we are His hands and feet...

This morning I am amazed at the fact that I am a part of the body of Christ. I am awed that He chooses broken, helpless people to be His hands and feet. So often, He feels far away. Too often when that happens, it is because I am not connecting to the people around me. They are a large channel of how I experience Jesus.

In our church service this morning, we spent some time praying for one of my sisters in Christ. I was touched by the love that was evident in our group. At the same time, I grieved for the many times I (and many others) have not experienced that kind of love and support within a church family. I'm moved to tears when I realize that there truly is a body--when one member suffers they all suffer. At the same time, I'm moved to sorrow at how many times I have neglected to be part of that body and have not cared well for the people around me.

The tricky thing is that, in order for this to work, we have to be willing to be vulnerable to those around us. We have to risk trusting them with our hearts--with our emotions. We have to believe that if they are the hands and feet of Christ, they will only want the best for us. That when we fall, they will sit in the mud puddle for a while, but then will help to pick us up and move us onward. This is a two-way street. We can only be the hands and feet of Jesus, if we are willing to also receive love and support from the rest of the body.

We long for perfection within our churches. We hold back because we know we may (and probably will) get hurt. Yet we don't stop to realize what we are missing by not embracing what we have been given; we miss out on who Christ is and what He is really about. The truth is that it is safer to be cynical; to not trust because we have been burned before. So we sit and complain about everything that has been done wrong in the church situations in our lives, and forget that we are a part of change happening.

What I saw this morning was beautiful. It was a group of ladies who were willing to love and support a hurting friend and sister. But it was also a woman of great strength who was willing to be vulnerable and trust us with her heart.

I long for what a verse of one of my favorite hymns says: "Nearer, still nearer, while life shall last. Till safe in glory my anchor is cast. Through endless ages, ever to be nearer my Savior, still nearer to Thee." I cannot wait to be with Jesus, and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He has been with me every step of the way. To know His embrace. To know His gentle voice. But, I am foolish if I do not know Him as much as I can while I live. This will require trust...am I, or are you, willing to take that risk?

concerts...

I'm enjoying the irony of being a music major. Not even two years ago, I would have taken advantage of every free concert available. (In my defense, I had no idea how many really were available.)

Anyway, I sit here tonight waiting for my eighth and final (hopefully) concert of this semester. And I wish I could go home and sleep. Go figure! Somehow when you have to attend as part of your education, it makes it so much less fun.

However, I am going to hear some vocal jazz. Something new for me. I have a hunch that I might actually like it. Who knows, maybe I will decide to broaden my horizons and learn to sing some jazz as well as opera???

Really? 'Cause I thought I was doing pretty well on my own...

Psalm 127:1--"Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it; except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain."

Ok, so I'm not in the process of building a house or trying to protect a city. However, I am in the process of living a life that I hope has meaning and will leave behind a legacy of some sort. Somehow, though, I seem to think I can do it all by myself. Like the cranky little two-year old..."No! I want to do it!" I'm not sure what it is that I don't get. The part that I can't really do it all by myself, or the part where even if I think I can, it is all pointless unless it is God's project. Rather sobering indeed.

I could end up a revered teacher...without God teaching me--pointless.
I could maybe be a dynamic speaker...without God behind the words--pointless.
Oh, maybe I could present a stunning performance of the Messiah--without a relationship with God--POINTLESS!

I want to hold on with grimy, grasping fingers to the good things in my life, and I completely forget that it's not about me. Outside of Jesus, all those good things are worth nothing. They can't heal a broken heart. They can't bind up wounds. They can't forgive. They can't give me life. And yet, I worship them by holding on tightly and demanding that God not take them away! Ah...sometimes I strike myself as being quite dense. In terms we used growing up, "Wake up and smell the seaweed!"

My own little parable...

I’m Getting Closer
by Rosemary Eberly

Little boy George bent over slowly to pick up another arrow from the ground. He sighed as he straightened up and placed the arrow against his bow for another shot. “Maybe this time,” he thought. “Maybe in some alternate universe, I will get lucky and hit the bulls-eye!”

He took aim again, carefully lining up the shot. He drew back the bow. A little flame of hope stirred within his heart. Maybe this was his lucky shot. Maybe he would get it this time. He held it just a second longer before he released and let the arrow soar through the air, only to see it plummet to the ground a foot in front of the target.

He stood, shoulders stooped, staring at the arrow pointed into the ground, tuft of feathers in the air as if to say, “Ha-ha! You’re so stupid! You thought you could really hit the bulls-eye? You can’t even hit the target!”

