Imperfect, but true.

When Alex and I were in Italy, one particular billboard overwhelmed the subway walls. The billboard advertised a gelato company called Grom, whose slogan was "Imperfetto ma vero". In English, this means, "Imperfect, but true." As I write this now, my mouth is watering for handmade gelato, a scoop of ice cream made by hand that might be extra chocolatey this time or extra creamy. Or maybe it has a few extra chocolate chips. Who wouldn't prefer hand made imperfection over sterile, manufactured monotony?

We both mentioned that a slogan like this, a slogan that brags of the imperfection of its product, would likely not fly in America. In the USA, we pride our products for being the best and for having consistent perfection in craftsmanship. When we go to restaurant or purchase a product, we expect flawless and immaculate products.

Just yesterday, I went to Panera where I ordered a bowl of soup and an apple. As the employee set down my plate, my apple rolled off onto the table. Not the ground, not the seat, just the table. The employee looked mortified and said, "I'm so sorry, let me get you a new apple." I looked at him incredulously. "No thanks," I said, "I'll just keep this apple." It surprised me that my apple touching the table, which appeared to have been wiped off and cleaned before I sat down, would warrant a new apple. It was likely I'd set it down on the table anyway, to have more room for my soup. In fact, my soup was so filling, I put my apple in my bag for later, and God only knows what kind of bacteria might be lurking in there.

source

Imperfect but true. No, this foreign saying is truly foreign to us.

Babbling, Bumbling Band of Baboons

In worship yesterday, I made the ultimate move of cockiness. I came to the Communion Table without the Words of Institution written anywhere. In the PCUSA, we tell the story of Jesus on the last night of his life by reciting words from 1 Corinthians 11. An ordained Teaching Elder (or Minister of Word and Sacrament) is charged to say these words each time we celebrate at the Table. It's a task I find deeply humbling and moving. Nearly two years ago, when I was ordained, I would recite the words in my car over and over as I drove from my house to the church and from the church to my house. Alex would find me mumbling them in the bathroom or whispering them before bed. I wanted them to be ingrained in me, to come from my mouth authentically, and of course, to be perfect. The task of being a pastor is humbling, and I am determined to live up to the call.

Two years in, my imperfections caught up with me. As I lifted the silver cup at the 8:45 service yesterday, I thought the words in my mind, but from my mouth came a ridiculous string of words that did not go together.

"Cup...blood...save...Jesus...the..."

I felt like Porky Pig stuttering over my words...

Or like comedian, Brian Regan, spouting out words in his comedy act...

source

I was utterly tongue tied. I began again, I executed well, and we moved on.

I know we all make mistakes. I know that perfection is unattainable. I know that many of my colleagues who read this will chuckle in memory of their own similar blunders. I know these things, but I still replay the moment over and over in my head with shame, embarrassment, and self-loathing. I still want to avoid mistakes, to be perfect.

After worship, a woman in our congregation came to me and said, "Lindsay, you always keep it real." I know she meant this with love; I know she meant it as a good thing, but at that moment I felt so deeply ashamed. I would like to go back in time and change it, or hide behind my big fluffy robe so that you cannot see the redness of my face or the tears in my eyes.

Imperfetto, ma vero

It was only in the afternoon, as I continued to reflect on this, that it occurred to me the joy in the woman's face as she told me that I "keep it real." It was a comfort for her to see the clergy not sparkling with perfection; it was a comfort for her to be in the same imperfect boat as me. And in truth, this has always been a part of my sense of call: that I'm an honest sinner, an imperfect saint, that I am a human with the same temptations, sins, and struggles as the next person. I do not have all the answers, but I'm praying for direction; I am just another disciple like anyone, and I hope that when we come together in worship, we are learning together about God's will.

But even with that in my mind, I remain uncomfortable with imperfection. Mistakes, or perceived mistakes, haunt me like irritating ghosts; they slowly pick and eat at me, until I'm debilitated by them.

So the idea that my blundering of the Words of Institution could bring comfort and even joy to someone is a baffling, shocking notion. Maybe the people of Unity need me to be imperfect, they need me to be human. Maybe the world needs me to be imperfect, but true, but real, but honest.

How would my life change if my goal was not to be perfect but to be true? What might I do differently if I was striving not to be immaculate but to be honest? What would be different if I aspired not to be infallible but to be real?

I know I'm not the only perfectionist around here, so I wonder if you sometimes feel this pressure. 

Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

2 Corinthians 12.8-10

What if all of us could lay down the idol of perfection, and pursued the realness, the truthiness, the honesty of God? What if we could relish or at least dwell in our weaknesses in order to rely on the power and strength of God?

The Fire Within

This weekend, I had the great blessing of spending time at Surfside beach with 16 of our delightful high school youth. We focused on the idea of rest as a spiritual discipline and about how even with all the many things we have to do, we are called not let school or cross country or our jobs or any of the things of the world to rule our lives, but rather to let our lives be ruled by our love for God.

