Food of life, food of longing

Recently I had a meal with some people from my church.  Someone there mentioned that sharing food with believers is a special form of fellowship, that food is life, so sharing food is sharing life.

As a type one diabetic, that isn’t really the case for me.  It’s pretty much a given that a public meal is going to cause me harm.  Sometimes I can regain a blood sugar balance in a matter of hours, but sometimes I can swing between highs and lows for a couple of days, depending on how well I avoid things that look and smell wonderful to me.  It’s hard to be in a situation meant to bring life and know that it steals life from me.

Now, there are things that could change.  I could be in a church that never gathers to eat, but that’s pretty extreme, because food really is life, and we’re meant to share it.  They aren’t wrong in sharing it; it’s just that I’m not capable of getting life from the things that bring them life.

So, the lesson.  You know this isn’t just me having a great pity party for myself.  Not that I’m incapable of that, but this isn’t what that is.  This is about evangelism and church, of all things.  As I sat in the group a couple weeks ago, I was struck with a thought that hasn’t let go of me.  It has to do with the church that focuses on the unbelievers to the point of starving themselves.

You see, our church could stop eating together so I wouldn’t feel left out, but it wouldn’t really fix the problem.  There is nothing outside of divine intervention that will allow me to partake in a healthy way of group food.  But, I’ve seen churches bend over backward to make unbelievers not feel left out.  They don’t partake often in the Lord’s Supper, or they neglect to mention sin, or they pretend that actions and not changed hearts lead to God.  They try to water down the realities of the Christian walk so it can appeal to everyone.  They fear offending non-Christians more than feeding themselves for God’s sake.

The thing is, no matter how watered down it is, it can’t allow an unbeliever to partake in a healthy way.  That only happens through divine intervention.  God saves a person and allows his spirit to participate fully.  If anything, the church should rally around the things that share life so the unbeliever longs to partake.

Of course the church can welcome unbelievers in their midst. They’re told to do just that. But it should always be clear that those who believe are participating in something wonderful, something that anyone can have if he believes, but only if he believes.  Yes, many will be left out, but that can’t be our concern.  We are simply to hold out truth and ask others to grab on.  But the grabbing–that’s God’s, and he can do it even if we don’t water things down or make them modern or relevant.

Someday, I’m participating in a feast.  And in a way, I’ll appreciate it more than most, because I was left out of a lot of feasts along the way.  Those who come to our churches can also long for something they see there, a love shared among the brothers, a unity of purpose, things that can’t fully be theirs until God grabs their hearts.  It’s okay to show them and wait for God to do his part.  Just like I wait for God to do his part to fix and complete me and invite me to a healing feast that’s all about life.

Being social, being central, and learning to Pin

I read an interesting article today about the popularity of the website Pinterest.  Now, if you’ve never heard of it, let me give you a quick overview.  If you join Pinterest, you create groups of images called boards, a digital version of corkboards and pushpins.  You can save images from all over the internet onto your boards.  You organize the boards by name and category.  For instance, I have a board called Garden and Yard which, surprise surprise, is filled with links to interesting articles on gardening.

Pinterest is a social media, though.  Other people can follow my boards, which just means when I post something, it shows up on their feed when they log in to Pinterest.  They can take those images and put them on their own boards (called repinning).  They can comment on them or ‘like’ them.  I can also look at boards from people I don’t follow by looking at the big main feed, by category or all categories, and there I can find new boards to follow or new images to pin.

That’s the background.  Now back to the article.  It said Pinterest is now several million strong because people are tiring of regular social media.  We’re tired of each other, especially the faces we create for Facebook or other social sites.  Whereas most social sites say “Look at me,” Pinterest says “Look at this.”

That kind of resonated.  I have a love/hate relationship with FB that is turning more and more hateful.  I check my FB less often than I used to.  I know it will leave me with this empty, not-quite-good-enough feeling in my throat that I don’t like.  It’s social, but randomly social, and that’s hard. Let me see if I can explain that.

If I am sitting at lunch with a friend, and I say something, my friend then says something back. (Unless they’re texting, but that’s another rant altogether.)  I speak; they speak.  Even if I say something rather ordinary or mundane, the other person comments.  The other person isn’t sifting through fifty or a hundred or two hundred other people’s comments while talking to me, so they have time to speak to my comment.  On FB, I throw an idea out there, and it may or may not garner any attention.  Too many of us say things that matter, and they go unheard.  Or we create personas that people will notice and respond to, but those personas aren’t really us.