Frustrated to the very bottom of his toes, he dropped the bow and gave it a kick. “You stupid thing!” He yelled. “You are no good. I am done with this. I can’t be an archery hunter—It’s just too hard!”

Just then big man Jake stepped forward from where he had been watching the incident unfold. As little George looked up, his face turned a little red and his eyes squinted and his nose scrunched up. “I’m not going to cry,” he thought. “Crying is for babies!” But when big man Jake came up, squatted down in front of him, and wrapped him in a hug…he just couldn’t stop them anymore.

“I’m trying and trying,” he sobbed. “I shot at this target all day now, and not even one arrow hit it! It’s a stupid bow, and a stupid target, and I don’t want to shoot anymore!”

Big man Jake patted him gently on the back as the sobs turned to hiccups, the hiccups turned to sniffles, and then the sniffles slowly faded away. He held little George at arm’s length. “I want to show you something,” he said. He walked over and picked up an arrow stuck in the ground. “This is the arrow you shot first,” he said. “See how far it is from the target? Then there is this arrow.” He picked up another arrow a little closer to the target. “And this one, and this one, and this one.” He walked closer and closer to the target as he picked up the arrows that had landed in the ground. “With every shot you came closer to the target—and closer to the bulls-eye. Do you really want to give up now, when you are really starting to get better?”

Little boy George shook his head uncertainly. “But it is taking so long,” he said. “What if I am never able to hit the bulls-eye? I want to hit it now! I want to be a good shot!”

“Ah…” said big man Jake. “But this takes time. Every time, you are getting closer to the bulls-eye. The times you miss are just as important as the times you hit because they show how much better you are becoming. It might take ten more tries, or it might take a hundred more tries; but each time you take another shot, you are one shot closer to hitting the bulls-eye.” He picked up the bow and handed it to little boy George.

Little boy George studied the bow for a little. Then he reached out, took an arrow from big man Jake, and placed it against the string. He stood tall as he carefully drew back the string. He took a deep breath, and let it release. The arrow soared through the air and landed a little closer to the target. “Look,” he shouted, as he ran to the arrow. “I’m getting closer!”

Big man Jake smiled and leaned against the tree.

Of Our Humanity and Inhumanity

While searching for poetry for the upcoming Spring program at SMS, I came upon some thought provoking pieces. I don't know the history behind them, but I thought I would share two that really caught my interest. Enjoy!

MAN'S INHUMANITY TO MAN

Many and sharp the numerous ills

Inwoven with our frame;

More pointed still, we make ourselves

Regret, remorse and shame;

And man, show heaven-erected face

The smiles of love adorn,

Man's inhumanity to man,

Makes countless thousands mourn.

Robert Burns

This next one is a woman I identify with. I am assuming that at some level we can all identify with her. The crazy part is that we often think it actually works to hide...even from God's love.

THE WOMAN I AM

The woman I am

Hides deep in me

Beneath the woman

I seem to be.

She hides away

From the stranger's eye--

She is not known

To the passers-by.

She goes her way,

The woman I seem,

But the woman I am

Withdraws to dream!

The woman I seem

Goes carelessly--

When love goes by

Does not seem to see.

But the woman I am

Knows sudden fear...

And hides more deeply

When love draws near!

For love might look closely

Perhaps...and see

Her beneath the woman

I seem to be!

Glen Allen

This poem reminded me of one of my favorites. I did an analysis of this poem in World Lit class. Powerful stuff. And way too true.

WE WEAR THE MASK

WE wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask!

Favorite Verses from Isaiah 54

The words of a loving Father to a desolate child...

v.4 "Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame. Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated. You will forget the shame of your youth and remember no more the reproach of your widowhood."

v.7,8 "For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with deep compassion I will bring you back. In a surge of anger I hid my face from you for a moment, but with everlasting kindness I will have compassion on you," says the Lord your Redeemer.

v. 9,10 "To me this is like the days of Noah, when I swore that the waters of Noah would never again cover the earth. So now I have sworn not to be angry with you, never to rebuke you again. Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the Lord, who has compassion on you.

Preservation....

Tonight on the way home from school I was texting...I know, I shouldn't have been. I looked up and saw a deer right in my path. Hit the brakes, swerved to the right. As I did so the music playing caught my attention, "The Lord shall preserve you from evil..." Coincidence? I'd like to think not!