We also talked about how our lives aren't magically changed overnight, but we have to enter spiritual disciplines and sacred rest in small doses every day. One of the scriptures we reflected on was this:

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God's mercy, to offer up your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God - this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is - his good, pleasing, and perfect will.

Romans 12.1-2

The concept of being transformed is one that strikes me personally and one I hope might capture your heart as well.

Grammar Geek...

If you don't like grammar, feel free to skip ahead. For those of us Grammar Geeks, let's think on this for a moment. I love in this passage that it says "be transformed." In grammar, this is in the "passive voice" meaning the subject of the transforming isn't you; rather you are the object of the transforming. In other words, you can't transform yourself. Only God, by the power of the Holy Spirit, can do that.

So transformation, then, doesn't look like me beating myself up when I'm not perfect. It doesn't look like me foregoing sleep so that I can read another chapter of the Bible or putting together a regimen of spiritual practices that I can in no way keep up with. It doesn't mean that I need to become perfect; it means I need to turn my attention to the one who is.

I really like this because I am an over-functioner. As a child I would practice writing my alphabet for hours a day, even long into my teenage years, so that I would have perfectly neat handwriting. To this day, when I am in a group and we need a scribe, I like to be the one writing because I know my handwriting will be perfect. When I am assigned a task, I do it right and I do it perfectly, or I do not do it at all. If it were my task to become perfect, I would literally push myself to insanity trying to accomplish self-transformation. It is a relief for me that the dotting of my eyes and the crossing of my t's comes not from my own efforts but from me resting in God's love and transforming me from the inside out.

Yoga and the Third Niyama...

I bring up yoga and eastern spiritual practices not because I am secretly trying to support another religion but because I thought this lesson had universal truth. Sometimes when I practice yoga, I think the words my instructors use give voice to parts of my faith I didn't have words for before. Maybe this isn't strictly perfect, but when I hear something that resonates more with a truth I know from my faith, I just steal it and change it for myself. Don't judge me too harshly!

source

When I was in yoga last week, the instructor was talking about the third niyama called "tapas." Tapas refers to the fire in your belly, the energy you have for perseverance, the part of you that burns and churns for transformation. I immediately thought about the Romans passage for this weekend, among others. Scripture gives us lots of examples of spiritual transformation, but it doesn't have a word for the internal fire that responds and yearns for that transformation. There's something biblical about God placing a fire within us that urges us to change and transformation, and maybe it resonates with you also.

I love this concept because I am reminded that I'm not done, I'm not perfect, I'm not always right. I love this concept because I always want to be better, to be more humble, to be more like Jesus. I love this concept because there is always room for a closer walk with God. As a pastor, I believe sometimes people think I have all the answers or I have my act together all the time. I think sometimes people think I should have all the answers or my act together all the time. And I think sometimes people think I'll attain perfection after like 5 years in ministry or when I have children or when I retire or something. I love Romans 12 because it doesn't make exceptions; it doesn't say, be transformed by going to seminary or being in ministry. And while verse two sort of seems like there might be an end point, the whole chapter seems to show us that this is a lifelong journey.

*****

So anytime I stand to pray or to preach, to guide our youth, I stand as a work-in-progress, humbly accepting God's will and God's grace. I teach our youth to allow God to transform their lives 5 minutes at a time because God continues to transform my life 5 minutes at a time. As a pastor, I pray that we can learn and grow together, that we can walk on this journey together.

And the darkness did not overcome...

The anticipation of today's eclipse has had many of us rushing to drug stores for glasses, worrying about South Carolina traffic, traveling to stay with friends and family...

Perhaps you bought some of the Krispy Kreme eclipse donuts:

krispy kreme

Or maybe you've been listening to Total Eclipse of the heart all day long:

(or you've been waiting to hear as Ms. Tyler sings it during the eclipse!)

Maybe you've been frantically reading about eye damage or listening to news stories of how the eclipse affects people's moods or the environment.

As I've been hearing about the eclipse for the past few weeks, because I'm a nerdy pastor and it's what I do, I've been reflecting on scripture that records what we can assume are eclipse-like events.

*****

In Exodus, as Moses is appearing before the Pharaoh to free the Israelite people, God causes 10 plagues, the ninth of which was darkness.

And there was dense darkness in all the land of Egypt for three days.

Exodus 10.22

The darkness interferes with the daily lives of the Egyptians: they can't see or move or do their work. The plague of darkness did not, however, affect the Israelites, who continue about their business. The plague shows the mighty power and clear authority of God in the world: even the sun and moon and stars listen to the Lord our God.

*****

Then in Joshua, as the army of the Israelites is conquering the land of Canaan, God makes the sun stand still.

The sun stopped in midheaven, and did not hurry to set for about a whole day. There has been no day like it before or since, when the Lord heeded a human voice; for the Lord fought for Israel.

Joshua 10.14

It is debatable whether this is a true "eclipse" but the stillness of the sun in the sky is unique and interesting. Again, we witness a God who stands on behalf of God's people, and we are made aware of God's presence by the altering of the normal patterns of the sun.

