waiting

My children crawl on me, fight over who sits by me.
I make room, as much room as I can, on my lap in in my arms.
Let the little children come. 

The first hymn begins.
I kiss a little forehead before I sing,
but then I find it difficult to sing.

They are on my mind:
The child-martyrs halfway across the world.

The church sings a hymn about a God mighty to save.

I wonder why God doesn't stop these things.
why His goodness is so hard to see,
why it seems like He is silent.

Like He's above all this. 

What would I do if it were me?
If my neck, or these necks were threatened?

I look inside for an answer.
It's not pretty, what I feel, what I fear:
Would I cower, and beg, and cling to life above everything else?
Would lies, shame, fear, rage, and hate overtake me?
I think... yes.
I am so weak, and I would be overcome. 
Unless... God.

Unless He's not above all this, but right in it,
like He said.
Unless He is truly Immanuel, God with us,
God who has traveled through death 
into new life,
for us.

What if faith is a gift,
and so is the courage to stand strong?
What if this world is crumbling,
and will continue to crumble,
until it is made new when His kingdom comes?
What if I can't hide from that or stop it,
but only wait,
wait,
for God to do what He said He will do?

What if faith comes by hearing, by His Word,
and what if that Word lives?
We who cling to it, we also shall live.

His Word is here, for us, 
Jesus, for us,
body and blood and Bible,
giving us life.

Life, right now, and life everlasting.
I breathe it in, 
and it fills me,
through my ears and into my heart.

My heart beats with a new strength,
the kind that won't run out,
because it doesn't come from me.

We wait, but we are not still in our waiting.
We speak and we give and we pray,
we grieve,
for those children, and our own.

We look straight on,
at the bloody mess, 
and we make pies, tie shoes, and keep living
and we pray and we wait.

We remember the cross,
the death that could not hold our Lord,
and as we dwell under the shadow of death,
we wait.

We cling to His Word,
and His Word clings to us,
and we wait.


And we wait.

--------------

Despised and scorned, they sojourned here;

But now, how glorious they appear!

Those martyrs stand a priestly band,

God’s throne forever near.

So oft, in troubled days gone by,

In anguish they would weep and sigh.

At home above the God of Love

For aye their tears shall dry.

They now enjoy their Sabbath rest,

The paschal banquet of the blest;

The Lamb, their Lord, at festal board

Himself is Host and Guest.

(LSB 656 v.2)

When he opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain for the word of God and for the witness they had borne. They cried out with a loud voice, “O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?” Then they were each given a white robe and told to rest a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and their brothers should be complete, who were to be killed as they themselves had been...

Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, clothed in white robes, and from where have they come?” I said to him, “Sir, you know.” And he said to me, “These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation. They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.

“Therefore they are before the throne of God,
and serve him day and night in his temple;
and he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence.
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore;
the sun shall not strike them,
nor any scorching heat.
For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd,
and he will guide them to springs of living water,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

(Rev. 6:9-11, 7:13-17)

Come Lord Jesus.

(Who out there is waiting with me?)

(Originally posted 8/2014 because of persecution in Iraq; resisted today with thoughts of Afghanistan.)

Lord open my eyes

Lord, open my eyes, I pray as if my life depends on it.

The eyes of my heart do not naturally see this place as God sees, and even when they do see, they tend to shut again.  I am prone to sleepiness, to forgetfulness, to blindness.

Father, help me to see.

Help me to see something other than the bad news, the reasons to complain, the reasons to fear.

The eyes of my heart, if they are not forced open, they see only the holes where the gifts of yesterday were,

the empty calendar,

the cancelled plans. 

They see a catastrophic future, 

and a floundering present, 

with too much to be done,

and nothing I can really do that matters.

Lord, open my eyes.

God gives me time-outs, and He forcibly pries open my eyes.  Sitting in a pew, or under a sick child, I have been forced to SIT, to be still and open ears and eyes.  Now, sitting at home, I fight the stillness, but not as hard as I once did. I know that stillness is soul medicine.

Paul prays for hearts unsatisfied and blind like mine:

I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you will know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what is the surpassing greatness of his power toward us who believe.  (Eph 1:18-19)

Our Jesus-- what He has done for us, what He is doing now, and what He plans for the future-- HE is what the eyes of our hearts so long to see.  He is the Gift to which all others point. He is the final proof that our God is a God of extravagant grace and boundless mercy.

There is often grief mixed in with the noticing, when I consider the flower or the daughter in bloom and remember the dust to which all things return.  The dust makes me afraid to notice, to open my heart to things that shall crumble.

It’s all crumbling, isn’t it? It always was.

