incarnational
the cross, this year
every year for the past few years i’ve written about the cross & what it means to me. last year i just reposted the previous year with a few twists. this year, i decided to start over and reflect on where i am this year.
these are just some thoughts off the top of my head, where i am today in the midst of all kinds of life & refuge wild and craziness (what’s new?), in a season of my faith that feels free-er and more connected than it’s been in a long time, in a season where traditions & remembering-the-story seem extra important.
this year, 2012, the cross reminds me that:
God’s ways are always higher than my ways. crazier, too. and a lot less practical.
there are no shortcuts even though i keep looking for them, longing for them. even Jesus tried, asking for an easier plan.
“forgive them father, for they know not what they do” heals. these words continue to give me new eyes of compassion toward myself & those who have hurt me.
on the road to golgotha, Jesus had to receive help. someone else carried his cross. it symbolizes the power of receiving, not only giving.
it’s easier to live in “friday” and “saturday” of the easter story than “sunday.” at the same time, if we are always trying to skip quickly to sunday, we’re not really living because life includes pain & struggle.
shame must always be scorned.
the path of least resistance is usually to be victims or survivors instead of thrivers.
picking up my cross & carrying it is tough stuff. i like wearing crosses & talking about crosses & hanging crosses on my wall. carrying them is a whole other story.
“it is finished” continues to become more and more comforting to me as i expand my view of what that might really mean.
i need hope. without it, i’m toast.
my son asked me today why they called today “good friday.” he thought it should be called “sort-of-confusing friday” instead. for me, this year, it somehow feels less confusing than others years, maybe because i’m not caught up in trying to make sense of anything but just accept its rawness, weirdness and beauty with an open heart. it feels really “good”.
what about you? what does the cross mean to you this year?
happy easter weekend to all of you. peace & hope, kathy
Read Morejustice: what love looks like in public
i am leaving today for el salvador for spring break with my family. no cell phones, no internet, no tv. just us. oh yeah, we need it. for this week, i thought i’d just share a post i wrote for christine sine’s lent series (the theme was called–easter is coming, what do we hunger and thirst for? and there are a great mix of posts over there). enjoy the capital letters, too, ha ha.
this post also reminded of the series i did last year on the beatitudes so i put those links at the end in case you missed them. have a great week!
* * * * *
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they will be satisfied.”-
- Matthew 5:6, NLT
“Justice is what love looks like in public” – Cornel West
When I was in high school and college, I was an activist. I cared about causes, paid dues to organizations that advocated for equal rights and social change. I was passionate and idealistic. In my early married years, a few years out of college, I started to lose some of that passion. I was the first in the my family to ever switch political parties from Democrat to Republican (yeah, I’ve since switched to Independent). I became increasingly more secure in my Christian bubble and began to pay less attention to wider issues. I instead began to focus on issues that the people around me were spending energy on–the erosion of the morality of America, the horrors of public education, and making sure tax money wasn’t spent on things I disagreed with. Even though they looked like worthy causes at the moment, the truth is that my support for them had nothing to do with anyone else.
They were all about me. My protection. My kids’ protection. My Christian-world’s protection.
I laugh when I look back at that season in my life, not to mock it but just to acknowledge that as different-as-it-from-where-I-am-now, it was part of my spiritual journey, and I’m really glad I’m not there anymore.
Then, I was not hungering and thirsting for justice. I was hungering and thirsting for a false feeling of safety and protection that I felt entitled to as a Christ-follower.
And it didn’t satisfy.
It actually only made me feel more afraid.
Deeply embedded in my thinking was “I must protect us from them.” It was for more focused on being “right” than being kind, on distrust than love, on self than others, on division than unity.
That was many years ago, and as I’ve grown up, my passion for justice–a more others-centered kind–has increased exponentially.
I love what Cornel West says–”Justice is what love looks like in public.”
What does love look like in public?
I think it looks like all of Beatitudes, not just one. Humility & radical dependence on God. The ability to mourn and grieve for ourselves, others, the world.. Mercy. Gentleness. Meekness, power under control instead of passivity. Purity of heart. Justice and the pursuit of righteousness and goodness. A willingness to be persecuted for love.
Yeah, love in public looks like sacrifice.
It looks like restoring dignity where it’s been lost.
It looks like humility and gentleness.
It looks like unity instead of homogeneity.
It looks like caring when no one else cares.
It looks like advocating.
It looks like diffusing our power and resources on behalf of others.
It looks like practicing equality across gender, race, socioeconomics, and host of other things that keep people over or under others.
All of these things are the Beatitudes-in-spirit-and-in-action.
They look like Jesus.
Reflected in the here and now.
In all my efforts to protect myself, I was not reflecting Jesus. I was reflecting Christian culture.
