Following our meeting with her, Linda created a Mental Wellness trust at the Foundation.  She shared (and she asked that the information I’m sharing with you be shared at her funeral) that her family fostered negativity, and that she suffered from mental illness and abuse throughout her life.  She eventually joined a United Methodist church in her community.  They took her in, loved her, and taught her that she is loved by God, and is a beloved child.  She wrote in the preamble to her trust, “I do know that God loves me, and I have been nourished and sustained by God’s grace.  My prayer is that my gift can provide hope to suffering folks who feel at the end of their rope.  May the Lord bless others through me…Just as the Lord loves me, God will love all of my brothers and sisters who whom this trust can provide light and hope.”

Because of the church, Linda experienced abundant love. She gave each month, generously, to the trust she built, and what she has created what will be a beacon of light and hope for others. She gave every month, even though she always lived in the fear of not having enough.  Her love was bigger than her fear, and so she followed Christ.

This chapter in John, often thought of as an epilogue to the gospel, reminds us to turn our eyes to Jesus, instead of to what we do not have – instead of only seeing our fear. The gospel story is not a story of what happened – but a story of what can happen when we follow the Christ. Thomas Troeger writes, “The epilogue affirms, through its story of the risen Christ on the shore of the Sea of Tiberius, what the prologue (of John) affirms as the story of Christ’s early ministry begins: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” The epilogue awakens memories of the darkness – the darkness of our hunger, the darkness of our failure to recognize Christ, the darkness of our denial, but at the same time it reminds us that none of this darkness has overcome the light.  For the risen Christ still calls, still feeds, still empowers even doubters and deniers for the ministry.”

Where do you, either as a person or as a church, focus so much on scarcity that you cannot see Christ? Cannot follow? Cannot feed the Lord’s sheep?

And what are you going to do about it? It’s time to stop fishing so that you can fish for people.