Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection--Screen

Screen

The door opened, and out she went.

As usual, Chloe, the little red-coated Golden Retriever, burst out of the screen door like a rocket to the moon. She does this every morning, on her first trip out.

I imagine her excitement is less about doing “business” and more about chasing after the burrowing bunnies and the trespassing squirrels that often occupy the yard. Her eagerness often echoes in the slamming of the screen door, like a shot of a gun that sends any and all wildlife scurrying up trees and under fences.

Today though, it all happened so fast.

As the door flung open and Chloe barreled through, puffs of gray rose up from the ground like ash from a fire. Despite often being flighty, Chloe caught sight of this and returned to me excitedly. In slow motion, the little robin who’s bosom hadn’t turned copper orange yet, flew to the open door and for dear life clung to the screen, her wings flapping furiously, desperate to remove herself from danger.

As she rose, Chloe lunged, chomping—tasting only the delicious humidity of a warm spring morning. Immediately I grabbed my golden girl, letting the screen door slam, leaving the tiny bird in the sanctuary of my garage, hanging delicately onto the screen.

I grabbed my gloves and crept ever so slowly towards this tiny bird. As I treaded softly toward her, I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what grace looks like.

Not my actions, per se: I don’t mean that grace was (only) reaching out and grabbing this terrified robin. As I stood, I thought that maybe grace comes from both sides of the relationship: what is equally significant about grace is our response to God’s goodness and love.

When I opened the door, her eyes darted quickly back and forth. Her grasp tightened as I saw her little claws hook tightly around the screen. Terrified and uneasy about the possibility of freedom, she remained paralyzed in this moment of possibility.

Gently, I placed my gloved hand around her back, keeping her wings closed, and her claws away from my skin.

Still, as I pulled, she wouldn’t let go.

Afraid to hurt her, I took a step back and simply held out my hand just inches from her perch. If I couldn’t force her off the door, the least I could do was ensure her safety. The decision to detach from the screen had to be hers: if she fell, I would be there to pick her up. My hope, though, was that she would fly off on her own.

Instead, she fluttered from the screen and sat on my index finger. For what must have been 3 seconds, I held in my hand the lightest form of life I had seen this spring. It was both intimidating and holy to handle such a tiny life with such care.

As soon as I started to walk out of the garage, she realized her opportunity, springing free from my finger and flying into the tree. She had found the courage to go and fly again.

Perhaps, grace is just this: that God comes to us, no matter the season, no matter the circumstance, no matter what screen we have flown ourselves into and now cling to in our desperation. What we learn in scripture is that God is a God who loves us, forgive us, and longs passionately to come and be with us.

It almost seems too good to be true. But perhaps, this isn’t because we doubt God—but instead because we doubt ourselves.

I leave you with these words which I have shared before but that I hope continue to have renewed meaning each time you hear them:

“The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you I created the universe. I love you. There's only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you'll reach out and take it. Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.” ~Frederick Buechner

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection--Silas

Silas

Psalm 121

Assurance of God’s Protection

I lift up my eyes to the hills—

   from where will my help come? 

My help comes from the Holy One,

   who made heaven and earth. 

God will not let your foot be moved;

   God who keeps you will not slumber. 

God who keeps Israel

   will neither slumber nor sleep. 

The Holy One is your keeper;

   the Holy One is your shade at your right hand. 

The sun shall not strike you by day,

   nor the moon by night. 

The Holy One will keep you from all evil;

   God will keep your life. 

The Holy One will keep

   your going out and your coming in

   from this time on and for evermore.

There is a big difference between having and keeping. For instance, I have a favorite hooded sweatshirt—the Chicago Cubs one that you probably see me wearing all the time. This is my possession. However, unlike my sweatshirt, I keep my dog, Silas. He is not a mere possession; he is my pup, my companion, my beloved dog. He is dear to me: I watch over him, not just for my own sake and with my own interests in mind, but for his sake, too. I love Silas, and protect him from harm, because if he suffers, it hurts me too.

Likewise, God, the Creator, does not merely possess us. God, instead, keeps us. God engages with us. God woos us and dances with us through this gift we call life. We are God’s beloved, and immeasurably dear to God. We are not propertied possessions in the eyes of God, nor pawns in the game of life. We are, most importantly, not instruments in and through which God purposefully inflicts pain or suffering to “teach us a lesson” or to “make God’s plan known.”

In fact, quite the opposite is true. We are the children, the companions, of a God who understands suffering, who knows distinctly the experience of pain. Psalm 121 reminds us that God does not merely have or own us: God keeps us and relates to us as God’s own.

Notice the repetitiousness forms of “keep?” As often as we feel ourselves “lose our grip” on God, it is nice to know that God does not lose God’s grip on us. We may find peace knowing that we need not base our identities, both individual and communal, on the assumption that we need to have a firm hold on all things, and get everything “right.” Rather, we need to remember that even after we were beautifully made, God proclaimed we are also good. Thus, we can release ourselves into rejuvenating rest because we know God’s watchful eye and creative hand never let us go.

Friends, while there may be pain—and yes, even death— in this journey, we do not go alone. There will be hardship, trouble, and there will be danger, but God is with us, will never forget us, and will always, yes always, love us on this journey we call life.

So, take a breath knowing that as you do, God is keeping you. There is much good waiting to be found along the way.