This Lent, as I reflect what I’m hungering and thirsting for, I am reminded of how easy it is to seek safety, comfort, and protection instead of brave Jesus-centered love in public. How easy it is to get sucked into power games, division, and building walls between “us and them” instead of opening our tables and discovering what we have in common. How much more familiar self-centeredness is than others-centeredness.
Self-protection, culture-protection will never satisfy, will never quench our thirst.
The scriptures say, “Why spend money on what is not bread and labor on what does not satisfy. Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare” (Isaiah 55:2).
The Beatitudes are the food I want to eat not just for Lent, but for every season of the year.
They’re what love looks like in public.
* * * * *
the series i did on the beatitudes in 2011:
- blessed are the spiritually poor
- blessed are those who mourn
- blessed are the meek
- blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness
- blessed are the merciful
- blessed are the pure in heart
- blessed are the peacemakers
- blessed are those who are persecuted
also, just a reminder if you or someone you know is feeling stuck & alone when it comes to past church experiences–we are hosting another “walking wounded: hope for those hurt by the church” online class starting april 9th. the last one was so beautiful! all of the details are here:
small is plenty
* i wrote a version of this in 2010 but it’s been on my mind a lot lately, especially in so many conversations with others about dreams for new communities-ministries-passions-ideas. it’s easy to measure our dreams by other people’s measures and forget that small is plenty.
* * * * *
“get ready, God is preparing you for something really, really small” – shane claiborne
i have always tended to do everything big in my life. i never really set out to have 5 kids, but i am the one who had 12 bridesmaids and over 400 people at our wedding & keeps the post office in business with how many christmas cards we send every year. it’s just…me (and that my #1 strength on the strengthsfinder is “includer”, ha ha).
but i’m learning something really precious and beautiful in this season–just how powerful “small” really is.
i first earned my chops in big-church world, stepping into leadership a big chunk of years ago and then ramping it up a few years later on the pastoral staff at a mega-church. the contrast between where i was and where i am now is actually quite comical and once in a while at some our refuge gatherings i find myself chuckling at the difference between the two. i went from as professional & amazing & full-of-wow-and-tons-of-people as you can get to simple-pared-down-unplugged-and-small. it’s apples & oranges.
and while i’m not saying that “big is bad” i think i’m more convinced than ever that “small is plenty.”
here’s why:
transformational, redemptive relationships require a lot of time and energy. learning Jesus’ ways of love is complicated. most people–no matter how put together they may look on the outside–struggle with feeling loved by God & people & passing on love to God and people. shifting those deep places in hearts is not something that comes in a snap. it takes a long time to build trust, intimacy & connection. it takes intention and fighting against the path of least resistance which will always tend toward “i’m too busy” or “i really don’t need people in my life, i’ve got it covered on my own.” after 6 wild years of life in the refuge community, i see up-close-and-personal just how much time and energy it takes to nurture transformation. the tangled web of life together is impossible to navigate in a sea of hundreds of nameless faces.
real life is unpredictable and hard; the needs are great. $*!&!( happens. marriages begin to crumble, jobs get lost, people get sick, family members die, relationships break up, kids get in trouble, people get inspired to adopt children from foster care & overseas, depression kicks in, the pain gets great enough to enter recovery. real life is unpredictable and if i look around most of the relationships i am in–both in and outside of the refuge community–there’s a lot of real life going on that is complicated and messy. sure, it’s easy to just stand by and watch when there’s no real connection between people, but in a small community dedicated to life together, in different ways we all share in the pain and struggle together. and while it is a beautiful gift, it is also impossible to share these kinds of burdens on too big of a scale. when it comes to the needs of real life, small is plenty.
everyone needs a space to use their gifts & passions & voice. this is something i’m most passionate about because the body of Christ is supposed to be a place where each and every person who is a part is contributing in some way, shape or form–bringing their gifts & passions & voice to the community. in big settings, there’s only so much “room” so the talented & louder voices are the ones who usually get heard. in our practicing community, we go out of our way to hear from as many different people as possible in as many different ways as possible. and even then, it’s tricky to do.
growth doesn’t mean numbers. almost all church-planting and success-in-life models are focused on numerics & dollars–butts in seats & bucks in the offering plate or some combination of that. the growth that i see really has nothing to do with the-number-of-people-who-come-to-our-gatherings but rather seeing people become more loving, caring, compassionate, generous, and kind in little & big ways. of seeing people find hope when there wasn’t any. of seeing people really “become more like Christ” even if none of those words were ever used. yeah, there’s a big difference between building churches & cultivating communities.
never underestimate how much impact “small” can really have. i feel so blessed to see this in some little ministries, missional communities, and individuals-who-are-dedicated-to-the-poor-and-marginalized-in-all-kinds-of-crazy-innovative-ways. small pockets of love matter. justice & mercy & hope ripple out from small acts of kindness & love. one life can change one other life. and that one life matters. if we are always thinking we’re not big enough, strong enough, cool enough, sustainable enough, we will miss out on amazing people & opportunities to love & live right in front of us.
learning how to embrace small as plenty means becoming comfortable in our own skin, accepting ourselves how we truly are individually & corporately.
it means bending our ear and heart toward the ways of the kingdom of God–where the ways of the world are turned upside down, the last shall be first and the first shall be last, where learning the ways of love one relationship at a time supersedes everything else.
more than ever, i am discovering that small is plenty.
