Rock Bottom

This past weekend marked the ninth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. I remember where I was (as I'm sure we all do) when the news broke of the storm's landfall. I was a senior in college, living in an on-campus apartment, when one of my roommates called for us to come see.

In October 2005, only about six weeks after the storm devastated the Gulf, a large group of us college students went down to help clean up and rebuild some of the communities who had been most hard hit.

When we arrived, the homeowners had only just been allowed back into their neighborhoods and houses a few days prior. Though I'm sure they had been working tirelessly since they had returned, they hadn't made a dent in the debris and destruction.

We ripped out drywall. We roofed a church. But mostly we spent our time and energy hauling what were once valued possessions to a stretch of dumpsters lining the streets.

Any time we found a photograph, we would alert the homeowners to see if it belonged to them. If it wasn't theirs, they would find the neighbor whose it may have been. Neighbors caring for neighbors, even as their lives and homes were ripped apart.

A few years later, when I had moved to Nashville and begun divinity school, I was sitting in church on some Sunday. My pastor at my Nashville church had been a pastor in New Orleans at the time of Katrina. He was sharing a similar story, of helping neighbors who were more affected than he or his home had been. A lady he spoke to had this to say, reflecting on all she had experienced in the storm and its aftermath:  "I've been all the way to the bottom--and it held."

I've been all the way to the bottom--and it held.

Much like I remember where I was and how I felt in watching the news coverage of Katrina, I remember distinctly hearing the power of these words from my pew that Sunday morning.

So much of my time and energy is spent making sure I don't hit the bottom.
What I am doing is merely treading water.

But sometimes storms--be they figurative or meteorological--come with such force, their crashing waves knock us off our feet, displace us from our homes, disorient us with their darkness.

There is no treading water, no bobbing up and down on the surface. There is only sinking fast.

And we hit bottom. Rock bottom.

Throughout scripture, especially throughout the Hebrew Bible, God is referenced as the Rock--a symbol of protection, refuge, salvation. Throughout its history, Israel has looked to God for such assurances.

A wise man, Jesus says, builds his house upon rock.
The foundation holds, even in the harshest of storms.

I've been all the way to the bottom--and it held.

We spend our time and energy rising to the top, treading water, and never coming in contact with our foundation.

We fear what's at the bottom.
We don't want to be down there for long.
The bottom is murky and mysterious. We believe we would fare better up at the top.
We learned to swim for such occasions.

We place our faith in our backstroke, not in our foundation of rock.

We think that God must be at the top--up and out there.

But what would it mean if God was, in fact, at the bottom.

If God is rock bottom.

God is the Rock that will not give way or shatter regardless of the storm that rages overhead.
The bottom--the foundation of rock--is not touched.

When we sink further and further, deeper and deeper, we are tempted to believe that we have failed.
We see our journey to the bottom as one of defeat.

I've been all the way to the bottom--and it held.

The bottom holds because it is Rock.
The bottom holds because it is God.

When we hit rock bottom, we are held.

It is at rock bottom that we can rest assured.
However counter-intuitive it reads and feels, I believe it to be true.

Life and all its games and traps lead us to believe that we must keep fighting, must keep swimming, must keep our heads above water in order to survive.

But those who have been to the bottom--whether willingly or completely out of their control--have found the opposite to be true.

Life is not to be survived on the surface of things.
Life is to be lived at the bottom--rock bottom.

It is from such a foundation that we find shelter, hope, refuge, and healing.

Perhaps this is why Jesus told the rich man that he must sell everything he had in order to follow him.
The man had to reach rock bottom (in his instance, material poverty) in order to find God.

Many days, I am unwilling to leave it all behind. I refuse to give up treading water, convinced that my efforts are not in vain.
But it is when I take the plunge, when I let go of my fears and of my sense of control that I sink into and am held by the Foundation of life itself.