But, stay with me. Look with me. Do not close your eyes.

Zoom out.

Consider the whole picture. Consider the God who created the world and entered the world and died for the world and is making all things new. Consider His Story, and our small place in it.  Consider your life given, by grace, and the new life we have in Christ, by grace, and the promises of life eternal that are ours, by the grace of God in Christ Jesus. 

The shadows become smaller as we see that they are temporary. 

He is making all things new.

But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up in Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the ages to come he might show the surpassing riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.  (Ephesians 2:4-7)

What does God want to do with us?

He wants to use us.

To conquer the world? To overcome sin and death?

No, He has done that in Christ.

He wants to use us to show the world the surpassing riches of His grace. 

He wants us to live with open hands and open eyes, and to receive.

To see.

To take Him in.

He is the great gift, and each one of His other gifts are a drop from the same fountain.

Be still today, and notice.

Trace your fingers along the edges of the gifts.

Are there truly no gifts in your life right now? 

As you miss the gifts of yesterday, can you look up at the giver?

When you ask Him for sight, what do you see?

The tasks truly can wait while you let God restore your sight.

In Him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which He lavished on us.  (Eph 1:7-8a)

Lord, open our eyes, we pray, because our lives truly do depend on it.

plaster it everywhere.

I should be in bed, but I need silence more than sleep.

I need to sit heavy, to dwell in my Dwelling place. Has has been our dwelling place in all generations.  Surely he did not leave us as orphans in this place. Surely God is no stranger to suffering, and surely He is present in this place, even when I know it not, even when I forget or ignore Him.

He meets us where He promises: in His Word. I want to wrap myself up in it, to build a house made of Him, to take refuge under the shadow of His wings, and to pull everyone I love into safety with me.

And what I need has been commanded.  Where I want to go, I have been invited.  Truly, this is grace.

Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates. (Deut 6:4-9)

These words of God: they are your life. Carry them with you, plaster them on your walls and keep them before your eyes and in your heart.

This morning, we added imperfect, papery decoration to our hallways, our mirrors, and even the front porch.  We will not win any Better Homes contenst.   But God will remain before our eyes in the days to come. When we walk from bathroom to bedroom and drop our hope along the way, His Word will fill us up again.

Plaster it everywhere, friends in Christ, and remember that you dwell in Him even as His word richly dwells in you.

 The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. 

But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my beloved brothers, stand firm, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain. (1 Cor 15:56-58)

Psalm 90 English Standard Version (ESV)

A Prayer of Moses, the man of God.

Lord, you have been our dwelling place
    in all generations.
Before the mountains were brought forth,
    or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
    from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
You return man to dust
    and say, “Return, O children of man!”
For a thousand years in your sight
    are but as yesterday when it is past,
    or as a watch in the night.
You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream,
    like grass that is renewed in the morning:
in the morning it flourishes and is renewed;
    in the evening it fades and withers.
For we are brought to an end by your anger;
    by your wrath we are dismayed.
You have set our iniquities before you,
    our secret sins in the light of your presence.
For all our days pass away under your wrath;
    we bring our years to an end like a sigh.
The years of our life are seventy,
    or even by reason of strength eighty;
yet their span is but toil and trouble;
    they are soon gone, and we fly away.
Who considers the power of your anger,
    and your wrath according to the fear of you?
So teach us to number our days
    that we may get a heart of wisdom.
Return, O Lord! How long?
    Have pity on your servants!
Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,
    that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
    and for as many years as we have seen evil.
Let your work be shown to your servants,
    and your glorious power to their children.
Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,
    and establish the work of our hands upon us;
    yes, establish the work of our hands!

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meeting with grandma (creative writing exercise)

We’re at a kitchen table, but it’s not the one she always used. It could never seat all of them- grandpa, and their eight children. It’s the small table, in the condo, from the days when her life shrank down to smallness and the children were grown, after the neighborhood went bad and they moved where things were safer and someone else mowed the lawn.  It’s probably not her favorite table. How could it be?

Why did grandma choose to meet me here, of all places?  If I got to come back from heaven for a moment to visit a granddaughter, I imagine I’d meet her someplace wonderful, somewhere I’d made a great memory.  But here were are, meeting at the little kitchen table in the condo from the days when her life got small.

She has hair again, but it is gray, and her skin is a little wrinkled. Her smile is radiant, and I have the sense that she is merely wearing something like old age, but not quite; as if she is toning down her beauty for my sake.

Grandma has something for me inside a bag.  It’s just what I need, she says with a small smile. I cannot imagine what it could be. Can you put a nap inside a bag? Or patience, or courage?  She sets the bag on the table. It is so good to see her again.  

