What on earth are you looking at?

On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen! Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: ‘The Son of Man must be delivered over to the hands of sinners, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’ ”Then they remembered his words.
- Luke 24:1-8

Yesterday we waited...

Yesterday death reigned...

Yesterday God was in the grave...

And today He is risen.

Yesterday I reflected on my ambivalence about resurrection.  Resurrection only comes through death...and death sucks.  Plain and simple.  Death is our enemy.

And today death has been conquered.  Today is not a day for death...today is a day for life.

Which leads me to ask:

"What on earth are you looking at?"

Where is your attention this Easter morning?  What are your eyes set upon?  Are you hanging around the tomb with death clothes in your hand?  Are you still preparing for death?

"Why do you look for the living among the dead?"

This is the question for us today...where are we looking...here on earth?  The problem with today is that many of us believe in the resurrection...but we believe it is all about later.  Not now, later.  We align ourselves with Martha, who upon being told by Jesus that her brother Lazarus would raise again (John 11) responded:

“I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”

She believed that resurrection would happen...later.  That it was not for now...but later.  But Jesus had something else in mind.  He responds to her:

“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

Do you believe this?  Not that resurrection will happen...later.  But that Jesus is the resurrection...now.  That resurrection is for now...right now.  

See many of us do believe that one day, in heaven, there will be resurrection.  Which is true.  But we only believe in that resurrection.  And so we wait amongst the dead...we stand by the tomb expecting it to still be full.  We don't look for the living here amongst the earth...we think life only happens...later.

But Jesus has come to say that life happens right now.  Now.  Now.  In Him, who is the resurrection, life is now.  He goes on to make this point with Martha by raising Lazarus from the dead...now.  

Now don't get me wrong...none of this negates death.  Yesterday's reflections are very real...death is all around us...now.  It is still very much part of the story.  But today a new reality marks us...the reality of the empty tomb.  The reality that resurrection happens...now...and later.

The question we ask ourselves in the face of death is not "Will God resurrect this?"  Because death has lost its power...it is not permanent any longer.  Death is a defeated enemy.  

No, the question we ask in the face of death is "How will God resurrect this?"  Because God is in the business of resurrection.  There is no place where death claims victory permanently...none.  In the end death will be completely defeated:

"The last enemy to be destroyed is death" 

-1 Corinthians 15v26

And so we do know that resurrection comes into completion at the last day...when death itself is destroyed.  But today we know that death is defeated.  And so again we must ask:

"What on earth are you looking at?"

Are you expecting death to still reign?  Or do you have eyes for resurrection?  Resurrection is costly - but it is glorious.  It is about bringing to life what was dead.  New life.  Radiant life.  Life, life, and more life.  Why are you looking for the living among the dead?  Why are you looking at the living as if they are dead?  Why are you living your life as if you were dead?

Life is happening...now.  Perhaps not as fully as we would like it...and perhaps not how we would have written it...because we would not have death in the story to begin with.  But it is here...it is real...and it is, praise be to God, defeated.  Are you looking for how God is bringing resurrection...now.  Right now.  What does it look like?  Where is life happening around you?  Do you have eyes to see it? Here on earth...right now.

"Why do you look for the living among the dead?  He is not here; he has risen!"

Alleluia, He is risen.

He is risen indeed, alleluia.

God is dead.

It was Preparation Day (that is, the day before the Sabbath). So as evening approached, Joseph of Arimathea, a prominent member of the Council, who was himself waiting for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body. Pilate was surprised to hear that he was already dead. Summoning the centurion, he asked him if Jesus had already died. When he learned from the centurion that it was so, he gave the body to Joseph. So Joseph bought some linen cloth, took down the body, wrapped it in the linen, and placed it in a tomb cut out of rock. Then he rolled a stone against the entrance of the tomb. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joseph saw where he was laid.
Mark 15:42-47

Today is Holy Saturday.  Today, God is dead.

