And the Sermon title was Don’t answer “fine,” to the How Was your Week Question

My eyes are fixed on you, O my Strength; for you, O God, are my stronghold. Psalm 59:10

When these things begin to take place, stand erect, hold your heads high, because your liberation is near at hand . . . So with you when you see these things happening: know that the kingdom of God is near. Luke 21:8

Oh Lord, who else or what can I desire but You? You are my Lord, Lord of heart, mind, and soul. You know me through and through. In and through You everything that is finds its origin and goal. You embrace all that exists and care for it with divine love and compassion. Why, then, do I keep expecting happiness and satisfaction outside of You? Why do I keep relating to You as one of my many relationships, instead of my only relationship, in which all others are grounded? Why do I keep looking for popularity, respect from others, success, acclaim? Why, Lord, is it so hard for me to make You the only one? Why do I keep hesitating to surrender myself totally to you?

Help me, O Lord, to let my old self die, to let die the thousand big and small ways in which I am still building up my false self and trying to cling to my false desires. Let me be reborn in You and see through You the world in the right way, so that all my actions, words, and thoughts can become a hymn of praise to You.

I need Your loving grace to travel on this hard road that leads to the death of my old self and to a new life in and for You. I know and trust that this is the road to freedom. Lord, dispel my mistrust and help me become a trusting friend. Amen Henri Nouwen, A Cry for Mercy

And really the road is never easy. I thought about that once again up Sentential Peak. And now I can do the vuelta in one hour rather than how it used to take me one hour and forty minutes. But it is still uphill and sweaty. And like Peter, I need to wash my feet every day.

And the sermon last night was a reminder that every “ordinary” moment is actually significant, marked by glory, infused by the grace of God. And even as the world lights up in destructive flames about us, we can stand tall, our eyes fixed on Him; our liberation from the old way of seeing things is ever present, because He is about the business of transformation.

Manuel was listing all of the new thinking he has had this week: hiking trails along mountain streams, family dinners, Fantasy Football, Rocks and Ropes climbing, high school Friday night football games, head-banging rock concerts in the blazing Saturday afternoon sun, and oh yeah, bummer, losing one’s cell phone. And I too, have had a full week this week, thinking about life.

And good old book club Richard the Third decided to take his life in his own hands and run the show. 

And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

Am I so very different than him, full of schemes and plots to cling to my false self? 

It surely isn’t about the pitted road or circumstances. Eve listened to the whispering of the Evil One even in the Garden of Eden. I thought about that too.

And Sue sent me her prayer for me: May the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Because His peace is not like that of the world. And His peace is not reasonable or logical or quantifiable. We do not arrive at His peace on our own strength.

He is my strength.

May my eyes be fixed.

And Ann Voskamp asked this week, How often do we cup our hand to our ear and listen for heaven’s song over our lives?

And I was reminded of the arrival of Aslan’s song in The Magician’s Nephew: A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from what direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. Sometimes he almost thought it was coming out of the earth beneath them. Its lower notes were deep enough to be the voice of the earth herself. There were no words. It was hardly a tune. But it was beyond comparison, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

And sometimes, well, a lot of time, I weep during worship songs at church. And it is a mixture of a beautiful sound with a not-so-beautiful sound of me shaking my fist at God and asking if all of these sweet lyrics are really true. Sometimes it is a melody of faith, like My heart will choose to say, and sometimes I choke over those nicely rhymed words on the glowing stage screen and nothing comes out. Mistrust rolls in like a heavy fog, in a thousand big and small ways. And the metaphors ring hollow, and me, the big glob of clay, wants to hop right off that Potter’s wheel.

But good old John D’Andrea reminded all of us gathered once again in our living room that it a story. His story.  Calling all peoples unto Him.

And this morning, once again, I join the prayer of Henri and the community of Christ and plead for mercy: Let me be reborn in You and see through You the world in the right way, so that all my actions, words, and thoughts can become a hymn of praise to You.

A hymn of praise.

And sometimes that hymn sings loudest chasing Everette across the soccer field.

So be it.

And dozens of pools in all directions.

