By my 7 yr-old (click pic for whole art poem) I was tempted to title this "Surprised by Grace" but didn't want it be confused with the new book of the same title, (which I am curious to read). "Changing Churches" sounded too flat, but this is also the story of that. We spent the past school year immersed in the Middle Ages and I didn't think history could get any better, but then we entered the Renaissance, which literally means "rebirth". It was spring (my favorite season) and we were on the verge of Pentecost, which marks the birth of the first church. Without my realizing it, in his infinite creativity, God was setting the stage for my own rebirth. Something had been growing inside me for a long time and it wasn't another baby. It was my conception (pun intended) of grace. I had experienced grace from a very young age, but my understanding of it was incomplete. God's grace had always been a form of protection against other people, but not from myself. It took becoming a wife and a mother for me to recognize how inherently selfish and need of grace I was, both to help me accept myself and to give it to others, especially those closest to me - my husband and children. In the spring of 2009 I re-read Grace-Based Parenting by Tim Kimmel. I went through it with a group of women and it invoked a desire in me to grow in the knowledge of grace, so that I could more fully receive and impart it. I pulled every book off our shelves that had the word "grace" in the title. I started to read several of them and liked them, but like so many other ambitious reading projects, this one fell to the wayside. Still, I wanted to "get" grace and I sensed that my desire alone was a prayer that God was answering. He wanted me to get it also, even more than I did. Which is exactly how God's grace works. And so this spring, as I witnessed rebirths in nature, history, and the church, I too, was born again...again. Like any birth, there was struggle, pain, and fear. But what had been growing inside me needed to come out. I could no longer be part of a church which did not fully illuminate grace, and even muddied it with traces of legalism. Works and service were emphasized and explained more than the person of Jesus and intimacy with him. Fear-based (albeit subtle) turn or burn) invitations to say the "magic prayer" (of salvation) and an authoritarian interpretation of Scripture that refused to consider any other theological position had turned Sunday mornings into cringe sessions for me. Not every week, but increasingly more often. I had long ago lost any desire to invite anyone there, but it had gotten to the point that I didn't want to be there either. Later, when I finally hashed it all out on paper (much more than I've included in this paragraph), the writing was on the wall. We had been there six years, since we were practically newlyweds and new parents as well. Our previous church had folded and our young unstable family craved security...or at least I did. That church had been the right place for us during those early unsteady years. They had welcomed us and fed us the Word and given us opportunities to serve and be served. And yet as we got to know the church more, and to shape our identity as a family and individuals, I began to sense we were less and less compatible. I started to feel trapped in what felt like an unhealthy relationship. I had defended "us" for a long time, even against older, wiser people who loved me and saw what I wasn't willing to look at for fear of hurting my family. I thought that if only I was struggling, it wouldn't be fair to rip them from our church home, so for several years I was determined to make it work. The tension was growing inside me, right alongside the grace, and one of them had to go. It was a thistle threatening to strangle the rosebush about to be birthed. The labor of pulling weeds began with communicating with my husband. His resistance was admirable (loyalty, friendship, optimism) until it turned ugly on both our parts (shouting match), but God's grace got us through it and out the other side, though with loss and grief that was more profound for him than for me. It was in this morose and disillusioned state that we visited a new church - not just new to us but to the area - a church plant of five years (which I had researched online over the previous months), which just happened to have "grace" in its name. As it turned out, it wasn't in name only. Our entire family was captivated that first Sunday. It was like coming home to some place we had never been. It seemingly effortlessly harmonized these paradoxes: reverence and relevance, beauty and grit, tradition and variety, grace and truth (a number of Sundays later, that is still true - I'll share details of the service in another post). We knew we had to end things the right way at our former church. We met with the pastors and both the angst and understanding of that conversation were confirmation that our time there was over - the associate pastor didn't say a word but he prayed a beautiful and grace-filled blessing for us that felt like