I know, I know - as Christians we worship the Living God.  God is not dead, God is alive.  God is present and near.  God is active in the world and in our lives.  All of this is true.

But another truth that we often shy away from is that we worship the Resurrected God - the God of Resurrection.  

But if we are honest, we don't really want that God.  We're all for the Living God - because that God is about keeping us alive.

But the God of Resurrection is about making us alive.  And in order to be made alive - something must first be dead.  Frankly, we don't want a God who starts with death...we want a God who preserves our life.  At least I do - most of the time.

My preference would be for God to keep everything in my life safe, and neat, and secure.  I want to stay alive.  I order my whole life to avoid death.  I don't want to give my time to something that would die - or worse yet that might cause me to die.  I want life - life in abundance...and I don't want it to come through death.

Given the choice - this is the story I would write.  It all started out great, it hit a slight bump (enough to make it interesting) and then it worked out with very little effort and it stayed happy for all eternity.  Not terribly exciting (just a little excitement) - but happy, safe, alive.

This is not the story Jesus invites me into.  My preferred story does not include Holy Saturday.  But my reality certainly does.

My reality has plenty of death in it...all over the place.  So I numb myself to it. or ignore it, or downplay it.  It try to minimize it with a positive attitude and wishful thinking...if I just don't look at it perhaps it will not be true...maybe it will just go away.  But this is not how death works.

Death is permanent.  Death does not evaporate and cannot be reasoned away.  Death is beyond my control - which is why I would much prefer to only have the God of the Living.  That way I can control my life and all I need God for is to maintain the things I like.  

Death ruins all my well laid plans.  Death takes away the things I love - people, dreams, relationships, hopes, timeframes, determinations, expectations...death kills them all.  And the truth is I can't do anything about it.  I can try to avoid death - but when it hits, and it always hits eventually, I am left reeling in its wake.  Death comes in so many forms...it is not bound merely to our bodies - though it is there where we experience it most acutely.  Death is creative and adaptive and unpredictable. The only thing predictable about death is that it is always devastating.  It kills, steals, and destroys.

So I may not want the God of Resurrection...but I need the God of Resurrection.  I need this God desperately.  Because the God of Resurrection is the only one who can do anything about the reality of death.  I need a dead God - because that is the only way I get the God of the Living.  I don't need a God who works around death...I need a God who works through death.  

Saturday is the paradox of our faith.  It is only through death that we have life.  Sounds simple...but anyone who has recently experienced death...death of a friendship, a marriage, a loved one, a dream, a home, a well-planned future...well, we know it is not so simple.  None of us want death...we hate it.  And God hates it.  And we hate that we have to walk through it.

In fact - there is a part of me that hates resurrection...because it means I have to face the reality of death head on.  I can't keep trying to imagine it away.  I have to look at the tomb where they laid Jesus - where they sealed off his body.  I stand with Joseph, and Mary, and the other women...I stand and watch them fill the tomb with a dead God...

and I wait.  

Resurrection only comes with death and waiting.  I hate death and waiting.  I hate tombs and stones and linens...I hate them.  I hate Saturday.  

And yet I need it.  I need it to be part of The Story, because it is part of my story...no matter what I do.  No matter how hard I try to preserve my life, I lose it one way or another.

But the God of Resurrection does not just acknowledge the reality of death, the God of Resurrection goes into the tomb...and miracle beyond all miracles, He conquers it.

I don't want the God of Resurrection because that means that I need God to meet me in places where death reigns.  It means that I am in a tomb, and the only way out is through the miracle of resurrection.  It means that I don't get to hang onto life...I have to let it slip through my fingers and fully step into death.  Because we don't need the God of Resurrection unless there is death.

But there is death...all around.  And so Saturday - this day - we collectively hold our breath, knowing that the tomb is full.  And we wait in silence...hoping to God that tomorrow it might be different.  We wait in the rubble of death for the only one who can offer any hope at all...

we wait, and we long, and we cry out for the God of Resurrection...because in the end, He is the only God who can save us.