Enter Pinterest.  I haven’t a clue who I ‘follow’.  It’s not that personal.  And yet there’s a we’re-in-this-together feel when we all pin and repin the same things, when we realize we like things others like, we dream of lovely gardens together, we love beach images together, and we all wish we were handier and craftier and healthier.  The article I read suggested Pinterest is not a place that shows who we are, but it shows who we want to be. In FB we fake who we are; in Pinterest there’s no need to fake.  I’m not central to Pinterest, but my dreams and hopes and ideas are.  It’s a way to be social where I don’t have to be central.

Pins let me share what's lovely to me. Maybe it will be lovely to you, too.

Ah.  That resonates, too.  I think Pinterest, in a small way, points to a greater reality about people and how we are created.  God didn’t create me to be central.  The world really doesn’t revolve around me, and, surprise, surprise, I’m actually happier when I don’t try to revolve it around me.  In the Kingdom of God, there is no place for yelling out “Look at me; look at me,” but there is plenty of place for “Look at this; look at this.”  I can point others to lovely things God has made, amazing things he has done, insights he has shared with me.  I can be social to the extreme but not be central at all.  God is the central figure.

When a whole spiritual community starts to yell “Look at this; look at this,” to share experiences and insights about the Kingdom, the whole community will feel that we’re-in-this-together bond like the visual community does on Pinterest.  Factions disappear; ego-based arguments fade away; and nobody has to create a false image to be noticed and loved.  It’s all about collecting knowledge and wisdom and character from the group and with the group and for the group, not about standing out from the crowd.  God stands out, and we exchange knowledge about him, and the excitement over participating in that exchange bonds us like glue.   Pinterest posts inspire me to be creative, to try things, to see new things.  A spiritual community that focuses on sharing and pointing to God in all things inspires its members in the same way.

So, I continue to pin.  I love to find new things and post them.  Yes, my ego gets stroked when people repin my posts, but I know it’s not about me; I’m largely anonymous.  It’s just that we’ve shared something, and maybe sharing is really what’s important to me; I just need to make sure I keep that in mind in real life and share things that really matter.  And it’s surprising, when we share with each other, how much we also learn about each other, without us ever having to yell out “Look at me; look at me.”

 

 

Pain Control

On January 1 I woke up in pain.  I had shooting pain in my shoulder and down into my arm and fingers, and it was scary.  I’d struggled with some neck and shoulder pain off and on for awhile–too much pottery work and typing at a very non-ergonomic computer console–and I’d been ignoring it, and apparently my body got sick of this and went into spasms.

Although I’ve taken a little bit of every drug made for pain, as well as visited doctors, a chiropractor, and a massage therapist, I’m still feeling great pain, four weeks out.  And, during the past few weeks, I’ve learned a few things about myself.  Not always good things, either.

First, I have trivialized people in pain.  When someone stays home from an event because of back or body pain, I don’t understand how horrible they might feel.  I don’t offer help or aid because I don’t get it.  Well, people, next time you feel body pain call me up, because I now get it.  Pain is ugly and all-consuming, and if you’re feeling it, I want to come help you.

Second, I don’t know how to ask for help.  My house has not been cleaned in three weeks.  We have pets, so the floors are coated in animal fur.  Clutter is everywhere.  I can’t reach the floor easily, so things are just lying there being stepped on.  I’ve kept up with laundry and cleaning cat litter, but that’s it. My middle son is keeping dishes clean and put away.  I can’t do it, but I also can’t ask for help.  The words just don’t come out.  I’m teaching pottery, and it’s miserable, but again, instead of asking someone to help me out once or twice, I just do it alone.  I claim I desire to live in Christian community, but I also want to be completely independent.  Part of it is fear of rejection, but I also trivialize myself.  There are people out there dealing with death and loss and divorce and cancer, and they seem much more important than me.  But, I have the right, as a child of God, to ask my Christian family for help.  I just need to learn to do it.