God releasing us into a new season. A few days later, we met with the pastor of the new church and spent a couple hours getting to know each other over Comforts chinese chicken salad, as well as learning all about the church. The phrase "gospel-centered" was a recurring theme, as well as grace, restoration of creation, humans as God's image bearers, C.S. Lewis, Tim Keller, and baseball (I'll save that evidence of God's sense of humor for another post). We talked theology and community and doing away with things like Christian vernacular and an "us vs. them" mentality when it comes to interacting with the culture. His heart was clearly for the people of Marin, and both of us having grown up here, that resonated with us. An unexpected bonus of this meeting was my husband dispensing with a pre-tribulation post-millenial (a.k.a. Left Behind) eschatology and adopting an amillennial view. Now that he isn't always waiting to cash in his rapture ticket, he can more fully be here, laying down his life to spread God's grace around (and that goes for me too). I'm sure he'll still like John MacArthur but lately he's been more interested in Francis Chan, and we both like that our new pastor calls himself a "winsome Calvinist." Oh, and I apologize for the evangelical-speak - it won't happen again, or if it does, I'll be sure to define the terms, but I'm running out of room here. And so as we read about the Reformation in our homeschool, entered the season of Pentecost, and watched the first roses bloom in our patio garden, each epiphany of winters past culminated into the spring of my enlightenment. The new things happening in my mind (studying history), my heart (learning grace), my body (experiencing the renewal of God's creation), and my spirit (meditating on seasons of the church year--in part thanks to the Mosaic Bible) all helped to make me grow and step out in faith. As I closed one door, and God opened another, I felt freedom and joy like never before, as though a weight had been lifted from me. Starting new has its own set of challenges and I'm not naive about that, nor overly idealistic, but I am hopeful, and already encouraged by the vision of our new church home, including what role my giftings can play in realizing it, in harmony with the other members of the church as well as the larger body of Christ (Jesus followers) in our area and beyond.
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I remember the first time I was served an amuse bouche. Just when I was trying not to reach for another piece of bread, a tiny plate of fuschia and golden beets sprinkled with smoked sea salt was set in front of me (see picture). Not only was I unaware that beets came in more than one color, but that restaurants (really good ones) sometimes serve a complimentary pre-meal morsel called an "amuse bouche." Literally, it means "mouth pleaser." I'm not big on beets, so my mouth was indeed surprisingly pleased by the delicate and satisfying flavor of this amuse bouche. It also encouraged me that more good things were to come. I like the quote in the wikipedia entry "The amuse-bouche is the best way for a great chef to express his ideas in small bites." Spiritually speaking, what if God was the great chef, the gospel was his idea, and your words were the small bites? Before most people encounter Jesus in a personal way, they will meet his followers - not just in person, but in books and blogs by believers. The old saying "you're the only Bible someone will ever read" could be more hopefully phrased as "you're the first Bible someone will ever read" Christians are obviously not perfect representations of who God is or flawless interpreters of his written revelation of himself to us, but that is precisely how he will use us to reach others. His power is made perfect in our weakness. He has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise. And at the same time, God made each person in his image. He loves us and reveals himself to us and through us. Our words--spoken and written--can illuminate God's truth. Let us then be a living fragrance, so that when people breathe in our words--either aloud or through our pens--it will provoke an irresistible urge to taste and and see that the Lord is good. May his Holy Spirit in us awaken their spiritual senses and pique their palates like an amouse-bouche, making them hungry for Jesus and thirsty for the water that only he can give, beckoning them to the holy banquet where they can be satisfied with the richness of his grace, in the presence of their Creator who has a unique purpose for each human being in bringing glory to himself. Special Spoon, originally uploaded by literarymom. A few weeks ago, I was putting away the utensils from the dishwasher, and I glanced down at this spoon, which we've had for 9 years (it's from our set of silverware we received as a wedding gift). I did a doubletake as I saw this cross that suddenly appeared. Another one of God's little ways of romancing me. I kept the spoon (it's on my desk) and refuse to try to sell it on eBay :)Green Grandeur, originally uploaded