Hosannah

This past Sunday was Palm Sunday.  A time where we celebrate the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem.  A time where God declares victory through peace and self-giving.  It is the coming of Good News.

Sunday was also a day of bad news.  In fact, this past month has been a month of bad news.  Cancer, infertility, frailty, illness, depression...they seem to be coming in waves and waves upon people we love.  With each hit I feel the wind knocked out of me...aching for those I love, aching for myself.  Bad news upon bad news.

I have often been asked if faith is just an attempt to escape reality.  If it is just indulging in icing and sweets while we ignore that the rest of the food on the table is rotten and the pantry is empty.  Does this Good News really stack up against all of the bad news that floods our world?  Or is it all just wishful thinking used to distract us from sorrow and pain?

I guess it all depends on how you view Palm Sunday.  Is it just a parade?  Is it just a guy riding on a donkey to make a point that peace is better than war?  Is it just a symbol that any one of us could pull off to inspire others to better behavior and more peaceful living?

Perhaps for some.  But not for me.

Palm Sunday is certainly a celebratory time...but it is also an ominous time.  Yes, it looks forward to the coming Sunday...victory Sunday...resurrection Sunday.  But it also brings us closer to "Good" Friday...which looks like a very bad Friday.  And Saturday...where the tomb is not empty, but full of a dead God.  Palm Sunday is where Good News and bad news meet up and roll into the same town...and God tells us who will win...but you have to pay attention, because it won't be obvious.

On days like Sunday, when bad news abounds, it is not always obvious to me who is winning.  My theology tells me that this is not a cosmic battle between good and evil...that good has already won and is being inaugurated as we speak.  That the Kingdom has already broken in and declared victory.  That all of this is coming to a good end.

Yet my experience does not always mirror this reality.  My experience at times very much feels like this is a losing battle.  That our bodies are breaking down and failing us...one by one.  That God's Kingdom is very far off...sometimes so far it is hard to see on the horizon.

It is not always easy for us to reconcile what we believe to be true with our experience of this world.  And if our faith cannot step into the reality of our experience - if it cannot meet us there and give us a glimmer of hope...well then perhaps it is just a distraction.

But this is what makes Palm Sunday so remarkable. It is God stepping in...coming alongside...and experiencing our suffering.  God does not stand far off, offering sympathetic hmmms as we stumble about trying to make sense of this world. No, he gets on a donkey, comes into town, and steps right in the middle of it.

He is determined.  He knows what awaits.  And he comes...steadfast and full of love.  In the coming week he will turn over tables, wash feet, experience betrayal, be beaten and crucified, die...

and only after all of that will he raise from the dead...victorious.

Palm Sunday begins a brutal week of not only coming alongside us...joining us in suffering.  The joining does matter - because we don't need a hero who swoops in at the last minute.  He need a savior who knows us - every part of us.  Who knows how awful this bad news is...because he has taken it all on himself.

Palm Sunday does mark a coming alongside...but it is more than that.  It begins the path of our healing. God does not only join us in our suffering...as much as we need that, and as remarkable as that is.  God is in the business of healing us, restoring us, setting it right.  And he does it not by fixing us from the outside...but taking our suffering on himself.  He does it by making a way to heal us from the inside out.  This salvation he offers is so much more than motivating us to behave better or cheer up...it is about transforming our very being.

Taking on death...everything that is killing us...and trampling it under his feet.  This is a God who comes into town with humility...but is about to kick ass and take names (pardon my language).  Not in the Rambo style way we would expect...and not against the things or people we would expect.  But make no mistake, this is not a God who lays down at the feet of suffering and becomes a doormat.  This is a God who hates...and I mean HATES death.  This is a God who hates everything that holds death...physical, emotional, or spiritual death.

This is a God who has come to do something about it.