It is when I allow myself to dive deeper into the Mystery that I am led "to the rock that is higher than I." (Psalm 61:2)

Can you allow yourself, even now, to sink down?
To descend to the depths, all the way to rock bottom, to your very Foundation?
Can you feel yourself land?
Can you feel yourself being held by God, by the Rock of your salvation?

Remind me, oh God, that you are always to be found at the bottom of things. Give me the strength and courage to meet you there. Amen.

I am leaving for spiritual direction training today. I am eager (in every sense) to begin this season of learning and growing and sinking deeply. I hope you will keep me in your prayers. I will return to the blogosphere next week. All shall be well.

An Awakening

Jesus is always telling his disciples and the crowds that gather around him to keep awake.

Right to the end, even in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus is still trying to convince his friends to stay awake with him, to "watch and pray."

And they don't.

Or they can't.

Jesus preaches the need for watchfulness. This is often interpreted in evangelical circles and pulpits in terms of "the last days," the rapture, the second coming of Jesus, etc.

Certainly, Jesus is speaking about the coming of the Son of Man.

But isn't the Son of Man Jesus himself?

Jesus says, "About that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven nor the Son" (Matthew 24:36) right after he says, "This generation will not pass away until these things have taken place." (24:34)

In the words of Winston Churchill, Jesus (or, at least his message) is "a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma."

Mystery and paradox are littered in and throughout Jesus' parables.

They are not meant to be easily understood or singularly interpreted, lest we become only too familiar with them, lest we fall into the trap that we have it all figured out.

"Wake up!" is Jesus' resounding cry.

We may have been lulled to sleep by Jesus' parables and teachings. 

*Yawn* 'Yeah, we've heard that one before, Jesus.'

WAKE UP!, he tells us again.

In a way I love that Jesus' close friends don't even get him, most of the time. It makes the disciples wonderfully relatable for us. That Jesus has to keep telling them the same thing, urging them to stay awake over and over.

It must have been distressing, though, for Jesus. His friends, his closest companions don't seem to understand all he is going through, all he is trying to tell them.

And how could they? The words of Jesus are so rich, so thick with meaning. So wonderfully full of mystery and paradox. 

When the disciples first heard them, perhaps they understood them on the surface. Like we do. 

We understand the simple meanings of the parables, the traditional interpretations where we place certain people into character roles and come out on the other end with a nice moral to the story.

But for the disciples of Jesus (as it is with us), it may not have been until they reflected on Jesus' words and teachings--perhaps not until after Jesus' death, when they were left without their teacher and friend, when they began to write down the early gospels--that they understood the significance of what Jesus was trying to tell them.

And perhaps they never really grasped it, just like I don't.

The truth is not really something to be grasped after all.

Truth is something that is there all along, that exists and remains regardless of its reception, whether or not we awaken to it.

We catch glimpses of it when we reflect on the life and teachings of Jesus, when we allow the Word to stir and ruminate inside us, to open up new meanings and new understandings within our minds and hearts and spirits. 

We stay awake to the presence of God within us and within the world, even when the darkness threatens to overtake us.

"Wake up!," Jesus tells us.

Wake up to the sights and sounds and beauty that make up God's Creation. Wake up to the reality that God is present in it all, in us all. 

Walk from room to room, acknowledging that God is in each one.

Move from task to task, and claim God's presence in each moment and each effort.

Keep awake to the stirrings of the Spirit in your everyday life. 

Stay awake to the truth not yet discovered in the Word proclaimed and embodied by Jesus.

We do not know when God will come, and yet we know that God has come and that God is very near and very present to us always.

May I be stay awake and keep alert to the presence and workings of God in every second and every situation of my life. Amen.

Choosing Sides

"If God is for us, who can be against us?" (Romans 8:31)
The apostle Paul here takes poetic license with Psalm 118:6, which similarly reads, "The Lord is on my side; I will not fear:  what can man do to me?"

God is for me.
God is on my side.