*****

The prophets describe the "Day of the Lord" or the day of God's judgment, as a day when the sun is dark and the world is topsy turvy.

See, the day of the Lord comes,

cruel, with wrath and fierce anger,

 to make the earth a desolation,

and to destroy its sinners from it.

For the stars of the heavens and their constellations

will not give there light;

the sun will be dark in its rising,

 and the moon will not shed its light.

Isaiah 13.9-11

When I blot you out, I will cover the heavens,

and make their stars dark.

I will cover the sun with a cloud,

 and the moon will not give its light.

All the shining lights of the heavens

I will darken above you and put darkness in your land, says the Lord.

Ezekiel 32.7

The earth quakes before them,

the heavens tremble.

The sun and moon are darkened,

 and the stars withdraw their shining....

Truly the day of the Lord is great;

terrible indeed - who can endure it?

Joel 2.10-11b

On that day, says the Lord God,

I will make the sun go down at noon,

and darken the earth in broad daylight.

Amos 8.9

source

The idea of darkness during the day is one of terror, judgment, and fear. 

*****

In the gospels, we also witness an eclipse at Jesus' death.

From noon on, darkness came over the whole land until three o'clock in the afternoon. ... Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last.

Matthew 27.45;50

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. ... Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last.

Mark 15.33;37

It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land, until three in the afternoon, while the sun's light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying out with a loud voice, said "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." Having said this, he breathed his last.

Luke 23.44-46

source

There is a sense that the cosmic power of Jesus' death is so enormous that it overwhelms even the sun. I also like to imagine that the scene of Jesus on the cross was so tragic that God averted God's eyes and drew the shade over the shame and pain of God's son. 

*****

So, it should come as a surprise to us that over the centuries we have gone from an eclipse being a symbol of fear and pain and terror, a sign that the divine powers that be were enacting judgment on the land, to a marketing event. Instead of something to fear, an eclipse has become something that causes traffic jams, something to travel 100 miles to see, and something to have a sweet party about. With scientific study, we've learned that eclipses happen on a reliable basis; they are something that simply happens, a shift from the normal routine of the celestial bodies and, just as quickly, a shift back to the habitual orbits.

Of course, when I emerged from our church office to a chorus of cicadas and the automatic evening lights had come on in front of the sanctuary and all the air had a cloudy mysterious haze to it, I wasn't really thinking about science and orbits. It was downright spooky and a strange and almost a stumbling block to my brain and senses. Even this weird snake living next door to my friend, Mel, was thrown off his little groove as he stared at the sun {literally the only time I'm going to say anything cute about a snake}.

There's a reason we stepped out from work or we drove 100 miles; there's a reason we hunted down eclipse glasses and purchased Sun Drop. Somewhere in the midst of this eclipse, we all experience something ethereal, surreal, and divine. The God who made the darkness over Egypt centuries ago eclipsed the sun today. The God who ordered the heavenly bodies made sure that there would be moments like these that would remind us that God is in charge. Whether you're black or white, Democrat or Republican, Christian or not, all of us craned our necks and shielded our eyes as the world stood still in darkness this afternoon. When the darkness crept into our world, we did what God has always called us to do: we looked up.

I keep coming back to the gospel of John (who oddly does not record the eclipse at Jesus' death). John begins with these famous lines:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

John 1.1-5

Today's eclipse for me is a reminder that the darkness of the world does not last. I am comforted that even when the darkness seems to settle and turn the world topsy turvy, God, just like the sun sitting behind the moon, is still present, still active. The light and love of God is not something that can be contained by the dark and simple presence of the moon; no, the light is something that bursts forth, even when the shadows are unbearable and the world is in chaos. 

It seems appropriate to me that yesterday our youth led us in worship and we were able to experience such joy and light coming from the youth of our church, from the future of our church. It seems appropriate to me that we've kicked off another year of Sunday School. It seems right to me that people of literally all ages gathered yesterday for the ice cream social. These are the ways that the Kingdom of God was bursting through the darkness within the walls of our church. These are the ways that our church refuses to be blinded by darkness but constantly seeks the light.

The light of God shines in the darkness, and darkness did not, can not, and will never overcome it.

So Fresh and So Clean Clean

There was a point this summer when the mess in my office reached a totally unacceptable point. Not only was there the usual clutter: the stacks of papers, files, bibles, books, and post-its, but there were additional piles: old curriculum, donations of supplies, materials that hadn't been put away, receipts, first aid supplies, crafts, pictures. And then it got embarrassing: dirty dishes, empty water bottles, candy wrappers, forgotten lunches, and old candy. I had officially reached the status of Pig Sty.

source

It was so bad, that bless his sweet sweet heart, Albert, our Sexton, took it upon himself while I was away to organize my mess in to piles, to discard some of the more embarrassing items of trash, and to give my office a fresh feeling of newness. I really cannot thank him enough.