“I can’t carry anything from eternity to you, dear. If I could, I would give you the fruit that tastes like a sunrise, and the words to the songs that we sing around the throne, and you would eat and we would sing, and He would pour out so much healing and life that you would never grow old, never grieve, never ache in your soul ever again.  But the time for that is not yet.”

Her radiant face becomes serious, and something like sadness, but not quite, fills her eyes. “No, not yet. You have darkness to travel through yet, dear. And days of smallness.  And you will fight it and grieve the changes, but that is as it should be.  God will do His work in you and for you, and that is what matters.”

She opens the bag, and inside I see it: a flower.

“Do you remember when you were small and we would go for walks in the woods by the cottage? I loved the way you held my hand and chatted about every little thing. I remember teaching you to watch for this special flower: trillium. It was a rare flower, illegal to pick, but it grew in our little corner of the woods. I always liked to look for it, and to teach you little ones to appreciate it and respect it.”

I took the flower from her hand. That’s it? I thought.  A flower for a vase for a week, then the smell of rotting plant, then garbage and another dish to clean?

She read my thoughts. “Yes, the flower will die, it is not from the New World. But you will have the memory, and with it, the promise from our Lord: He is making all things new.  Trillium is rare in this life, and special... like those moments with your children as they grow, they bloom for a moment and then they are gone forever. I know you feel this way.” Tears came quickly to my eyes. “But it only seems to be this way, dear. He is making ALL things new!  I wish I could describe to you the trillium in the new place: our Father makes even this flower more beautiful, and somehow more unique and precious and abundant, all at once!”

She traced her fingers along the table. “It is ok to let go, dear, and to move on to the next season. No, it is not ‘safe,’ not in the way you think of it- there will be trials and dangers and real suffering.  The things that pass away are really gone… for a time. But Jesus!  He is there with your family around your noisy table, right in the thick of the the homework battles and the ‘do I really have to eat this?’  And daughter, when life changes again, when your table is small, He will be there with you and the quiet cup of coffee.”

“Don’t you see?  He gives all of this- it was all His idea! Each baby-bump, each first-day-of-school, each springtime and every trillium that blooms in this dying world: these are His good gifts, given for a time, given so that you could learn to love and trust the hands that give.  Trust the hands that give, the hands that bled for you. He knows what you need, and He is making all things new.”

And suddenly the moment was gone, and I was back in my kitchen, where the floors are crunchy and the counters are sticky and the table is huge.  

Wait! Grandma!? There are so many other things I wanted to ask! What did you do about tantrums and curfews and bad grades and sports?  Will the kids be ok? How did you survive the teen years? What would you have done differently? Does it all work out in the end? Will you hug grandpa for me?  

But the moment was gone.  And I was alone with the memory of a flower.

And Jesus.

(a writing exercise inspired by Voice and Vessel)

originally published 9/16

-------------------

All saints day: a time for the church to remember those who have gone before, and to look forward to the day when God gathers all of His people together for eternity.  For a text file of my favorite Scriptures, quotes and articles related to this holiday,  click here.

ride the wave.

"We are marked men, we who have been baptized and received the Spirit.

"We have upon us the imprint of Jesus.

"If we are privileged to bear the mark of Jesus, the obedient Son, and the mark of the life of the world to come which His Spirit has inscribed upon us, we are privileged also to bear the mark of the Servant. By the power of that Spirit, through whom God has raised Jesus from the dead and will give life to our mortal bodies, these mortal bodies of ours can even now become Servant-bodies-- bodies offered to God as living sacrifices. By the power of that Spirit, things deemed impossible can be ours: we can aspire to Jesus' steady composure in the face of all the flickering malice that bedeviled Him and all the fumbling weakness of His followers that clogged His steps; can aspire to Jesus' spontaneous obedience to the Father's Word and will and His unclouded understanding of that Word and will; dare aspire to Jesus; freedom to love with the lavish and reckless generosity of the Father; dare aspire to His willingness to expend Himself for others--all that made His life the beginning and the pledge of the life of the world to come can be at work in us and through us.

"We can ride the cresting wave of God's purpose which will break upon the shore destined to be our everlasting and delightful home."

--M. Franzmann, Alive with the Spirit

these days: your turn

We are loved by a God who is with us, right here, in the details of this day that he has given us.

He meets us here.
But are we here to meet him?
It's easy to ache for the past, or to hurry towards the future. But God meets us here, right here.

Stop, look around, and notice where you are.  Get your bearings, and as best as you can, try to see where this little day is in the big picture. Remember that there IS a big picture, and that there will be a finished story, and that God is the author.  As you move from birth through darkness towards redemption, the days will come and go, but will you notice them? And will you take the time to see Him in them?