How often have we heard this sentiment preached, from political campaigns to military campaigns? From those in power to those seeking to overthrow the powers that be?
How often do we hear and believe wholeheartedly that our nation has God's allegiance?
How often have we, dutiful citizens such as we are, been the ones to hold this unwavering conviction? Maybe not in such nationalistic terms, but more privatized--as direct descendants of the divine promise that we have God squarely in our corner?

Given the number of wars waging in our world, dividing lines are being drawn hard and fast.
Loyalties to nation, creed, faith, and political party may predetermine the side on which we stand.

We choose our side and are confident that God has chosen likewise.

But maybe Paul got it backward.
Maybe the Psalmist transposed the phrase.

Is God truly in my camp?
Or must I choose to be in God's?
Do I have God in my corner?
Or must I move to the corner in which God is found?

The side, the corner, the camp, I believe, belongs to God.

We live lives of division. We build walls to exclude. We create categories in which some people fit, and others do not. We align ourselves with those who look, think, believe, act like us.

We draw hard and fast lines in our hearts and minds and communities, around our bodies and houses and borders. We suit up for war, prepared to defend ourselves and our land in the name of God. But the kingdom of God knows no such divisions or confines.

The kingdom of God was not gained by military conquest; it was not taken from the natives in the name of progress or destiny; it was not established by bloodshed or swindling.

This is our side, not God's. These are our ways, marked out in our history, not God's. We may seek to distance ourselves from such ruthless tactics but are guilty in our own age and time.

Though we may claim God's hand led us to such victories throughout the ages and today, we are mistaken.

Perhaps the voice of God says, "I am on your side when you are on my side. I am not on your side when you are not on my side."

God has told us where God can be found.
It is not in my corner.
And it's not in yours.

We find God on the side of truth.
We find God among the poor, for God is always on the side of the poor.

God is on the side of love, demanding justice, proclaiming peace, offering mercy and joy to those who live in fear and violence and heartache.

No, God is not to be found on our side.
But we can be on God's side. 

If we are honest with ourselves, we would have to admit that "our side" (whatever it is, wherever we find ourselves, however righteous we preach it to be) is not completely in line with God and God's kingdom. 

If it were, it wouldn't be a side at all. It wouldn't be staked off and carved out, excluding so many from its ranks, delineating "us versus them." 

For the side of God includes all, and is recognizable by its virtues:  justice, peace, joy, truth, love.

We have God on our side only when we are ourselves are on the side of God. When we are taking seriously our charge to love, to pursue justice, to speak truth, to show mercy, to exclude none, we can claim boldly that God is for us. Because we are for God and for God's beloved creation.

We are on the side of the kingdom when we break down barriers, when we mourn with the grieving, when we stand with the oppressed, when we move beyond labels and politics and categories of peoples and beliefs.

So, apologies to Paul and to the Psalmist, but I'm going to use a little poetic license myself:

"If we are for God, who can be against us?"
"I am on the Lord's side; I will not fear."

May I always choose love and truth. May I always closely align myself with the virtues of God's kingdom. Amen.

Between Silence and the Word

In a week's time, I will begin a training program in spiritual direction at Kairos School of Spiritual Formation. I am both excited and apprehensive about this opportunity. I know it will be unlike any other schooling I've done. It's been a kind of un-learning process for me.

Spiritual direction requires less of my head and more of my heart.

I've always done well at school, because I've met it head-on, in every sense of the term. No, I've not been the most studious. Yes, I procrastinated on papers. But, for the most part, I fared very well using my intellect and brain power to get through, get by, and get around most everything.

Now, as I am reading, reflecting, and preparing for the beginning of my upcoming program, I admit to feeling out of my element.

Heart, not head.

"Silence is God's first language," wrote St. John of the Cross some five hundred years ago.

Silence, not sound.

Said another way:  the Word of God is, first, silent.

It's hard to wrap my mind around, admittedly.
I deal endlessly in words--written and read and spoken.