“See, I will create
    new heavens and a new earth.
The former things will not be remembered,
    nor will they come to mind.
But be glad and rejoice forever
    in what I will create,
for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight
    and its people a joy.
I will rejoice over Jerusalem
    and take delight in my people;
the sound of weeping and of crying
    will be heard in it no more. Isaiah 65:17-19

But the Lord answered: ‘Martha, Martha,’ he said, ‘you worry and fret about so many things, and yet few are needed, indeed only one. It is Mary who has chosen the better part, it is not to be taken from her.’ Luke 10:42

To return to God means to return to God with all that I am and all that I have. God’s love is a jealous love. God wants not just a part of me, but all of me. Only when I surrender myself completely to God’s parental love can I expect to be free from endless distractions, ready to hear the voice of love, and able to recognize m own unique call.

It is going to be a very long road. Every time I pray, I feel the struggle. It is the struggle of letting God be the God of my whole being. It is the struggle to trust that true freedom lies hidden in total surrender to God’s love. Henri Nouwen, The Road to Daybreak

For the joy set before me, I follow in the way of the cross: Not my will, but Your will be done. And Jesus showed us what it means to live with The Big Picture clearly in mind, singlemindedness, undistracted by all of the little no-see-um gnats swirling around our faces. And in our thoughts. And like Peter, I need to wash my feet every day, wash off my dustiness that clings to my flesh. To sit at His feet and be reminded of His sweet love. And.

And nothing else. To choose one thing. Because nothing else matters. It will not be remembered nor will come to mind.

In Lewis’ Magician’s Nephew there is this leafy world between the world. A silent place of bright and warm green daylight. And dozens of pools in all directions. Other worlds full of the unknown and unexpected. And this screened in back porch in Norwich, Vermont is my silent place. My sitting at His feet and listening to Him speak place.

But Mary’s love was not a passive cozy love. There is more than one way to sit at His feet. This is the same Mary who took a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume, and poured it on Jesus' feet and wiped His feet with her hair. It is a costly whole-hearted love. Listening is doing. Obeying. Jesus stepped into the swirling, madding crowd after His pre-dawn prayers of refreshment with the Father. It is a love of power and courage. A rolling up one’s sleeves love because a mighty battle is taking place and I do not want to be distracted from my call, the works for which I was created, and for which He came. The abundant life of beauty and strength, reflective of Our Father.

And Danny Silk has a declaration to speak, which is helpful for folks like me that have trouble articulating what is going on in their hearts:

I know the Spirit of power and love is at work in me.

I can love at all times through Christ who strengthens me.

I am courageous with my love.

My goal is connection, not distance.

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven.

New life wraps its bright green arms around me.

Proclaim the greatness of the LORD our God and worship him upon his holy hill; for the LORD our God is the Holy One. Psalm 99:9

But you, O LORD my God, Oh, deal with me according to your Name; for your tender mercy’s sake, deliver me. For I am poor and needy, and my heart is wounded within me. Psalm 109:20–21

I waited patiently upon the LORD; He stooped to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and the clay; He set my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God; many shall see, and stand in awe. And put their trust in the LORD. Psalm 40:1–3

We must learn to live each day, each hour, yes, each minute as a new beginning, as a unique opportunity to make everything new. Imagine that we could live each moment as a moment pregnant with new life. Imagine that we could live each day as a day full of promise. Imagine that we could walk through the new year always listening to the Voice sayin  to us, “I have a gift for you and I can’t wait for you to see it!”

The problem is that we allow the past, which becomes longer and longer each year, to say to us, “You know it all; you have seen it all, be realistic; the future will be just another repeat of the past. Try to survive it as best you can.” There are many cunning foxes jumping on our shoulders and whispering in our ears the great lie, “He is not big enough.”

So what are we to do? First, we must send the foxes back to where they belong in their foxholes. And then we must open our minds and our heart to the Voice that resounds through the valleys and hills of our life saying, “Let me show you where I live among my people. My name is “God-with-you.”

We must choose to listen to that Voice, and every choice will open us a little more to discover the new life hidden in the moment, waiting eagerly to be born. Henri Nouwen, Here and Now

God with me.  That is one of His names.