What is it like where you stand today?
What trials, what grace do you see? Take time to look around.

Carry God's Word into your day and watch as its colors bounce off everything.

This is the day the Lord has made.
It is a gift. It will pass away.
Much that we love will pass away, and yet, the Word of the Lord stands forever.
Safe are we, kept in that Word.
Safe are we, in His eternal hands, hands strong to save.
Yet where we walk is decidedly unsafe.  Bodies fail here, babies die, addictions consume, and hearts break.  It is easy for us to let the darkness cloud our vision.

We must take and read.
We must sit down, and look up, and pray for softened hearts and opened eyes.

These are the days of battle.
These are the days of uncertainty and fear.
And these are the days of mercy and grace,
the days of clinging to His hand and being upheld by His strength.

For he is our God

    and we are the people of his pasture,

    the flock under his care.

Today, if only you would hear his voice,

Do not harden your hearts !

What's happing for you these days?
I'd love to hear your thoughts! (I will post mine tomorrow)

These are the days of waiting for...
These are the days of missing...
These are the days of (doing)..
These are the days of (God's doing)...
These are the days of waiting for God to fix/redeem...
These are the days of inspiration from this song or Scripture...
These are the days of wondering why...
These are the days of gratitude for...

noise

I know it is my sin, which locks thine ears
And binds thy hands
Out-crying my requests, drowing my tears
Or else the chillness of my faint demands.

But as cold hands are angry with the fire and mend it still;
So I do lay the want of my desire
Not on my sins, or coldness, but thy will

Yet hear, O God, only for his blood's sake
Which pleads for me
For though sins plead, too,
yet like stones they make
His blood's sweet current much more loud to be.

(George Herbert, Church Lock & Key)

poem source

Sit and be satisfied

“Get your church shoes and I’ll help you put them on.”

“Is it a church day?” he says, and then he sighs. “Is it going to be a long church?” I don’t like his attitude, though I understand. How long will we be sitting still? How long must I be quiet? How long will I be forced to leave other tasks undone while I sit in a pew?

Later that same morning, he complained again: “When will church be over mama?” He flopped himself back on the pew, bumping his brother who responded with a fist that I barely intercepted before it hit his nose. My heart did NOT overflow with patience and compassion, to put it mildly. I wondered when church would be over, too.

There in that pew, I fought the battle I always fight- the one between love and selfishness, obedience and rebellion. The old nature longed to fall to temptation, to resent or pout or discipline for my good and not his. The new nature tried to fight. And that new self was proven a weakling.

And it was there in my failure that I saw it: the soul-hunger. The attacks and temptations in my life are too much for me, and I am too weak to fight them on my own. My soul was shaky and weak, like a body with low blood sugar. And yet there I was, sitting at the table overflowing with exactly the food my soul needs.

“Take and eat,” I’m told. “Receive what you need from your Father. You are soul-hungry. Sit and be fed.”

Why is this so difficult? Physical need is easier to accept, I think. When I call, “Lunch is ready, boys!” they come running. Not one drags his feet. Not one walks slowly, with dread, asking me questions in fear like, “Will there be too much food? Do I really have to eat?” I don’t whine about mealtime either. My body needs food, and not only that, but eating is pleasant. In fact, the hungrier I am, the more I enjoy the food I eat.

Soul hunger is something I feel too, but like a child begging for ice cream when he really needs nourshing food, I try to meet this need by filling myself with empty calories.

Distraction fails. Naps do not refresh me for long. Escape only delays the inevitable. And then, my kind Father brings me to the Divine Service; He sits me at the table so that He can wait on me, fill me with exactly what I need.

Those who are blind to their need complain, “Will it be a long church? Is it almost over?” When my son said that to me for the third time, I replied, “We are hearing God’s Word right now. This is the most important thing you will do today- maybe all week long. So sit down.”

I need to hear this, too:

Sit down.

Take and eat.

Hear and take to heart.

Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest.

Feast on what truly satisfies.

Sit, and enjoy a nourishing meal; a long church; a church decadent and rich with the Word of God, permeated with Christ himself poured out for your soul and mine. Make time to feast at home, on God’s rich Word, on the nourishment that you truly need.

My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food,

    and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips,

when I remember you upon my bed,

    and meditate on you in the watches of the night;

for you have been my help,

    and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy.

(Psalm 63:5-7)

On owning the wishing well and faith

We were in the land of Disney, the land of magic.

As we waited to board It’s a Small World, my son begged for money to throw in the water. “Can I make a wish mama? Please?” Sorry, bud, I don’t carry change. I almost lectured him about the silliness of throwing money away, but I refrained. We were at Disneyworld, after all.