And that is why, in the face of very bad news, I can join my voice with the choir of heaven and earth to declare:

"Hosanna in the Highest. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the Highest."

Babysteps

Steve and I have been bracing ourselves for the new reality that will soon be upon us...

We will have another walking member in our family.

That's right - Imogen is days away from becoming a full-fledged walker.  It is simply a matter of balance and courage.  Life as we know it will be over, and we will be parents of a toddler.

This new milestone - as with all of Immy's milestones - has me thinking about life.

One of my fears of working full-time outside of the home was that I would miss Immy's "firsts."  I would only hear about them afterwards and have to live through Steve's day-to-day experiences.  I would miss her first smile, her first word, her first crawl, her first steps.  I feared that all these special moments would pass me by and that I would miss out on motherhood.

Little did I know these milestones rarely happen all at once...they are a progression.  It took months before Imogen was actually crawling...though she was "so close" for so long.  Her first words have slowly emerged out of garbled syllables overtime.  It has been weeks that we have been saying "any day now and she'll be walking..."  It takes time.  They don't grow up in a second - they evolve and emerge.  It is a process.

And so is motherhood.  It is an identity that takes shape through experience.  I was a mother as soon as Immy was born - but I am continually in the process of becoming a mother.  Motherhood takes a lifetime - it is slow going even in the fast-paced world of keeping up with a toddler.  I am growing into what it means to be a mother each and every day.

I think too often we see growth and development as something instant.  Perhaps this is the result of being a media-saturated culture where conversations on TV fade out at the end (no awkward goodbyes), conflict is resolved in under an hour, and consequences from poor decisions rarely impact a person for every long, if ever.  Things happen quickly in the world of entertainment.  If a plot line starts to drag we begin to ask "where is this going, and when are they going to pick up the pace?"  If it takes too long to develop a character or resolve a storyline we are on to the next thing.

This assumption of instant change has encroached in every area of our life.  Rather than looking for the root cause of illness, we want a pill that will alleviate our symptoms.  Rather than committing to diet and exercise we go under the knife.  Rather than shop, cook, and clean we grab fast food.  We are a nation of instant...and so we assume that things happen in the blink of an eye - even things with the soul.

I suppose what this latest milestone is teaching me is that life is unfolding.  Change takes time.  At least real and lasting change.  Imogen gaining courage to start walking on her own will happen over a myriad of experiences.  She has to learn to trust that her legs will support her - and how to get up after falling down.  She is working her way into this new way of interacting with the world.

And so it is with us when in major times of change and growth.  We want a pill that will instantly make us someone new.  Or we want to read a book and gain the one insight we need for everything in our lives to fall into place.  Or we want someone else to give us the answer and reveal the right direction for  life to make sense.

But growth just doesn't work this way.

I think growth is more like babysteps.    It is a process that shapes and prepares you as you go along.  Just like Imogen first had to learn to pull herself up, then to move along furniture, and now to stand unsupported...so we gain strength, confidence, and agility of soul as we go along.  Transformation takes time.  And I think there are lots of tumbles along the way.  It takes a lifetime to grow into who God created us to be...we are complex beings after all.

And while Imogen is teaching me the importance of patience, persistance, and courage in the act of growing - she has also shown me another important aspect.  Delight.  The other day I let go of her hands while she was standing, and she stood all by herself in the middle of her room.  She was so delighted by the experience that she started to bob up and down with excitement...which led to her falling down on her bottom.  But we laughed and clapped and celebrated what she had just done.  She was delightful - and she was delight-full.

Growth takes babysteps.  It takes getting to know and trust our new legs.  It requires gaining strength and familiarity with the new person who is emerging inside of us.  This stuff just doesn't happen overnight...there are markers along the way and milestones within milestones.  But one must persevere in order to change.  We must find a new sense of courage to be different - to live outside of our familiar patterns and ways of seeing the world.  All this takes time.

