Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Through Stained Glass: A Lenten Confession

Through Stained Glass:  A Lenten Confession

I have a confession.

My hope is that it won’t be too much for you.

That you won’t think any differently of me.

Okay, here it goes:

I love Jesus.

No, like, I really love Jesus.

Not in some sentimental or superficial “Jesus is my homeboy and my personal Lord and savior.” Nothing like that because that makes Jesus mine when Jesus is actually ours.

In fact, despite what some think, Presbyterians confess Christ as sovereign of all!

Personally, I confess Jesus as Lord and Savior.

But I love Jesus because of his compassion.

The compassion he has for others and his compassion for me is unlike anything I’ve ever heard or even seen.

I love Jesus because he Jesus sees me for who I am:  Adam.

Did you know compassion comes from the Latin word compassio, meaning “to pity, sympathize with, or suffer with,” and is related to the Greek word sympatheia, denoting “fellow feeling, community of feeling?” Quite literally, ‘compassion’ means to endure with another person, to experience another’s grief or suffering or need.

Which leads me to another confession:

I love the church.

I love it because the church is the body of Christ, a place where we share life with one another. In a season of great difficulty for me, you all offered me great compassion, sitting with me as an unexpected ending came and went. You all, not only in this occasion, but on numerous occasions throughout the years, have extended compassion to each other.

This is what Jesus meant when he said to “love your neighbor.” He meant that we have compassion for one another, especially the stranger and our enemy. Remember that Jesus summed up his own teaching on compassion, the practice of ‘withness,’ by proclaiming that whatever was done to the poor, the marginalized, or the outcast was, in reality, done to him.

Lent invites us to look again at the world and to see how with it we are.

For me, Lent is a reminder of how Jesus’ compassion overflowed outside his tribe. He did not let his love, his mercy, or his withness be confined only to James, John, Peter, and the other twelve. Instead, he considered all he encountered to be his neighbor.

Compassion is hard, though. Not only does it require us to see the world through more gentle, loving lenses, but it is about caring for one another.

And this is why I love Jesus. He loved. He didn’t only teach or preach or use words to tell of God’s love. But he actually loved those he shared life with. Especially those he wasn't supposed to be with.

The hard truth Lent often confronts us with as we wander into the wilderness and wade out of the waters of baptism is that sometimes, we as a church, both locally and universally, neglect loving our neighbor as ourselves. We lack compassion for ourselves and for one another.

Yet Lent is also the season we remember that Christ sees us with eyes full of compassion. That what we are examining within ourselves, what we are confronting outside of ourselves, Christ is with us every step of the way.

Compassion then is best understood when we play together, when we eat together, when we share our stories, and when we act on behalf of each other. These are the things we human beings do when we are at our best and our most courageous; especially when we recognize that God is right here with us, our partner in renewing this journey we call faith!

As we sit and watch the snow fall, remember that God’s love, Christ’s compassion, and the Holy Spirit’s company is with us this day and everyday.

May God help us let go of that which prevents us from being compassionate to the world and to ourselves.

Jesus loves you.

And so do I.

Shalom,

Adam

Monday, February 15, 2016

Through Stained Glass: A Midweek Reflection--A Lenten Temptation

Through Stained Glass:  A Midweek Reflection—A Lenten Temptation

Last week was brutal.

If not because of the cold, then especially because of whatever I had that knocked me off my feet for three days.

Most of you know I pride myself on the fact that I do not get sick often.

Sure, a cold, a cough and the sniffles now and then, but usually, that is it.

So last week when I found myself struggling to stay warm…and then cool…and then warm…and then cool again, I was a bit surprised and annoyed.

Annoyed because there was so much to do last week.

The men’s breakfast, session meeting, Mardi Gras pancake supper, Ash Wednesday in the morning, book study at 10:30, Ashes to Go in the afternoon, and then Ash Wednesday service in the evening. Oh, in the midst of all that I needed to run 4 miles to continue the preparation for the 10k I’m running on March 12th. Thursday would be the day I had breakfast with some folks, make visits, deliver Ashes perhaps, and then write my sermon.

A busy week, which is why I had NO time to get sick.

My body, though, my body wasn’t on board with my plans to conquer the first ½ week of Lent. My body was not up to working 14-hour days on Tuesday and Wednesday. My body was not keen on the idea that back to back nights of less than five hours of sleep was sufficient enough to do all the work that had to be done. My body…my body just couldn’t take it anymore.

I find it fitting that on Ash Wednesday, the day in our liturgical year where we ponder our mortality and the frailty of our humanity, I was lying in bed, my body aching for repose and my spirit pining for relief.

This is my problem, though, I go, go, go until my wellbeing is compromised and I am forced to take a break. Awareness is the first step in recognizing a change is needed.

Reflecting on my tendency to overdo work, I am reminded of these words from scripture: 
He said, ‘My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.’

This comes from Exodus 33, when God commands Moses to lead the Israelites away from Mount Sinai to “the land flowing with milk and honey.” At first I read this story and thought, see even Moses worked a lot. But as I sat with the story of Moses, I was reminded of how often Moses spent time in the presence of God. And when Moses spent time with God, it was usually for long periods of time. So long that on one occasion the Israelites abandoned their leader and started worshipping a golden calf…

Here is some honesty:  my golden calf is busyness—which is my biggest temptation.

What does God require of me?
                  Not more meetings.
                  Not more emails.
                  Not more ___________.

What God requires of me is to do justice, yes; to love kindness, sure; but to walk humbly with God.

And this walking requires being present with God. Like, actually present.

Thus, this Lenten season I’ve decided to take on the practice of spending 30 minutes in the presence of God. So far, I’m struggling. But thankfully, Lent is 40 days long and each day is a new opportunity to begin again.

The journey has started. We have a long way to go. But together, I trust we will find what we are looking for…

May God be with you on your Lenten journey.

Peace,


Adam