Pain can be the most selfish thing ever.  Really, my solitary goal right now is pain control.  I want to stop hurting.  The pain can be sharp, the kind that makes you gasp and see spots, and all I think about is avoiding that.  I’m useless to family, friends, my church, everyone.  I don’t know how to fix this one, but it feels wrong to get into such a self-absorbed spot and just linger there.  I know I should spend time with God, but that takes more concentration than I seem to be able to muster; instead, I’ve watched a lot of Netflix this month.  Escaping into a story is about the only way I can get my focus to leave ME.

I also have a greater sympathy for those who struggle with drug addictions.  I’ve reacted badly to two different meds during this month, and yet, I keep trying to find some miracle concoction that will help me function again.  Because I lost someone dear to me to drug abuse, I try to be careful, but there are moments I would take anything anyone offered if it could help me feel better.  No more judging those who fall into this particular trap.

Finally, I judge my worth by what I can do.  God still loves me when I’m lying on the sofa watching TV.  I haven’t done anything I value in weeks, from housekeeping to hobbies, and it’s driving me crazy.  I don’t feel like me.  I don’t feel like I matter or count for anything right now.  But I do.  If God chooses to make this a permanent part of my life, He still values me.  And he’ll find ways to make me useful to him, even though right now I can’t see what value I might have.  Some of this is trusting God.  Not that he exists, not that has the power to do anything at all, but I struggle to trust that the little daily burdens of my life matter to him.  It’s partially me thinking I have to Wow God to be valuable, and part of it is seeing God as a distant and impersonal being who doesn’t really care about anything but disciplining me for future glory.  I need to remember he is a loving father willing to sweep me under his wings in his love and protection.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.  Decisions need to be made about doctors, specialists, alternative medicines.  We have little money and no insurance, but it’s important I do what I can do be functional, for I don’t really believe God’s plan for me is limited to my sofa.  I think healing will come, slowly, and I have to keep heart and faith, trusting him and thanking him even when I feel less than thankful.  I need to learn to ask for help and then be aware of others who can’t ask for help but need it, and offer help when tables turn.  I need to cling to the Word even if I can’t quite concentrate on it, and I need to set frustrations aside and focus on things for which I can be thankful, like my husband’s new job and my children’s health and well being.

Pain control is new.  And I hope this is a short lesson I won’t need to repeat often.  But I don’t think I’ll forget it for a very long time to come.

Just a year

Unlike most of my posts, this is a rather simple how to.  It’s something I love, and I want to share what I’ve learned.  I suspect a lot of readers will already know how to do this, but even so, maybe it’s okay to read about something that isn’t completely new.

Oh, the topic?  The topic is one of my favorite, and it’s the spiritual discipline I do best.  The topic is how to read the Bible in a year.  Every year.

I started this seven or eight years ago, and I’ve done it quite a few ways.  Each has its pros and cons, so I’m going to share some of those.  Do I think this is a necessary discipline?  No.  But for me, it’s been an amazing way to keep growing deeper in my knowledge of who God is and what he wants from me.

I recommend the first year be simple reading.  Not studying, not searching for complete understanding of all things spiritual, but simple reading.  A passage may baffle you or confuse you or even scare you a little bit, but just keep reading.  This is the overview year.  At the end of this one, you’ll have a big picture of what the Bible is all about.

But where to start?  I have two methods for reading the Bible in a year.  One is a reading plan using your own Bible.  My favorite is by Discipleship Journal (Navpress) that includes both Old and New Testament readings daily and has you read only 25 days a month, which allows for the inevitable missed days.  It can be found here. Or put ‘yearly Bible reading plan’ into a search engine and wait for about a million hits to pop up.  Choose one you like.

The other is a one-year Bible.  These come in many translations.  I have NIV, ESV, and NLT.  They can have the Bible printed simply from beginning to end, or include both OT and NT daily, or be chronological.  This year I’m reading my first chronological Bible, and it’s in the NLT translation, also a first.  I love having the prophetic books interspersed with the history and Paul’s books placed in Acts where they might have been written.

Once you choose your reading plan, decide ahead of time what you will do about missed days.  Some years I decide I will absolutely read every word of the Bible, in which case I make up missed days.  Other years, I’m not so strict, and I miss some days.  Sometimes I admit I miss whole books, usually the longer prophetic books.  But, I keep track of that and make sure the next year I pick up what I missed last year.  One year I missed Nehemiah, and another I missed a lot of Jeremiah, but I’ve read both in their entirety in other years.