Later that day, the little guy found a dime.

“Look mom! A dime! I can make a wish now!” He danced with glee, as only a five year old boy can.  He held that dime in his sweaty little hands during the bus ride and as we walked into the park.  All through the journey he chattered excitedly.  “I’m going to wish that I can fly! No, that the whole family can fly! Mom, maybe you should wish it for me. Wait, no, I’ll wish it. I’ll wish that I can fly. OH I want to FLY! I want all of us to fly!”

Daddy and I looked at each other, smiling, shrugging, not sure if we should temper his excitement or wait for reality to do that for us.  We waited.

Finally, the moment came. He closed his eyes, wished with all his heart, and threw his dime in the water.

Nothing.

He stared. He stomped. He crossed his arms.

He sulked for the entire ride.

He did not fly.

His heart was crushed, his faith, shattered.

He's a year older now, and wiser. Recently, the subject returned to his mind. "Mama, if you make a wish in a wishing well, will it come true?"  He knew the answer, but he was just checking.

"Only if you wish the right thing," I said, wisely. "Like, you can say, 'I wish I didn't have so much money!'  Then when you throw your penny in, your wish will come true just like that! Amazing!"

He laughed hard at my example, probably imagining one of his brothers doing something so silly.
Then he said, "Mom, I know how it could work. What if YOU owned the wishing well."

Indeed.
His eyes sparkled, as he thought of all the people making silly wishes and throwing money into his well.

What kind of six-year-old thinks this way!?  I stand in awe of his faith.

Faith

When he was four, his faith in wishing wells was shattered that fateful day at Disney. But his faith? His hope in making all of his dreams come true with his own two hands?  That "faith" is very much alive. That part of his heart is now trying to find a way to purchase a wishing well.

"Faith" definied: complete trust or confidence in someone or something

We cast things into wishing wells, too, don't we? We scheme and plant and fertilize and pray for rain. We lend so that we can borrow later.  We diet to feel loved.  We say we are "fine" as if "fine" is a magic word that can somehow make itself come true.

And sometimes, we see the futility of these pennies tossed into the well.  We see that our little efforts to control the universe are futile. 

We repent, sort of. We realize we have put our faith in something futile.  We are silly little kids throwing pennies in a  hole. Nobody wants to be that kid.   So, we repent.

And then we go buy our own wishing well.  We search for better ways to take control, to make our own dreams come true. We diet AND exercise. We join groups and make resolutions. We never, ever give up. Why? Because we have faith. 

"Faith" definied: complete trust or confidence in someone or something

We have faith in ourselves.

And this is the heart of the matter, isn't it? This is why we squirm before Jesus, why we so quickly jump to defend our perpetual activity against the Word of God.

We do not like to hear that our works are mere pennies, our resolutions "filthy rags." We do not like to hear that our faith has been misplaced, that we have trusted in that which cannot save.  We do not like to face the reality of pennies poured down a hole, of years wasted.

It is hard to let go of the scheming. 

How is it even possible?
Shouldn't I be the one in control of this thing?
How do I know I can trust the One Who is?

God has not left us to seek Him everywhere.  We do not need to go to the woods or the wells or the ouiji boards.   We simply meet Him where He is found: In His Word and Sacraments.

There, He shows us Himself.

He is the Maker of heaven and earth, whose heart overflows in bloody mercy for those He has made.

This wellspring of grace- it is not something we can own. We cannot add to God, or work Him like a vending machine.  But we can stand in Him, under Him, and allow ourselves to be covered by the living water of mercy and grace in Jesus.

Our God is a God who pours Himself out for us, daily and richly,
that we may be His own.

May He grow our roots down deep in His Word,
and may he open our souls up to the sky, that we may comprehend with all the saints
the height and width and depth and breadth of His great love for us.

Or in other words, "Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.  Grant me faith, for without you I can do nothing."

Small Catechism Second Article: Redemption

And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. He descended into hell. The third day He rose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty. From thence He will come to judge the living and the dead.

What does this mean?
I believe that Jesus Christ, true God, begotten of the Father from eternity, and also true man, born of the Virgin Mary, is my Lord, who has redeemed me, a lost and condemned person, purchased and won me from all sins, from death, and from the power of the devil; not with gold or silver, but with His holy, precious blood and with His innocent suffering and death, that I may be His own and live under Him in His kingdom and serve Him in everlasting righteousness, innocence, and blessedness, just as He is risen from the dead, lives and reigns to all eternity.

This is most certainly true.

--------------------------

How about you?

Do you "wish in wells?" Or are you more likely to try to own the well?

-------------------------

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