I've intentionally set aside time for silence these past few months.
It's not something I am used to or comfortable with just yet.
And, I've been challenged to notice, that even in my quiet, still moments of prayer, I am awaiting a word.

I keep an ear open, an eye out to receive something in return for my being silent.
Maybe for an insight I could work into a sermon or a blog post.

Can I be silent for the sake of being silent? 
Or must I receive something for my stillness?

Have I truly made space for silence or left open the possibility for mystery if I am, all the while, anticipating a break? 

And yet, there is a time for everything:
A time for silence and a time to speak.
A time for stillness and a time for action.
A time to give and a time to receive.
A time for solitude and a time being in community.

Jesus started many of his days in the same way. While it was still dark, he would go out (on several occasions, at least, up to a mountaintop) to pray. He would begin his morning in silence, stillness, and solitude.

When he came down, he would join his friends. He would preach and proclaim. He would heal and serve. Only after spending time in silence, in prayer and communion with God, did Jesus go out and speak and enflesh the Word of God.

Jesus struck the balance between silence and the spoken Word.

While I have challenged myself to daily writing, I am also aware that my words can quickly become empty. If I am writing only to post, my mind begins grasping for any insight, any illustration it can find.  I have found, as Jesus may have, that my words come up lacking if they are not, first, born from silence.

And this is a challenge for me. To re-imagine the Word as, first, silent.

Some days, this has meant that I do not write.
Some days, the Word does not come.
Some days, I do not look for the Word to come, although this is still a struggle.
I am so geared to expect a word, to form and create an understanding, a revelation out of my silence.

Some days, I am finding that I am to receive nothing, except the presence of God.
Glimpses of the Divine.
At work and at peace.
God speaking and God silent.
God present and God hidden.

The mystery ought not to be covered up with noise and sound and words and my struggling to make sense of it all.

Can I situate myself firmly, as Jesus did, both in silence and in the Word?

Buried Treasure

When I took up blogging, I challenged myself to write every day. I thought that meant I would add something new to this blog daily.

But I've begun to re-think that. I've begun noticing that some days I am more concerned with how my post is received or interpreted. I've started thinking, first, of my audience--a largely faceless crowd and one which I am eager to please.

And that's not really the point. I started this as a spiritual practice, a daily discipline for the word of God to be relayed somewhere in my writing. For me, through my own words, to point to the vast, far-reaching Word of God.

I don't want to lose that as my focus, in my attempts to receive praise or page views. I am, however, grateful you are here. And I sincerely hope that God can speak to you through the language I use.

So, I will write every day.
Some days, however, I will not publish those writings.
Some days, my writing will be only for God and me.
Yesterday was one such day.

Some treasure I will keep for myself. Just like some treasure you must keep for yourself.

"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field." (Matthew 13:44)

I'm sticking with this one verse. I want to keep it short and simple. It helps me to deal with one loaded parable from Jesus at a time.

I am struck by this person. At the end of the verse, the treasure is still hidden. The person does not sell all s/he has and then put the treasure on display for everyone to see.

The treasure remains buried.

I find this fascinating. 

Surely, there is a treasure to this parable that begs to be discovered.

So often, when I come across treasure of any sort, I want to share it.

And that is our tendency in this culture of social media--updating our status to explain all about the treasure we found, location services turned on to pinpoint the exact place we found the treasure, tagging ourselves and the treasure in a picture posted to our wall.

Or, I want to share the treasure with another because I have been led to believe that to keep the treasure for myself is selfish, sinful.

There is great value in sharing the treasure given to you, perhaps a word from God that I believe would benefit others.

And sometimes, the treasure is meant to stay hidden for a while, perhaps forever.

The treasure is given to me, and to me alone. Just like God gives you a treasure, a gift, a word, and it is meant only for you.

We must invest in our own field, take time to work our own soil, to get to know our own homes. We must grow and develop our own listening ears and observant eyes to find the treasure God has in store for us, even in our own hearts.