When I came to him to thank him for this kindness, he said, "Well, I figured you'd just gotten to a place where you were overwhelmed and couldn't keep up with it." It was so true. In Youth Ministry, you're liable to have things like toilet brushes, crayons, and Bibles tucked into every nook and cranny, and the fast pace of the summer makes it nearly impossible to keep up. But I had not done a great job of self-care and became easily overwhelmed with the items overflowing my office. It had come to a point that when I looked around, I wasn't even sure where to start, or how to make it right again.

Maybe you know what I mean...

Maybe my office isn't all that far off from where a lot of us find ourselves. Maybe you also suffer from Messy-Desk-Syndrome, or maybe there is other mess and clutter in our lives.

Sometimes I wonder if I've made too many mistakes. Perhaps people will judge me solely on the errors I've made or the things I've dropped the ball on. Sometimes, I wonder if I've made a reputation that is so messy and so set in one way that it is too late to be changed.

Sometimes I am afraid. I'm afraid of violence and hatred I see on TV. I'm afraid of angry mobs and nuclear war. I am afraid of a world that is so different than the one I grew up in. I'm afraid of bullies, of people whose feelings have been hurt, of being wrong, and of accidentally hurting others. Sometimes, I'll admit, the fear I have in our ever-changing world feels like a mess I cannot begin to navigate. How can I make it through all this fear to the light on the other side?

Sometimes, when I was a teenager, I felt like people put me in a box. I was a band-geek, and an English nerd. I was a goody-two-shoes Christian. I was that girl who dated that weird guy who spread a bunch of rumors about her after they broke up. Sometimes I would wonder if anyone in my school would ever take the time to listen to me, to truly know me. Sometimes, my identity as a Middle or High School student felt like a mess I could not fix, a swamp of assumptions I could not escape.

source

The feeling of drowning in mess is not that foreign to us or to our teenagers, or perhaps even to our elementary aged children.

Starting Fresh

Yesterday morning on the Today's Show I saw a segment about the fashion trends for Back To School, which highlighted that white tennis shoes, fresh crisp and clean were all the rage for this year's Back to School Fashion.

source

The description and the pictures brought me back to a dewy morning standing at the bus stop with my new Converse All-Stars on the first day of Middle School. I wore my baggy jeans and baby-T shirt; my horrible haircut fixed as best I could behind a headband, my brand new red Jansport book bag on my back. I remember thinking that this new school was a fresh start: I could leave the past behind, make new friends, be a new person, and live new experiences. Even though that hope faded throughout the school year, there was a part of me that lived for that fresh new feeling of hope.

As Hoda Kotb described the crisp white tennis shoes, I thought both of the incredible blessing of a new school year and the harsh contrast it makes with the messy, scuffed up challenges of our everyday life. This week, our kids get a fresh start to make a new impression. They get to set a new trend for themselves in clothing; they redefine themselves (for better and sometimes worse) in terms of their personality; there are boundless opportunities for new friends, new classes, new schedules, and new lunch tables. The world is their oyster.


Our world doesn't give us a lot of light to guide us through the mess, and it is not a far leap to feel hopeless, especially at the age of 13. But our God does give us this hope. Our God does provide crisp white tennis shoes when the world around us is scuffed and gray. Our God does hear the cries of God's people; God does give us the light to see clearly through the fog. Our God does give us the real-life and metaphorical Alberts to come clean out our messy lives so we can start fresh.


This is the message we have heard from Jesus and proclaim to you, that God is light and in him there is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him while we are walking in darkness, we lie and do not do what is true; but if we walk in the light as he himself is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.
-1 John 1.5-8

*****

Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.
-Romans 5.1-5



So as we prepare for a fresh new school year, I pray that together we would take this as an opportunity to renew our hope in a bright future, to renew our faith that Christ is near us, and to renew our sense of commitment to that hope, knowing that we are beloved children of God walking in the light, even when the shadows cling so closely.


*****

Presence

As we sit on the couch buried in our phones after work looking at our social media accounts, I ask my husband a serious question. Alex always thinks before he responds to my questions, so when I was met with silence I was patient and didn't respond. A half hour (and several scrolls through Facebook and a few rounds of Solitaire) later, I remembered that I had asked a question and never had an answer [or maybe he did answer, and I missed it because I was reading about someone's Pinterest fail]. So I asked, "Hey did you hear me ask a question?" Alex responded, "What? No."

We are sitting a cushion away on the couch but are we present?

*****

I love having our parents come to visit us. I love to share a cup of coffee and blueberry muffins in the morning with my mom. I love to show Alex's parents our favorite dining in Charlotte. I love to show our Grandmas around the Peach Stand and walk with our friends on the Greenway. But I'm also an anxious host.