Yet in the midst of perseverance and patience we cannot forget to delight in who we are and the signs of who we are becoming.  For with each babystep we become more of who we were created to be...and that my friends is worth celebrating!

What do you weigh?

"We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."
C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

Earlier this week I had a check-up at the doctor's office.  Along with all the usual poking and prodding that go with a doctor's visit I also had to step on the scale.  I am one who normally avoids weighing myself because depending on the number I either am elated (which is rare) or I am sent spiraling into a dark and depressing cyclone of despair, criticism, and self-doubt (which is normally the case).  I eat healthy, work out regularly, and overall maintain a healthy life-style.  But the number can make all that feel worthless...

So when I stood on the scale and saw a number I was less than thrilled to see I immediately felt ashamed and disgusted (yes, we're getting honest here today.)  I wanted to hide.  I wanted to will it to be different.  But there it was.  The crazy thing is after I was left alone in the room I decided to "double-check" the number (read obsess over it).  So I stepped on the scale and it began to read my weight and then showed and error sign.  So I tried again...and again got an error.  So I tried a third time...and again it happened.

Now either I have somehow lost the skill to step on a scale or something else was going on here.  You may read coincidence in this - I tend to see it another way.  I had to laugh after the third attempt, because I assumed God was trying to make a point with me.

I have written on here before how it has been a struggle post-pregnancy to feel like I have my body back.  Before Imogen I was in the best shape of my life and I was the smallest I have ever been.  Now I am not one of those women who is dying to get back to what I weighed in high school...the truth is I was overweight in high school and much of college.  Really I have come into my own in my later years.  I am not super coordinated, so I never excelled at sports.  Fitness has become a life-style the older I get.  I am constantly trying to come to terms with what it means to live in this body that God gave me.

So, as I left the doctor's office feeling like I was branded with a number on me (one that I couldn't double-check!) I found myself in a mental wrestling match.  My natural tendency is to beat myself up - tell myself I am not trying hard enough - try to fix the perceived problem.  (see the obsession here???) The dark and depressing spiral was taking over.

And then another voice started to chime in...one that was small and very unfamiliar...

"You are more than a number.  You are more than a number.  You are more than a number."

I have to assume this is the still small voice that is rarely heard over the clamor of all the other voices rattling around in my head.  I know it is not my voice...because the truth is I don't actually believe that I am more than a number.  I weigh my value as a human being by something as minor as my weight.  Seriously - character, credentials, accomplishments, heart, soul, mind...all pale in comparison to a number on a scale.

So here's the deal...because some of you may be thinking that I am a complete lunatic and totally on my own with this one...but I want to ask you - what do you weigh?

Not necessarily your number on a scale...though for some of you that number holds as much weight for you as it does for me.  But what do you weigh your worth by?  Is it your bank account?  Your book collection?  Your degrees?  Your originality? (yes you hipsters...I see you.)  What is the thing that, when you get good and honest, you weigh above all other things.  If it is in the range where you want it  to be then you are awesome.  You're the skinniest, the most educated, the richest, the one with the most tragic story, the one with the craziest mustache...I don't care what your scale is...I just want us to take a good hard look at it.

Because these scales - literal or figurative - are killing our souls.  They are - it's the truth...and I am in a truthiness kind of mood today.  Perhaps we fixate on these scales because they feel a like tangible measure of our worth.  If we are in the right range then we are worth a lot...or at least worth something. If we are not in the range then our fear that we are not worth very much is validated.  And I think when we get down to it we're all afraid that in the end we are worthless.

But there is a still small voice in each of us trying to get our attention - but not willing to shout over the clamor.  This voice needs us to calm down, stop frantically weighing ourselves, and listen.  To hear this voice we have to be in a place where we can ponder, and wonder, and imagine something new.  We have to be able to reflect and take a good honest look at ourselves.  I imagine this voice is trying to say the same thing to you...

"You are more than [fill in the blank]"

You are more than a number.