Do I believe that my field--my body/mind/spirit--is worthy of my investment? 

Am I sold out with joy enough to buy and work my own field?

Am I worth the time and attention it takes?

Can I spend enough time on my knees, digging in the dirt, to find the beauty that is there?

Do I trust that God finds my field a valuable place, a place in which God can abide and call home?

We are told, sometimes subtly, that other fields are more lovely than ours, that their grass is greener than our own. 

At times, I believe this lie. I am skeptical that God finds me worth the investment, finds me a safe and trusted place to call home, to bury and reveal treasure. 

And, if I do get far enough to believe all this, how could there possibly be a treasure that God intends only to share with me?

The word of God is revealed in many ways. Sometimes, we read it. Sometimes, we hear it. Sometimes, we write it. Sometimes, we speak it.
And sometimes that reading, hearing, writing, and speaking is meant to be done in solitude, in silence.
The treasure is not always meant to be shared but to be discovered, explored, cherished as sacred between God and me.

There is treasure in our own field. There is overwhelming joy in discovering this treasure within ourselves, within our own heart. There is even deeper joy in coming to find, to trust that God means this treasure to be held, kept by me.

The person who buys up the field with the buried treasure does not seek to turn a profit. This buyer is happy, not for thinking of the property's return of investment.
We sell everything, we give up "get-rich-quick" schemes (efforts focused on external stability, wealth, and comfort) in order to invest in our field.

The treasure, planted there by God since creation, lies within us, awaiting discovery.
The treasure is you. The treasure is your deepest, truest self in God.

So, will you seek your treasure?
And once you have found it, will you invest in it?
Will you love it, devote your life to it, hold it dear, and live into the richness and wealth that is yours as the Beloved child of God?

The Weight of Waiting

I know that naturally I am not a very patient person. I do not wait well.
I am reminded of this often. Even when I can convince my body to stop fidgeting and running around in circles, it's much more difficult to stop my mind.
I have intentionally set out to explore and confront whatever my discomfort with waiting is and to grow into patience.

I'm beginning to realize that I have understood waiting largely to be a waste of time, a gap that could be closed if other people were more efficient. Maybe this sounds harsh, but it is honest.

I think we all typically see waiting as a time between two events. Expectant for the next thing to happen. Closing one chapter and opening another.

But what if we looked at waiting in another way?

What if we believed waiting to be an event in and of itself? Or, maybe not an event, but a time that is full of meaning and possibility?

What if we lived into the belief that waiting is worth our time and energy and investment?

We are so busy. We move quickly from one thing to the next.

We forget to take in the time and space in-between our projects, appointments, tasks and schedules that rule our lives.

In my rush to make the next something happen, I miss something deeper, more meaningful along the way.

Waiting teaches me it's not about doing at all.

We simply need to be in the waiting, to situate ourselves wholly and fully into the in-between. 

What does that look like?

"I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in God's word I hope." (Psalm 130:5)

Most often, when I find myself in a time of waiting, my whole being is not truly waiting or resting. My mind hardly ever takes a break. My spirit may be anticipating the next thing to happen--a phone call, a word from a potential employer. I like to busy myself with distractions in the meantime.

My whole being is not waiting on, resting in God.
My hope is not placed on God's word. I forget to listen for it, for that still, small voice that beckons to me.
My hope is placed in the future, the next best thing, the plans I have formulated in my mind.

But instead of making the next thing my focus and spending energy on something that has not yet come to fruition (and may never), what would it mean for my whole being to wait for the Lord?

What might I learn if I became still--in my body, in my mind, in my heart--and waited on God?

If I changed the focus of my waiting away from the outside world, my future endeavors, and toward the God who is at home and at work in my soul?

I am in a time of waiting now. I will begin a training course in spiritual direction in two weeks' time.
I am in the midst of a job search, setting up interviews and expecting call-backs.