My mother never leaves a dish in the sink and wipes down strangers' counters. She always empties the coffee grinds into the trash and does a load of towels in the laundry every day. Meanwhile, I will let my sink fill up until I can't fit anything else in, and I wipe the counters down on Fridays. I always forget the coffee grinds until the next morning, and my hubby is the laundry guru on Saturdays and Sundays. We have wonderful silver pitchers and plates in our home, which I know need to be polished, and we have half finished furniture and decorative projects everywhere. When we have guests, I find myself nervously over-cleaning and making sure that everything is prim and pressed and perfect for their arrival and stay with us. My house is clean, but did I hear what my guest just told me? My silver is polished but am I present?

*****

A friend calls me while I'm watching the Penguin game in a crisis about something very difficult in her life. A youth texts me during dinner about something they are struggling with. The store clerk at Target tells me to have a great day, and I stumble along with my bags out the door. Do I have the patience and inner peace to really be present in these moments? Or am I so busy inside my own head I can't be bothered to notice and be in the space of today?

While I soaked up some Sabbath time over the last week of stay-cation, I reflected often on the idea of being fully present, of noticing the world around me, and being non-anxiously aware of the world and my inner self. This appears to be one of the ways God is speaking to and teaching me on my journey right now...

****

Jesus: the example and the teacher

In the world, we often hear of being present as a trendy, hipster, Buddhist notion. You download the Headspace app and practice yoga and go unplugged for a weekend. It doesn't necessarily sound, at least to me, like a fully Jesus-inspired, uniquely Christian concept. What I've been reflecting on is something kind of similar, but wholly different. When I think of being present, I think of two stories of Jesus that show how he taught and lived out the principle of being present in life today.

The Teacher: Mary and Martha

In Luke 10.38-42, we find Jesus at the home of two women. It is here that Jesus teaches us the lesson of presence. Mary and Martha could not be more opposite of one another, nor could they bicker more and be more bitter toward one another. Martha, who might be my kindred spirit, runs around the house like a chicken with her head cut off making sure she is hospitable. She is cleaning, cooking, setting the table, observing all the right societal customs and traditions. No silver would be unpolished, no counter unwiped, and certainly no coffee grounds would be left in her kitchen, if she were around today. Martha exemplifies this perfect, fastidious host, and in spite of the rest of the story, she has my greatest admiration and respect. I feel a touch of exhilaration just thinking about her experience of dinner preparations.

Mary, on the other hand, plops down in front of Jesus to hear him speak, leaving her sister with the weight of all the chores. Sometimes I imagine her like my brother, who loves to sit on the recliner in my parents' house in his robe until the very last second on Christmas Day. It comes to the point where Martha speaks up:

Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!

I think we can all agree this is a reasonable request, given the circumstances of the meal and the household and the society at the time. But Jesus' response is surprising and, well, present:

You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.

Um, seriously Jesus? In Pittsburgh, we would call Mary a "jagoff" (for not helpin' to red up the haaase n'at). What can this lazy bum, this annoying little sister, this freeloader, what can she possibly teach us?!?!?!

Let's look at Mary. Mary recognizes that it's not every day that the Messiah enters your house. She realizes that she may only have a couple of hours to be with Jesus: to hear his teachings first hand, to experience his compassionate eyes and soft voice, to watch him heal and save, to shake his hand and wash his feet, to be present. As Jesus captivates her gaze, the preparation of dinner (and the polishing of the silver, and the wiping of the counters, and the dumping of the coffee grinds) seems inane, unimportant, and irrelevant in comparison to the experience of Jesus in her midst. A perfectly clean home and a perfectly cooked meal and perfectly polished sliver, these things are temporary; the experience of Jesus in your midst is the kind of incarnational experience that lasts a lifetime, an eternity.

Through the example of Mary, Jesus teaches us the importance of presence in our daily lives, that if we are slaves to the things of society and of the world, we will miss our opportunity to do what is right and to be present at the feet of Jesus.

The Life: The Hemorrhaging woman

It's one thing to teach; it's another thing to live the example. Of course, we would expect nothing less from Jesus, but it is telling that the gospel of Luke contains both a teaching of Jesus on the matter of presence (Mary and Martha) and an action of Jesus that demonstrates his presence with other people.

In Luke 8, a man named Jairus comes to Jesus because his daughter is dying. Jesus begins walking to the man's home and the crowds follow. I always imagine Jesus walking at a very slow pace with a smirk on his face because he's proving that God has a plan for this day. [Also the Jesus of my imagination is a little sassy...I hope that's true.]

There are people pressing in all around him and the crowd is reminiscent of an unrelenting, sweaty mosh-pit of over-excited Harry Stiles fans. I can't imagine this was a very fun journey for Jesus.

If it were me, I'd be like, let's just get through this as quickly as possible. Let's go another way to avoid the crowds. Let's use clothes-lining and violence if we have to. But not Jesus. Not only is Jesus intimately surrounded by humans and incidental touch and crowds, but he manages to be so present that he notices and identifies the touch of one person. Luke 8.42-44 tells us that a woman who had been subject to bleeding for 12 years came to Jesus and touched his cloak for his healing power. Jesus could have ignored this and just said, cool, another anonymous soul healed! He could have concentrated on the family of Jairus, the task at hand, and getting to Jairus' daughter before she died. Jesus was busy. Instead, Jesus turns to find out who touched him, approaches the woman face to face, calls her "daughter," and proclaims that her faith has healed her. 