And it is easy to believe pedaling down backroads in Vermont. Life.

Here. Now. Speaking life out of emptiness. And of course I love the mighty beauty of Aslan’s song in The Magician’s Nephew.

“A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from what direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. Sometimes he almost thought it was coming out of the earth beneath them. Its lower notes were deep enough to be the voice of the earth herself. There were no words. It was hardly a tune. But it was beyond comparison, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.”

I’ve brought you the apple you wanted, sir.

Your righteousness, O God, reaches to the heavens; You have done great things; who is like You, O God? Psalm 71:19

O God, the King eternal, whose light divides the day from the night and turns the shadow of death into the morning: Drive far from me all wrong desires, incline my heart to keep your law, and guide my feet into the way of peace; that, having done your will with cheerfulness during the day, I may, when night comes, rejoice to give you thanks; through Jesus Christ my Lord. Amen

One of the things that C. S. Lewis captures so well is the simple, childlikeness of those who serve Aslan. Of course it helps that they are children themselves, or talking beasts. Adults are all about drains and railways and commercial possibilities, while there is a simple clarity in Digory and Polly and the moles and the elephants and especially the bears that gather around close for His blessing and do His will with great cheerfulness.

And poor Uncle Andrew misses the whole point. In order to keep himself from thinking and feeling things that he did not want to think and feel, the longer and more beautiful the Lion sang, the harder Uncle Andrew tried to make himself believe that he could hear nothing but roaring. And he cannot be comforted because he has made himself unable to hear His voice. Oh Adam’s sons, how cleverly we defend ourselves against all that might do us any good.

Thus The Call to Prayer.

To rest in His great beauty and His great love. To cease striving. To cease.

Incline my heart to keep Your law. To love the LORD God with all of my heart, all of my soul and all of my mind. And to love my neighbor as myself.

Guide my feet into the way of peace. Peace without as I greet each with His mercy and kindness, and peace within as I equally offer mercy and kindness to myself.

And may I do Your will today with great cheerfulness. Your will, not my will, may it be done here on earth as it is in heaven. I release it all down before you…my thoughts as I drive to and fro, my rather rocky homeroom group with the sullen clump of boys up front, my learning of all those new faces and names and stories, the Spanish whacking game and differentiated table groups, taking Shaun for yet another swing at the Arizona Driver’s License Test, and a very tiny community group that somehow I am leading and may that be Your will as well.

May is a conditional helping verb. And here, this morning in my prayer, it is a release, a permission to have Your way in me. Drive from me any other desires.

And yet, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.

Both of the children were looking up into the Lion’s face. And all at once (they never exactly how it happened) the face seemed to be a sea of tossing gold in which they were floating, and such a sweetness and a power rolled about them and over them and entered them that they felt they had never really been happy or wise or good, or even alive and awake, before. And the memory of that moment stayed with them always, so that as long as they both lived, if ever they were sad or afraid or angry, the thought of all that golden goodness, and the feeling that it was still there, quite close, just around the corner or just behind some door, would come back and make them sure, deep down inside, that all was well.

Selah.

Eucharist comes before the miracle.

For God alone my soul in silence waits; truly, my hope is in Him.  Psalm 62:6

Remember Your word to Your servant, because You have given me hope.   This is my comfort in my trouble, that Your promise gives me life.     Psalm 119:49–50

Far overhead beyond the veil of blue sky which hid them the stars sang again; a pure, cold, difficult music.

For what you see and hear depends a good deal from where you are standing: it also depends on what sort of person you are. Now the trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that very often you succeed. He (Uncle Andrew) soon did hear nothing but roaring in Aslan’s song. Soon he couldn’t have heard anything else even if he had wanted to. Such a horrid, bloodthirsty din of hungry and angry brutes he had never heard in his life. If they want to throw away their own lives, that’s their business. But what about me? They don’t seem to think of that. No one ever thinks of me.