You are more than the letters behind your name.

You are more than your bank account.

You are more than your Facebook friend count.

You are more than your trauma.

You are more than your crazy mustache.

You are more.  You are so much more.

Can we dare believe it?  Is there perhaps another scale that we need to step on?  The scale I believe God wants us to weigh ourselves by is the scale of grace, mercy, love, acceptance.  Because the truth is we are accepted and loved and forgiven by the Creator of the Universe...who also happens to be the Creator of each of us.  And so if this God has chosen to love me and accept me - regardless of the number on the scale - then who I am to go about rejecting myself?  

I in no way have this figured out or resolved.  The truth is the number is still looming large in my head.  But I am trying to let this still small voice have some more space to name something different for me.  I am trying to believe that I am more than a number.  I am trying to let the Creator of my soul (and my body) have the final word on my worth.  I am trying to step on a new scale...I hope you will too.

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
-Romans 8:38-39

Celebrate Good Times...

Last week I turned 32!  It was amazing to me how many people referred to me as a "spring chicken"...must be the benefit of being on the front-end of a new decade.

Anywho - starting over in a new place brings many firsts with it.  One of the more awkward firsts is usually your first birthday.  You have friends, but they are just starting to get to know you.  You don't necessarily want to throw yourself a birthday party and invite people you are just starting to get to know.  (hey, I know you barely know me - but come eat cake in my honor!)  But I love to celebrate...especially birthdays.  I think they matter - no matter how young or how old.  Everyone deserves to be celebrated.

Well, I can say that this first Michigan birthday was more than I could have hoped for.  I was celebrated with gusto!  Multiple surprises, fun outings, balloons, cards, great gluten-free treats, and so much love.  I was overwhelmed by it all...and while I longed to be celebrated, seen, and appreciated...when it came I was tempted to push it away.

I know I am probably not alone in this.  Our greatest desire is to be seen.  Our greatest fear is that we will actually be seen.  This year's birthday celebration felt downright extravagant.  So many people all week long continuing to bless me and celebrate...ME.  I wanted to absorb it - but it felt too much.  It felt too extravagant.  I felt unworthy of so much love and attention.

I have what I call the "plexiglass syndrome" when it comes to receiving love.  I can see it coming towards me and I want it - and yet it hits this invisible wall that it cannot penetrate.  I see it - but I don't always feel it.  I think in some ways this is how I protect myself.  If I really let all that love in I would probably lose control and composure...and those who know me well know I cling to my composure!

But this year as all this love came at me like a giant tidal wave I decided to take the plexiglass down...at least for a moment.  I let the messages, the notes, the balloons, the gifts, the encouraging words come in and fill up my heart.  There were moments where I felt like I would lose myself - that I would be swallowed up.  It felt like drowning...the disorientation when a wave hits you and knocks you off your feet.  You panic a bit, but the truth is you are okay - the surface is not far away.  I was not swept away...I found my way to the surface again (with what felt like the emotional equivalent of water up my nose) - and I basked in it.  I said thank you for all the attention and love - rather than downplaying or minimizing it.  I let myself not only see that I am loved...but feel that I am loved.

And here is what I take from this glorious week of celebration...It it easier to give than to receive.  It is easy for me to lavishly celebrate another person, because I believe they are worth it and I want them to know that.  It is hard to receive the same treatment, because I do not inherently believe that I am worth it.  I doubt why anyone would genuinely want to celebrate me.  But there they were...and celebrate they did.

So I am making a new choice.  This self-doubt and downplaying is not getting me any closer to what my heart truly desires.  It leaves me feeling like I lost the moment that was offered to me.  And so while I may not be able to change my own mind...I am going to let those around me do it for me.  I will let them aid me in writing a new chapter to this story I call my life...I think they have a better perspective than I do.

So - here is to celebration!  May we all be overwhelmed with love at least once in our life where we are left coughing, sputtering, and gasping for air from the shock of it.  I think it is what we were made for.