Can I, during this season of personal and professional waiting, offer to God not only my time but my whole being?
Can I place my hope in the word of God, in the voice of God?
Can I allow myself to be still and present to God's presence?
What new word might God reveal to me, to you in this practice of growing patience and waiting?

God, help me to find rest for my whole being--body, mind, and spirit--in You.
Teach me to watch and pray as I wait on You.

Down and Out

"Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God." (Matthew 19:23-24)

The disciples were "greatly astounded" by Jesus' proclamation. (v. 25) It was such an affront to think that the wealthy would or could be excluded from anything.
Not so different from our reactions and our world today, where we know all too well that money buys your way into any status, any position, any life that you want.

But Jesus says it is not so with the kingdom of God.
The world tells us the way to succeed is by moving up and getting in.
The direction of the kingdom of God, however, is down and out.

To be "down-and-out" is to be destitute, impoverished.
Surely, God can't want this for us, right?
After all, God wants us to have lives of abundance.
What form must this abundance take then?

God has a way of flipping a thing on its head, overturning the very systems and structures that we are told make the world go round.

Jesus answers the rich man, who had asked what he must do to enter the kingdom of God, by telling him to sell all he has and give it to the poor. The man "went away grieving, for he had many possessions." (vv. 21-22)

So, the easy translation of this:  money and material possessions are the great stumbling block for entrance into God's kingdom.

I have never been rich, and I probably never will be.
So, I could look at this exchange and be comfortable with my place in the kingdom of God.
No real threat for me to be excluded on the grounds of wealth and money.
I may not be destitute, but I am not wealthy.

But, if I am to examine myself fully, I have to ask myself, "In what ways am I rich?" "In what ways is my wealth (or better yet, my avoidance of poverty) keeping me out of the kingdom?"

Wealth, for me, might include success or self-importance. 
I could claim some success in life:  a good education at fine institutes, wonderful training opportunities, being affirmed by the people of God in my call to ministry, credentials in my career and my profession. All this wealth could make me feel pretty important.

The world has us believe that the way to go is up, always up--bigger and better is the name of the game. Not only by amassing possessions, but perhaps in pursuing a secure and stable career; keeping up appearances as smart, funny, interesting, distinct; succeeding in business, in academics, even in our faith.

We are told to make our way to the top. We are encouraged to make a name for ourselves, make a place for ourselves at the center of everyone's attention.
I confess to this temptation. My personality is such that I enjoy entertaining others, being out there, receiving praise and applause and popularity for it.

Except, when I get to the center, I've left the kingdom behind in the periphery.
When I am clinging to some place of importance, I forget that the kingdom of God requires me to be displaced. 
When I find myself climbing up and up the ladder of life, I miss Jesus along the way.

For Jesus descended the ladder of life, the rungs of society, all the way to the end--when the Son of God found himself a destitute, naked criminal sentenced to crucifixion.

Jesus made his way down the ladder of success and out into the margins of society.

It is there, in the dark corners of our world, that the good news brings about hope.
It is there, amidst the impoverished, that Jesus announced, "The Kingdom of God is near."
It is at the end of the line that we find the Messiah, the Holy One, in our midst.

No, God does not take delight in seeing us in misery or in abject poverty.
Instead, God wants us to move in a new direction, one which the world counts as failure, as worthless.

For it is when we move in this direction, that we find our treasure.
It is when we displace ourselves from lives of conformity and comfort, when we get up and move ourselves both down and out that we find God in our midst.
It is in the dark corners of our world that God is moving.

In what ways must I move down and out to join God at work in the world?
How do I resist the way of Jesus?
How do I avoid poverty?
What notions of wealth and success do I need to rid myself of in order to make my home with and among the poor?
Can I move, re-direct, and displace myself from a place of privilege to a place at the fringes of society?

God, move me down and out. Redirect me toward the dark corners so that I may find and usher in Your kingdom come. Amen.