Something my pal Silas reminds me of every time we go for a walk.

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-story

 story

Writer and artist Mary Anne Radmacher has said, “Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow.”

If there ever was a story about courage, look no further than the story of the exodus of God’s people in the Hebrew Scriptures. No other book in the Bible has been more dramatized and filmed except the life of Christ. Perhaps the fascination with this story is because God is not talked about, or even theorized about. Rather, God is there. And God's in the face of Moses almost the entire time.

When we are introduced to Moses, “courage” is a word that resonates and reveals what this stammering prophet’s story is about.

The story of Moses’ beginning would be impossible without the strength and courage of women. There is the bravery of his own mother, who defies the law of the state to keep her son alive; pharaoh’s daughter, who takes the baby she knows is a Hebrew boy and, also in defiance of the state and her father, raises him as her own; and Moses’ sister, Miriam, who guards Moses from a distance as he floats in his basket--eventually bringing their mother to pharaoh’s daughter to be his wet nurse.

The progression of heroines and their showing of courage begins with the midwives Shiphrah and Puah. It is they who defy pharaoh’s edict and refuse to kill the Hebrew boys.

To do that—to stand in the way of genocide and to confront commands from a powerful empire—requires courage.

You know what else requires courage?

To be honest with God.

Soon these little ones will have gained enough courage
to spread their wings and fly...

This is why Moses’ story is fascinating. After being saved by the courage of midwives, Moses courageously enters into perhaps the most intimate relationship we see unfold in the story of God.

I’m not talking about the obvious and well known events of Moses’ life:  the burning bush, the parting of the Red Sea, the final scene of his life where he stands on the edge of the Promise Land but doesn’t get to enter. No, I’m talking about the moments in Moses’ life where he expresses his frustrations towards God as he and the Israelites wander aimlessly in the desert, when Aaron and the Israelites build a golden cow, and when God calls Moses to the task of being God’s spokesperson–one perk being to go before pharaoh and declare that God’s people be let go. Like most of us would, Moses thinks this is one horrible idea and tries to get out of it: “O my Holy One, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor even now that you have spoken to your servant; but I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.”

Moses, in the presence of God, had the courage to express to God Moses’ fears and doubts.

And guess what?

God doesn’t abandon Moses. And God also doesn’t buy his excuses.

God responds to Moses: “Who gives speech to mortals? Who makes them mute or deaf, seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Holy One? Now go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak.”

Thus continues the story of God’s presence and promise to always be with God’s people.

Courage doesn’t always look like a person who has their lives in order, who always has a smile on their face in all their Facebook photos, nor is courage defined as a radical act of protest in the face of an oppressive political play out.

Courage, like many of the most-treasured virtues, is often much more subtle. It looks like ordinary people, doing ordinary things, and being honest not only with others and themselves, but with God.

We resolve to “try again tomorrow” because we, as God’s people, live in the hope and promise that, like with Moses, God will meet us there.

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-some days

          some days  

          Some days are easier than others. Some mornings we want to get up on “right side” of the bed but that “side” is nowhere to be found. Some psalms can be annoying, with the psalmist giving thanks for just about everything, while we spill our coffee on the bed. Some walks are full of uneven pavement that causes us more trouble than tranquility. Some cups of tea are too hot, leaving our tongue as rough as a cat’s.

Yea, some days are just hard.

            Today was one of those days. The coffee didn’t take, the poems I read in the morning bounced off of me like a tennis ball to a wall, and my pen couldn’t fill the lines in my journal. So, I decided to take a stroll through the church and some how I ended up downstairs, the place where, well, only brave souls venture. I’m glad I walked down there because I unearthed from the dirt and debris a photo of Jesus that inspired the lines below.

            Behind the veil of dust, his eyes caught mine. And these words came to mind:

28 ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. ²⁹Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.³⁰For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’ ~Matthew 11.28-30

So I returned to my study and wrote:

Troubled?

Then stay with me, for I am not.

Lonely?

Then remain here with me, for I will keep watch.

Sad?

Then sit with me, for I will illumine you.

Angry?

Then walk with me, for I will show you peace.

Tired?

Then relax with me, for I will teach you to breathe.

Joyful?

Then smile with me, for I will listen to felicity.

Happy?

Then share with me, for I will delight.

Anxious?

Then grab onto me, for I will ease your mind.

Unsure?

Then listen with me, for I will reveal.

Thirsty?

Then drink with me, for I will refresh.

Worried?

Then stop with me, for I will slow you down.

Excited?
Then run with me, for I will be elated.

Hopeful?

Then create with me, for I will be awed.

Desperate?

Then breathe with me, for I will return you.

Hungry?

Then dine with me, for I will prepare for you.

Lost?

Then stand with me, for I will embrace you.

Concerned?

Then lean into me, for I will give you my Wisdom.

“The sun hears the fields talking about effort

and the sun smiles,

and whispers to me,

‘Why don’t the fields just rest, for

I am willing to do

Everything

to help them

grow?’

Rest, my dears, in

prayer.”

~St. Catherine of Siena

            May you find hope knowing you travel not alone today, but many, near and far, travel with you. May your faith grow stronger as God walks with you no matter the season. May you revel in love, embracing the good news that God welcomes you, not just some days, but all days, 

exactly

as

you

are.