Jesus shows us that he is never too busy, too hurried, too distracted, or too important to notice us and meet us where we are.

*****

So...presence...today...

It's May. May always seems to whip past me in a blur of graduation parties, cook-outs, field days, and Stanley Cup playoff games. It's sort of the perfect time to watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off and take the message to heart:

I think in the chaos of early summer and the crowds of our lives in May, Jesus is calling us to be present. Jesus is telling us to stop being Martha, to put down the spring cleaning and the dinner plans and the parties and the concerts and to be present in our homes and in our families. Jesus is showing us how to be present in the crowd, to hear the cries of our children and the struggles of our neighbors, to listen with compassion to the hurts of our friends and the life stories of our families.

Because it is in these acts of presence and moments of intimacy, it is there, through the power of the Holy Spirit, that we find ourselves face-to-face with Jesus.

Holy Week: St. Iggy, Suffering, and Honesty

My Homeboy: St. Iggy

Since January, I have found this connection with St. Ignatius of Loyola. In fact, the more I learn about him, the more I subconsciously refer to him as Iggy {Iggy Smalls, Notorius I-G-G, Fo Shizzle Ig Nizzle...}, my homeboy, my pal, my bro. You may have noticed this as I've been quoting him a lot in worship.

Iggy has this great knack of picking out perfect words to express my spiritual thoughts and musings. As someone who is verbose to a fault and who is inundated with emotional complexity, I greatly appreciate when people can put into words what is swirling and bubbling in my soul. 

More than that, Iggy has been the inspiration for my Lenten season. Each day (or as often as I was able), I recited the Suscipe to cultivate humility, generosity, and discipleship.

As Lent is coming to a close this Holy Week, I am extremely grateful for this prayer in my Lenten practice. Yesterday, my husband and I watched 2 hours of History Channel documentaries about Jesus (while loudly critiquing some so-called history, spouting our Church History knowledge with accentuated flourish, and exchanging our best facial expressions of dubiousness and disgust). The documentaries were obsessed with getting a historical look at Jesus and his followers, at proving the divine DNA strands of Jesus, and at creating a digital representation of Jesus physical appearance. There is this manic obsession about getting to the proven facts and exact images of Holy Week, and it is not only reflected in this dude who looks like Henry Winkler with a flock-of-seagulls hair-do.

{I mean, who wouldn't want to watch hours and hours of commentary from this dude? His real name is Ray Downing...}

No, it's not just this guy; we all work really hard to get this Easter thing right, perfect, and accurate. Aside from History Channel documentaries, we have The Passion  from several years ago that famously tried to portray in movie form the most accurate portrayal of the four gospels' version of Jesus death. We have numerous TV programs (including The Bible and Jesus) to edify us, and we have upcoming movies and books like The Case for Christ and The Shack to shed wisdom and knowledge onto our Easter week. And we pastors spend a lot of time exchanging ideas, making sure the paraments and Easter flowers and crosses and palms are all in order and perfectly executed through the week. We count the number of times we've retold the Easter story, and strive to tell it in a new and enticing way each year.

Even if it's not about the theology, Easter does sort of signify some sort of perfection. Growing up, I had this hand-made Easter dress and an Easter hat for church on Easter morning. Sometimes we would get new shoes or sweaters. We would spend hours dying Easter Eggs and preparing for Easter supper. Perhaps you spend time cultivating the perfect Spring Break or going through spring cleaning to spruce up your house. Perhaps you make lovely every inch of your garden or decorate with wreathes and bows and figures.

Easter has this classic association with perfection, with brightness, and with new life. We feel pressure to make sure those things are felt and felt fully.

In actuality, so much of Holy Week and Easter reflect imperfection, suffering, and honesty. The Suscipe has been a wonderful tool for me throughout Lent to check my ego and my expectations at the door and to seek to give over my heart and my will to God. What I love about Iggy Smalls is that he recognized that Easter isn't one and done, well we got it now, moving on; he recognizes that I need to be reminded of my imperfection daily, that I need to rely on the grace and love of God which are more than enough.

Suffering

The thing I love most about Lent and about Holy Week is that is raw and painful. When we think of holidays, in the church or otherwise, it is rarely a solemn depressing occasion. Imagine if we spent all of Independence Day fasting and mourning the loss of soldiers, or Christmas feeling sad for Mary without her midwives or aid. It isn't often that we get to sit in the suffering parts of the story. And yet in Holy Week, we need the betrayal of Maundy Thursday and the vicious pain of Good Friday to bring sweetness to Easter morning. Without the suffering of the week, we cannot fully comprehend the extent of joy and excitement that Easter morning brings. Without bloody, gruesome, gritty death, we cannot hope to experience resurrection.