by regifter. Started the new year with a misty morning hike at the Indian Valley Open Space Preserve in Novato. My husband brought his little Bible and read Psalm 1:1-6 to us. Nothing better than being with family while immersing the senses in God's creation and filling the heart and mind with his Word. It may be brief (especially with young children), but moments like these invigorate the spirit--and when accumulated over seasons of life--eternally impact the soul.My husband has a passion for prayer. He is reading everything by E.M. Bounds (I ordered him the full collection of his works). I stumbled on to an old copy of What Happens When Women Pray by Evelyn Christenson. I started it last night and just read another chapter during my quiet time today. I am intrigued. I am hopeful. I am praying. This is totally not like me. I was thinking my husband could be Prayer Warrior and I could stick with Bible Girl. Except that lately that hasn't felt like enough. Oh sure, I pray throughout the day, and with our children before bed, but often they are like stale, repetitive, comfort prayers. I feel too tired to be passionate. Yet I suspect that if I became a passionate pray-er, I would be less tired. So what if I fall asleep sometimes while I'm praying? Next time I'll get on my knees instead of laying on the couch. I might even pray aloud. A friend told me she won't say (or write) certain things since she thinks the devil will only know about them that way (that he can't read minds but can hear words). Sounds like a trick of the devil to me - to gag us with fear that keeps us from praying fervently, and also from connecting with others - the Bible tells us to confess and pray aloud. The enemy's knowledge of our weaknesses (which I believe he knows whether we say them or not) cannot match God's power over us through prayer. Maybe my husband and I will both get into this so much that we'll actually pray together. We have a great marriage and family but I'm wondering what God would do if we more intentional about seeking Him together. I wonder if there's a way we could work in exercise and prayer at the same time...definitely possible on our family hikes (that's what we recently decided would be our "thing", like some families have biking or camping or the Wii or whatever - we want to be a hiking family and we live in the perfect area for that). I also want to do this with other women. Pray, that is. Thinking of starting a bi-weekly prayer meeting, following the example in the book I'm reading. Might do this for the new year... Do you ever feel like you're just a bunch of holes? Seeing out your eyes, inhaling air through your nose, ingesting sustenance in your mouth, absorbing sounds with your ears, eliminating waste, and so on. Things go in and out of our holes. Without them, we wouldn't exist, but with them, I sometimes feel like I don't anyway. Like I'm trapped in my body, peering out peepholes that don't let me fully live. It's a strange awareness that first hit me erratically, but that I now induce at times, though I only let myself experience it fleetingly or else I'd freak out. Engaging in sensory activities helps it subside, as does talking (especially in conversation with someone else who is physically present). The more I feel and interact, the more real life seems.
What if spirituality is like that? Could our inner sense of emptiness or yearning exist to show us our need for God? Imagine the soul as a hole, through which we receive from and give to Him who made us and knows us even better than we know ourselves. The one who keeps his soul closed cannot ever satisfy the longings that transcend his physical existence. The one who opens her soul allows it to be filled with faith and released of fear. And that is only the first course in a spiritual feast that continues on for a lifetime of emptying and being nourished. What comes out of our souls is pain, selfishness, remorse, gratitude, and worship and what comes into them is grace, forgiveness, healing, peace, love, truth, strength and the intimate presence of our Heavenly Father who is also our creator, savior and friend. Maybe this body feels like a bunch of holes because we are meant for another existence - one that continues on beyond this material world. Perhaps the sensation of being more than our bodies (and our brains), of desiring meaning and purpose and permanence occurs because there is more, a reality that we can start living now if we seek to fill our spiritual hole as earnestly and often as we do our bodily orifices. When we pay attention to our soul - first by seeking God, and later by continually practicing his presence (through the spiritual disciplines which empty and fill us) - we become whole and holy, instead of just feeling holey. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. 1 Corinthians 13:12 Yesterday was vomit day. Today is cold day. Every day is mommy day. And I wouldn't have it any other way. She needs me. I need to be needed. Doesn't everyone? We were made to give and serve. We cannot be fulfilled by trying to meet only our own needs.