One Step at a Time

We are currently studying the book of Ruth here at Mars Hill Bible Church.  I have had the privilege of preaching on Ruth in other contexts, and this year I was one of the writers for our Short Circle Curriculum.  So I have spent a great deal of time with this book - and have quite a fondness for this story.

Yet no matter how familiar the characters and themes are to me - I am always surprised to learn more or have a new insight from the text.  This last week the short circle focused on Lament and how Naomi models for us what it means to be one who steps into mourning and trauma with honesty and hope.  She says some pretty grim things about her life (after losing her husband and both sons in a land that is not her own).  She blames God, changes her name from "pleasant" to "bitter,"and declares that God has afflicted her and basically left her for dead.  She weeps and wails and lets it all out for everyone to see.

Yet the writer for our first week of the Short Circle says this:

"Naomi tells the truth, but don't miss the fact that she tells it while she's walking on the road back to Bethlehem.  This is a story that is headed somewhere."

This image of mourning on the road back to Bethlehem has stayed with me.  Naomi embodies the tension true faith won't let us ignore.  Pain, suffering, injustice, sorrow...all of these are around us in abundance.  Both personally and globally.  We all have had moments where we too feel afflicted and abandoned by God.

Yet what do we do with these moments?

If you are anything like me you try to just keep walking without thinking about them.  One step at a time...running away from the problem.  Denial, Denial, Denial.  Or perhaps you take a different approach.  Maybe you are someone who sits still and acknowledges everything that is wrong with your life...making pain and suffering a constant companion. Wallow, Wallow, Wallow.

But Naomi does neither of these.  She does not deny what has happened to her...she says it like it is.  But she also doesn't wallow in it.  She is not paralyzed by tragedy.  She starts wailing...and she starts walking...walking home.

Again, this theme of home is so significant to me.  Home for Naomi is hard to find.  Moab is not her home - though it is where her life has existed for quite some time.  Bethlehem is her home of origin - but it is not a familiar or safe place for her.  She is homeless walking on the road to home.

I often feel that way as well.  Homeless in the midst of journeying home.  Perhaps home is more of a posture than a place.  A posture of hope.  A posture of faith.  A posture of trust.  There is a place where our souls will find rest.  This path, though laden with suffering and loss, is headed somewhere.

Mourning on the road to Bethlehem.  What does this look like for us?  What does it mean to stop running from pain and look it square in the face.  Acknowledge it - declare it - feel the emptiness that comes with it.  And what does it look like to take a step in light of all that pain?  To not stay in it - but not simply leave it behind.  To journey with it...because we know that all good journeys change us...even how we carry what we originally took along.  Perhaps it is in the walking that our pain is transformed.  What feels heavy and cumbersome at first later becomes useful...the thing we needed right when all the lights go out.

I don't know how we do this... perhaps we are already in the midst of it.  Perhaps for some of us it means doing a little backtracking to pick up what we have been trying to run away from.  For others it may mean tying a handkerchief around that pain and slinging it over your shoulder so you can start moving.  Either way the way is not clear...home is fuzzy at best...yet we take one step at a time.

Week 1 of the short circle ended with this quote by Frederick Buechner...I think it illuminates the road to Bethlehem quite well:

"To remember my life is to remember countless times when I might have given up, gone under, when humanly speaking I might have gotten lost beyond the power of any to find me.  But I didn't.  I have not given up.  And each of you, with all the memories you have and the tales you could tell, you also have not given up.  You also are survivors and are here.  And what does that tell us, our surviving?  It tells us that weak as we are, a strength beyond our strength has pulled us through at least to this day.  Foolish as we are, a wisdom beyond our wisdom has flickered up just often enough to light us if not the right path through the forest, at least a path that leads forward, that is bearable.  Faint of heart as we are, a love beyond our power to love has kept our hearts alive."

May we journey well...one step at a time.