I really love this because my life is not always charming or happy. At times, I have gone through loss, grief, depression, anxiety, or very challenging circumstances, and well-meaning folks have advised me to look on the bright side or count my blessings. While certainly those are nice sentiments, I'm not sure if God always wants us to feel happy, joyful, and content. Several years ago, one of my cousins had a baby who died during labor. I heard many phrases like, "Heaven has another angel!" and "God has a plan!" and later, "Had that not happened, we might not have the two beautiful girls she has now!" and while those might be nice or even true, they don't eliminate the grief and suffering of losing Devon. And in fact, it seems wrong and unfair to place a time limit on the grief and mourning one can experience at the untimely loss of this precious child. Holy Week reminds me that God honors our grief and our pain; God participates in our suffering and heartache.

On Maundy Thursday, we will read Scripture that reminds us that Jesus prayed and was grieved to the point of tears and sweating droplets of blood as he prepared for the impending crucifixion (Luke 22.39-46). We will be reminded that Jesus said, "Not my will but yours be done" in prayer to the Father. The gospel of John will help us to relive moments when Jesus washes the feet that will flee from him in his darkest hour and breaks bread with the man who will betray him for a small fee. In Scripture, we will find that Jesus didn't feel all warm and fuzzy about the crucifixion, nor did he face death with a super-human joyfulness.

On Good Friday, we will hear Jesus cry out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" a phrase from the Psalms that reverberates in our hearts, a phrase we confess we have wondered in our darkest time of need. We will encounter a Jesus who cries out, who thirsts, who is beaten and shamed, who is in genuine suffering and pain. We will imagine God the Father, who covers the earth with darkness, whose heart is broken with loss, even with the foreknowledge that Easter is coming.

So...honesty...

So, we come upon Holy Week with unbridled honesty. With this sense that life is both painful and wonderful, challenging and rewarding, we approach Holy Week with a raw and vulnerable emotion etched on our hearts. We experience Jesus, exposed and unfettered, in the stories that lead up to Easter, and we are both excited and confused, attracted and repulsed, comforted and discomforted by this Jesus that we meet. Holy Week is when Jesus shows us the truth of who He is; it is also the week when we come before Jesus with the truth of who we are.

We are...doubters, betrayers, sinners; egocentric yet self-loathing beings; people who are barely treading water, yet who are addicted to stress, productivity, and anxiety; people who didn't really feel like giving up a Thursday evening for church or a half hour for prayer; people who would rather curl up in comfort and security rather than face the ugliness, brutality, and bitterness of the Holy Week story.

Whether we are lounging on some beach somewhere, yanking weeds from our garden, exploring a fabulous city, camping in the mountains, or traveling to see family, I challenge us (myself included) to spend some time in the raw, honest suffering of Holy Week this week. I challenge us not to turn away from Jesus' vulnerable position on the cross, and to expose to God our own honest hurts, sufferings, and doubts. I challenge us to see Holy Week as an invitation to an intimacy only God can confirm.

If you're in town, we have the Maundy Thursday service at 7:00 on Thursday in the Sanctuary with communion, and a time of prayer and reflection on Good Friday from 12:00-1:00 pm (you can come on your lunch hour; self-guided prayer stations!) in the Columbarium. If you're not in town, stay tuned for a blog by me on the two services on Friday, and check out the daily scripture readings in the lectionary: Daily Lectionary Readings

Whatever you do, I pray that you know the truth of St. Iggy's words:

Take and receive, oh Lord,

My liberty, my memory, my understanding,  and my whole will.

All that I have and all that I am you have given to me.

I surrender it all to you, to be disposed of according to your will.

Grant that I may have only your love and your grace,

For with these I am rich enough.

Amen.

Because Nadia Bolz-Weber is awesome: Not Sure About Holy Week

Hope: Sports, Resurrection, and Allergies

Yesterday, Dan gave a great sermon about Ezekiel 37, the dry bones becoming flesh, the power of hope in the Holy Spirit. If you missed it, you can watch it here:

http://unityfortmill.org/live

This topic and Scripture are very timely for April 3, and I have been reflecting on hope for many weeks now. In many ways, April feels like a time of hope, and in many ways it does not.

Sports

In our home, we organize our lives around sporting events. We often call the month of February and the first two weeks of March "The Sports Desert" because it's the most depressing time of the year. When we lived in Pittsburgh, you're pretty much guaranteed that 6 weeks will have 1 maybe 2 days of full sunlight, and there will more than likely be one more big snow to cap off the season. The Super Bowl ends the weekly football gatherings for the year. Professional Hockey and Basketball are in that middle part of the marathon season when it almost gets a little boring. College basketball is happening but doesn't really get exciting until March. And of course, Major League Baseball hasn't begun yet. 

