Preserve my life from
fear. Psalm 64:1
The existence of the
Church bears witness to the belief that there is only one thing you can say to
such a view and that is that it is wrong. There is only one answer you can give
to terrible sanity, that this material cosmos is all that there ever will be,
and that is that it is ultimately insane. The ancient myths and dreams of a
power beyond power and love beyond love that hold the cosmos itself, hold all
things, in existence reflect a reality which we can deny only to our great impoverishment,
and the dream a holiness and mystery at the heart of things that humankind with
all its ingenuity and wisdom can neither explain away nor live fully without
goes on being dreamed. Moments continue to go up in flames like the bush in
Midian to illumine, if only for a moment, a path that stretches before us like
no other path. And such moments call out in a voice which, if we only had
courage and heart enough, we would follow to the end of time. -Frederick
Buechner
Following Jesus will mean surrendering
the power that masquerades as security in order to love the neighbor and
welcome the stranger. It will mean avoiding the safe path in order to pursue
the good. But in a culture of fear, we find such risks all the more difficult
since our natural inclinations lead us to close in on ourselves when we face
danger. How can we maintain the posture of the open hand toward a world that
scares us? – Scott Bader
You alone secure us in our place, O
Lord, in our going out and coming in, deliver us from fear, that we may, by
your Spirit’s power, let down our defenses in love. Amen
May the peace of the Lord Christ go
with you : wherever He may send you;
May He guide you through the wilderness
: protect you through the storm:
May He bring you home rejoicing : at
the wonders He has shown you:
May He bring you home rejoicing : once
again into our doors.
Mom and I are up at the cabin once again watching the sun
rise up over the Catalinas.
O Lord, let my soul rise up to
meet You as the day rises to meet the sun.
The wind is rustling through the pine trees.
Speak Holy Spirit, your servant is listening.
Fear. Facebook reminded me today about Fear. There is a
scary shot of the mountain Nicole and I had to go up and over before tapas and
wine and bed that night. And I sure can remember the gut-wrenching Fear as I
stared up, up, upward. And yet I also so remember the moment when I chose to
roll past the terror into breathtaking glory.
The Church.
Mom and I are crazy church-hoppers.
For four hours Saturday we joined with Vineyard City and
not-so-very-carefully counted out poblano chiles after first running rather
grimy and sticky fingers over them for squishy spots to hundreds of people who
formed a long line in the hot sun that reached around the corner, out of sight.
And the Church laughed and hugged and drank bottle after bottle of warm water
and we still felt dizzy and weak-kneed but it was okay, because we were
together. Along with a truckload of very ripe produce.
And yesterday morning I buried myself into the embrace of
Joann at Price Chapel African American Methodist Episcopal Church and we walked
up the steps to the big brown double doors arm-in-arm. And she handed the Bible
over to me and asked me to lead the adult Bible study again, reading about Mr.
Gideon and the call on his small life by the Mighty God while he hid full of
fear by the winepress beating out his wheat, even though I have missed the past
two weeks and I was leaving early. And my brothers and sisters still want to
welcome me into full membership of the body on the Sunday before I get on that
plane, as I drop my nets and follow Him to the other side of the world, which
is a big deal. And the Church will lay hands on me and pray for me, not so much
for my safety and that He will bring me home rejoicing once again into these
doors, but mostly that I might be full of His light as I love my neighbor and
welcome the stranger.
And then I drove over and picked up Wen Xie, my
International Friend. Seven arrived at
the University of Arizona in January to study architecture, but she has already
gotten herself into a hard place, she got herself pregnant. And even though the
terrible sanity of the world would scream “abortion” or at least “adoption”
something in her soul whispered that this would be cruel, so I have been
walking alongside her up this very steep climb. And I am leaving. And she asked
if I went to church, and I had to smile a bit as I asked her if she wanted to
come with me, and when she said yes, I knew I had to take her to Vineyard
Christian Community. The Church who greeted her with great intentionality and
warmth and the worship was glorious with the truth clearly declared on the wall
even though the sermon was way over her vocabulary, and she was very happy to
hear of a power beyond power and love beyond love that the grave could
not hold.
And tonight the ladies from Northminster Presbyterian are
going to gather together at my momma’s one more time before summer and read
aloud yet another chapter of The Broken
Way, the only way to love an aching world. And we will consider mystery at the heart of things that
humankind with all its ingenuity and wisdom can neither explain away nor live
fully. And we will lift each other up in prayer, praying for strength and
courage as we journey through complications and pain and the doubts that
besiege each of us. And I know that this Church is faithful and that I am held
in each heart as each is held in mine, and this is how we maintain the posture
of an open hand, to be like His hand, pierced and outstretched.
And wow, every day I get to join the Church, two or three
gathered togetherness of Him being in our midst as a dearly beloved friend, one
after another, holds hands and enters into His presence with me. And I can see
the Spirit connecting each of us, like the roots of a creosote bush reaching
outward through the centuries and over the seas and even across the cultures
and languages; we all have the same Spirit guiding us with His presence.
Connected like Facebook but oh so much more true.
Just up the hill from the tiny cabin is the
secret Indian cave. That is shared by everyone.
Everyone on the mountain, under twelve-years-old, that is, goes to the
secret cave to hide in its sweet darkness.
And we all think that our quiet hiding heart place is ours
alone, but no, He is there, waiting gentle and gracious, He and His Church, His
peacebearers. We are all there.
May this peace go with
me, as I leave the flickering shadowed greens and head into the blistering heat
of life.
Selah.