Also decide when to read.  Do you want to pray first?  Keep a journal?  Do you work best in the morning?  Evening?  Over lunch?  There are no right answers here.  Last year I read at night before bed, and generally I don’t write anything down.  I study the Bible at other times, but my yearly reading is simply reading.  But what you do is completely up to you and the Spirit.

On choosing a translation, I suggest trying different ones in different years.  I don’t think the NLT I’m reading is the most accurate out there, but it has been a delightful and insightful read.  Some suggest The Message is a good first read, which makes some of the more scholarly versions easier later on.  The more translations I read, the more insight I gain into how much God really packed into his words.  But, if you believe one is much more accurate and you want to stick with that, by all means do so.  Again, this is between you and God, so follow his leading without hesitation.

Finally, every few years I take a break.  One year I took a break and simply read the gospels.  I read them two or three times during the year, and I took it slowly.  It was great to spend that year engrossed in Jesus’ life.  One of the downsides to the chronological or beginning-to-end Bibles is that you don’t get to the gospels until September sometime.  I was excited about finally getting to Jesus this year (September 24, in fact!), and I think next year I’ll choose a Bible that includes NT all the way before tackling one like this again.

The best way to know God is to read what he has to say about himself, and why not read it all, systematically and regularly?  I’ve posted before about disciplines, and this is the Christian discipline I do best and enjoy the most, so I want to share it.  A friend recently posted a blog about mastering the Bible by reading whole books over and over, like I did with the Gospels during an off year, and that sounds great, too, but even if I shift to that method, I will still read the whole thing every few years.  The Spirit shows me more and weaves it together more tightly every time I read it, and I love that part of it, joining the Spirit on an adventure to see more and more clearly this God I follow and love.

Be Still and Know

I was asked to write some posts for my church this season, and I want to share a couple of those with you—

Close your eyes for a moment and think “nativity.” What comes to mind? An image from a Sunday school lesson? A cluster of sculptures on a mantle? A scene from a movie?

Regardless of the source, I imagine all your images share one thing—the characters are still. Likely they all stare at a tiny child, not really doing anything but watching, waiting, wondering, taking it all in and being very, very still.

Anyone who’s held a sleeping newborn understands this stillness. What parent hasn’t spent hours just watching a little one? There’s an alertness to it, a wonder, a feeling this moment is the most important moment in time. Nothing outside the tiny face and the precious warm body in one’s arms matters. And the moment is always too short.

Now picture another phrase: “Christmas season.” What do you see now? Parties? Shopping? Food and crowds and day planners filled to the breaking point? Is there any stillness, any quiet, any time just to stare into the face of the newborn with wonder, hope, or awe?

Satan gets it. God wants us to spend time in quiet and stillness: alert, aware, calm. So our lives get filled with noise, and chaos, and lessons, and busyness. We can’t walk down the street without music piped into our ears. Waiting rooms have video screens. Silence and stillness are feared, moments we might hear God’s voice, and it’s no surprise even our holy days can be held hostage to that fear. Ads and events and even Christmas music call from every direction, and we have to fight to find time to be still. Sometimes we forget to fight for it and there is simply no stillness, and January comes and we sigh with relief that we got through the crazy season yet again.

Of course there is silence and stillness to be found during precious times alone during this season, and I hope to find some of those. But a few traditional ones still exist, and those are worth seeking out, as well. I love candlelight Christmas services. I love to hold a candle in a room filled with others holding candles. We sing, and we’re united, and it’s a great feeling. But most of all, we’re still. Try to hold a candle while running or squirming or yelling or thinking of other things. Holding a candle without burning oneself—or setting the pews on fire—takes a stillness, a quietness, an alert calm. The same stillness I imagine God desired when he told his people to be still and know he is God. Be alert, he says. Like a little child with her mother, still one’s soul and watch, wide eyed, as God comes to earth, lives a life, dies, and returns to life before our eyes, all to rescue us. Be still as it unfolds. See the light, and understand its importance, and be careful with it, still and aware. Be silent, and be still, and know.

Originally posted at St. Patrick’s Church Advent Blog.  Check it out for more Advent thoughts and ideas.