The drought begins to let up in the beginning of March when the pitchers and catchers report for Spring Training, when the trade deadline hits for the NHL, and the college basketball teams (both men and women) start to heat up. There is something electric that begins inside me the first time the Pittsburgh Pirates update their Facebook page and as ESPN starts to spend some time on Bracketology. That electricity builds through March Madness, the opening series of baseball season, Stanley Cup playoffs, the NFL Draft, all the way to midsummer with the Home Run Derby (arguably the best all-star sports moment of the year. And by then it's just a few more weeks until we have college football and the NFL starting back up, and we Yinzers (from Pittsburgh) begin to calculate the possibilities of a weekend when the Pirates, the Penguins, the Steelers, and the Pitt Panthers all play at home. 

There's something more too it of course. Today, being opening day for the Pirates, the possibilities are endless and there are 160 games left to win. On the first day of March Madness, there's the possibility of reliving the one time ever when I picked the champion. Every team has a chance, and every year there's a surprise. There is this bubble of hope that begins to grow in the spring for sports; we believe in the underdog and commit ourselves afresh to the team that we believe will not let us down. There's a new passion and excitement in our daily routine: we look forward to discussing our brackets, congratulating our Gamecock fan friends, and mercilessly debating our rival pals. Watching folks running around in the sunshine inspires us to get out into the beautiful weather and enjoy it...perhaps in a lawn chair, but outside nonetheless.

Spring sports bring me hope, energy, and excitement.

Jesus

Of course, we also participate in Lent, the Passion, and the celebration of Easter Sunday. In Lent, we commit ourselves to the hope that tomorrow we will be greater servants than we were today. We believe that the more we confess our sin and our faith, the more we will grow in our discipleship of Jesus. And we patiently wait for that beautiful morning when Jesus leaps from the grave in victory.

There is lots of hope to be found in the beautiful Easter lilies, brightly colored Easter bonnets, Spring Break vacations, and the adorable decorations of eggs, chicks, and bunnies that surround us. While the secular version of Easter may have nothing to do with Jesus, the colors and images do give us that same spirit of hope and excitement for the season.

Dry Bones and Congestion

Sometimes it's easy to see all of these bright colors, exciting events, and joyful celebrations as an easy time of hope for our lives. But other times it doesn't feel that way. For me, the beginning of spring means extra allergy medications, a tablespoon of local honey every morning, and lathering Vicks all over my neck and face before bed. It means lilies, hyacinths, and pine straw, which make my nose itch, my eyes water, and my sinuses swell. It means an almost certain sinus infection in late April, and multiple trips to the car wash per week to get that pollen drop off my car and away from my nostrils.

Spring means another holiday without a loved one who has died. It means there are soccer games to get to or varsity teams to not make. It means the inevitable aggravation of taxes and the exhaustion of lawn work, social events, musicals, sports, picnics, and graduations. It means sometimes feeling guilty for not getting more done; it means one less hour of sleep for Daylight savings.

Sometimes, Spring still feels like dry bones, like the idea of this field of dry bones taking on flesh seems utterly impossible. Sometimes, I think the sunshine will make me feel a little better, but instead it feels sharp, piercing, and glaring. Sometimes, Spring feels more like the desperation of Good Friday than the celebration of Easter Sunday. We are caught in the grim reality of death found in Ash Wednesday, and the confession of guilt and self-discipline associated with Lent. 

Sometimes the process of hope isn't something that can be fixed in a day, or even 3 days, or even perhaps the whole season. Hope isn't always an instantaneous gratification, but a slow march toward summer. It becomes celebrating the little victories (including getting out of bed in the morning!) and forgiving ourselves for the challenges.

Confessions

I must confess that this Spring for me has been a season of dry bones. I've spent time caring for my mother after surgery and my husband during a particularly terrible batch of strep throat. The Pasta Night and Pine Straw fundraisers have been full of unexpected challenges and additional burdens I wasn't expecting, leaving me one step behind. I feel unprepared almost every day; I leave my extremely messy office with a feeling of being unfinished every day. As those around me have been suffering from loss, stress, illness, and injury, I have felt at times that my well is too dry to give good comfort and care to others.

As one person said to me, sometimes I feel so behind I think I'm in first.

It's the first day of the Pittsburgh Pirates baseball season, and it's also Day 1 of Spring Cleaning for Pastor Lindsay. I am beginning the slow arduous process of physically going through, cleaning, and organizing the piles of *stuff* that overtaken my office and my home. Every inch will be a battleground that will require me to fight for it, but I will fight for every inch. (If you think that sounds melodramatic, you should take a gander at the pig sty in my office, and your mind will be changed). Through this physical process, I am working to emotionally and spiritually prepare myself for the next months of ministry in this church. Summer is coming, and with it transformative, beautiful experiences emerge with youth at Montreat, mission trips, and summer after-church lunches. I am gleaning from the stuff and the memories both the wonderful ways the Holy Spirit has shown up here in this place and the ways that we need to change to get back onto the right path.

I invite each of you to join me on this spiritual journey of spring cleaning: what can we get rid of in order to make space for what really matters? How can we emerge from the clutter with greater spiritual energy for the days to come?