God made us to be needed because he made us in his image and likeness. He made us to need him. No person can ever meet our deepest needs. Yet he has made us like him, and graced us with the ability to meet other people's needs...when our reliance is on Him. It's like a waterfall. God is the source, each cascade draws from him and pours into the next, filling the pool with an endless supply of life giving water that never runs dry...so long as the source isn't cut off or any part of the falls stopped up. The trickle down effect won't do the job. It's all or nothing. On a lighter note (that actually has relevance to meeting needs), I traded a Bryan Adams CD for a jar of olives on eBay. I kept seeing the same jar of olives advertised and no one buying it, so I finally emailed the sellers and offered a trade. They're avid music collectors who dislike olives and I'm on a diet of olives and almost pure Christian music, so it was the perfect match. he really funny thing is that the olives were a gift to them from a friend who visited Gilroy, the garlic capital of California, about two hours south of me. That jar of olives traveled all the way across the country (they're in Ohio) and back to get to me. It cost them $9 to ship it priority mail. It cost me $1.50 to ship the CD (which had also been a gift) media mail. Of course, I've eaten almost half the jar already (they're exquisite--plump and spicy) and they'll have the CD for years to come... I almost didn’t want to watch the final installment of the Lord of the Rings because I didn’t want it to be over. We were privileged to be able to see it at the best theater in the Bay Area, the Tamalpais, which is one of Steven Spielberg’s favorite moviehouses (it’s also where I once sat behind George Lucas when I was a teenager–wish I could remember the film!).
But Lucas and Spielberg had nothing to do with this movie, or the entire trilogy, which surpassed anything they’ve ever produced, in my humble opinion. It was masterfully done, but the secret to its success was something we can all relate to–-a great writer. The makers of the films were faithful to Tolkien’s text and masterfully depicted the intricacies of his imagination. What really made this movie special for me was how clearly Tolkien’s Christian faith played itself out on the screen. I’m sure most members of the audience were oblivious to the metaphorical imagery (not allegorical since Tolkien himself denied using that literary device). I gleaned more than I’m sure Tolkien intended, but I believe that when the hand of providence is involved, certain stories take on a life of their own. I couldn’t help but see Christ in both Frodo and Sam. Frodo bore the ring, “his burden”, our sin on himself and endured something of a crucifixion of spirit. He knew he was the only one who could carry the cross, so to speak. At one point, Sam says something like “I cannot carry your burden, but I can carry you.” That reminded me of the poem “Footprints” which speaks of how we feel so alone in our hardest times because we only see one set of footprints, but the footprints are actually God’s because he is carrying us. Christ’s humility was personified in the hobbit demeanor which was always humble and giving. Both Frodo and Sam were servant-leaders like Christ, but Sam was the best example. He always put Frodo before himself, even allowed Frodo to make the wrong decisions, and stuck by him even in the face of his betrayal (reminded me of Jesus and Peter). Sam even carried the ring, and wasn’t tempted by it, in order to protect Frodo and the rest of Middle Earth from it falling into the wrong hands. Sam also seemed like the beloved John, the disciple who was closest to Jesus. In Gollum, I could see both Adam and Judas. He was the first ordinary person to take hold of the ring, even though it meant murder. Original sin brought death into the world. When he pretended to leave behind his sinful life, he was so steeped in it – his own pride and lust – that he betrayed the one who was kindest to him and the one who had the power to liberate him from his sin (the ring) eternally – Frodo as Christ. Aragon too was a Christ figure, the King himself. That final battle was like Armageddon. The Bible says that when the Lord returns, the dead in Christ will rise up to be with the saints (all the Christians). That’s exactly what happened when they freed the dead spirits from the mountain (mind you, I’m not Catholic so I don’t believe in purgatory). Everyone who was part of the fellowship of the ring was Christlike in their willingness to sacrifice their lives for the others. My memory might be deceiving me, but I think that in the earlier films, both Aragon and Frodo were brought back from the dead. Bilbo resembled John the Baptist. He prepared the way for Frodo by acquiring the ring. He was also Frodo’s uncle which is interesting since John the Baptist was Jesus’ cousin. He also lived in seclusion like John in the desert. In the first film, Gandalf seemed like the primary Christ figure but as the story continued, he seemed more like the Father to me. He directed their every move and knew what the final outcome would be. Both Gandalf and Aragon constantly empowered and encouraged the people. They literally breathed life, in the face of death, into their hearts. The concluding scene reminded me of Christ’s ascension and the bittersweet farewell with his disciples. The most significant aspect of Return of the King was also probably the most obvious theme: courage. As a person who struggles with fear (I even whispered to My husband in the theater that if I was faced with those orks, trolls or any of the other hideous creatures, I’d kill myself on the spot), this film really spoke to me. Gandalf constantly stressed not giving in to fear. They all knew that in their own strength, they would be defeated, but that greater forces were at work. Ultimately, God’s goodness always triumphs over evil. |
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