So yesterday afternoon Everette and I practiced the word “splashing.” She was in her little swimming pool with an odd collection of small cups, a pail for pouring on her belly, a rag for scrubbing and even a paintbrush. And she would splash hard, and I would say the word “splashing,” and then she would splash again. And we had been bending our necks like a giraffe and pounding our chests like a gorilla and waving our arms like a monkey all afternoon. 

And I am in a world of silence. Except for the splashing of water on the plants as I water. Which gives me a great opportunity to choose where to stand. And I can choose to stand under the blue veil of stars singing a pure, cold, difficult song. Or not.

And the ground was bubbling up with life and dark firs and primroses while Polly listened to His song, and heard the things He was making up and then looking around and seeing them, she had no time to be afraid. 

But Uncle Andrew wanted to creep away to a rat’s hole.

So like Miss Courage-of-a-Wild-Boar Everette and Miss No-Time-to-Be-Afraid Polly I want to notice what He is about. Eucharist always precedes the miracle.  

And let me add to the list on my computer desktop, the list of 1000 gifts: The abundant flowers on the little desk, the birthday note on orange construction paper, the friends who arrived with crackers and veggies and hummus and Brie with pomegranate seeds and prayers, cups of dense Nescafe, the metallic spin of the air conditioner, Mary Beth’s charcoal sketches of the desert, long walks around Reid Park, a bag of finch seed strung outside the window, fresh new grass pushing up through hard desert dirt that needs a little extra watering, and Far away, down near the horizon, the sky began to turn grey. A light wind, very fresh, began to stir.

Truly, my hope is in Him.

Grant to me, Lord, I pray, the Spirit to think always what

You, O LORD, are my lamp; my God, you make my darkness bright. Psalm 18:29

God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footstep in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill He treasures up His bright designs, And works His sovereign will. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for His grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan His work in vain; God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain. William Cowper

Prayer: Drop thy still dews of quietness, Till all our strivings cease; Take from our souls the strain and stress, And let our ordered lives confess The beauty of thy peace. John G. Whittier

So I had a new pair of goggles today. Every day I vowed to replace the old pair that I probably dug out of Lost and Found and that were cracked, and the rubber was permanently wilted from too many days of sitting out in a hot car and they leaked and fogged and pinched. I finally pulled it together and bought a new pair that does not leak or fog or pinch. And I could clearly see the stained bottom of Amphi High School pool where we are swimming this week as they super chlorinate Hillenbrand.

And I remember how after my first back surgery so many years ago, a friend, Cheryl Powell, knew that the very best thing for me would be swimming. So every single day she picked me up and drove me to Amphi Pool. And I didn’t really know how to swim very well, really. I mean, I learned in a river so my strokes were ugly and short, but very functional. And she explained the clocks and the flip turns and something called intervals. And she was very patient and faithfully stubborn. I appreciate good friends during the hard painful times.

Because the clamor is great. The voices in my head. But when I muster together some grit and stare them in the face without the metaphorical leaking, fogging and pinching goggles, they all have one name: The Accuser. Pointing his trembling with rage finger in all directions. Deliver me from evil.

And even if my beautiful outstretched-arms Venetian crucifix has broken from my neck, still I know the Truth. These, He declares, each and every one including you, are My beloved children and sin has been broken forever. It is finished.

Peace I give you.

The Lord is my shepherd and nothing is wanting to me. In green pastures He hath settled me.

And in the stillness of this garden drenched by monsoon rains and roped by twinkle lights, the blossoms unfurl in bright colors. Here and here and even there are sturdy testimonies to His intentions of healing and growth and satisfying fruit.

And a bright light gleams in the sea of Dreams Come True, the darkest nightmares of unspoken fears, and leads the company of travelers into the sunshine of His presence. But no one except Lucy knew that as it circled the mast it had whispered to her, “Courage, dear heart,” and the voice, she felt sure, was Aslan's, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face.

And as I finish up with my backwards journey through Narnia, there is The Voice: In the darkness something was happening at last. A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from which direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. There were no words. There was hardly even a tune. But it was, beyond comparison, the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. It was so beautiful he could hardly bear it.

Be still, then, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted in the earth.  Psalm 46:11