Read Morethe underground railroad
“if i could have convinced more slaves they were slaves, i could have freed thousands more”
- harriet tubman
this past weekend i was in portland for a women’s gathering called convergence. it is not a typical conference; there are no speakers, no people getting paid, no flash. just a sacred safe space for a bunch of women leaders to share & learn & soak & be challenged & encourage & grieve & grow. i went to see dear & inspiring friends and get a little soul care; it was also an honor to get to process some of the material from down we go with women interested in cultivating intentional little pockets of love & freedom and planting new trees.
one thing that i am always struck with in these moments is just how many incredible women there are whose gifts haven’t been fully valued. how many have been slaves to systems that mistreated them. and how even though they have been used and mistreated and undervalued in all kinds of ways, they still have hope & passion & dreams for the kingdom and are finding ways to live it out despite the obstacles. seriously, it’s amazing.
i know so many women–and men, too–who are being set free.
free from the bondage of religion.
free from the shackles of the system.
free from the oppression of abusive power structures.
free from being called nasty names & having our dignity stripped.
free from limitations on our faith.
free from a squelching of our gifts.
and freedom is costly.
when we choose the path of leaving systems & structures that continue to keep us in bondage, we choose a lonelier, scarier road.
but nothing tastes better than freedom.
the same day i arrived in portland, my wise & amazing friend phyllis mathis and i finished our first walking wounded online class: hope for those hurt by the church. it was so beautiful, so healing, so inspiring.
i was also reminded, yet again, how tough it is to find our way to freedom without a little help along the way.
my friend mar shared that walking wounded was a little like the underground railroad, a stopping spot on the way to freedom for the slaves. a hidden pocket of love & hope & refuge on the journey toward freedom. manned by others who believed in freedom, the underground railroad was made up of shelters & places of protection, places to be reminded that freedom was possible, places to be nourished, places that pointed others toward hope.
her words took my breath away.
i do not for a minute want to minimize the kind of oppression & human slavery african americans and so many other people experienced or are experiencing today. i respect that as westerners escaping from the grip of the institutional church, our bondage is quite a different kind.
at the same time, the imagery works for so many of our journeys.
the slaves wouldn’t have made it to freedom without the underground railroad.
and i wouldn’t have made it to freedom without other people who first told me i was a slave (i didn’t even know it) and then carried me along this path, gently reminding me that there was, indeed, something better ahead.
6 years ago i didn’t know i was a slave.
i was happy settling for crumbs because i thought that was all i deserved.
i thought the weird power dynamics i was experiencing as part of a church staff were normal.
i thought i should just be thankful i was “allowed” to do anything and knew it could be a lot worse.
i was stuck working for a system that didn’t really want me, just what i had to bring to make their system more successful.
that harriet tubman quote has gotten under my skin:
“if i could have convinced more slaves they were slaves, i could have freed thousands more”
so many men & women don’t know they’re slaves. don’t know they’re being bullied. controlled. used. limited. unvalued. stripped of dignity.
i certainly didn’t. but as i started walking this direction, i started meeting others who had been set free, too. they told their stories. they fed me. they gave me shelter. they pointed me on my way and told me to keep going, to not give up this journey.
years ago i watched a documentary on human slavery and remember clearly the story of an entire village who were slaves for generations upon generations in a free country. they had no idea they were slaves until someone bought one of their people’s freedom. then, one by one, the freed slaves helped the others be set free, too.
i believe in every fiber of my being that Jesus came to set people free, like really free. free-er than we can ever even imagine although i hope we can experience more and more of it this side of heaven.
and my freedom isn’t only about my freedom.
my freedom is about our freedom.
i’m not really free until my brothers & sisters are.
your freedom isn’t only about your freedom, it’s about our freedom.
and we’re not really free until our brothers & sisters are.
God, help us recognize our slavery.
and that there’s a true & beautiful & bumpy path to freedom.
for those of us already on the road there, may we play our part in offering shelter, hope, love, support, food, water, and courage to those walking this direction, too.
Read More
you is smart. you is kind. you is important.
yesterday was oscar night; i was traveling so didn’t get to enjoy the party but always play my part in seeing as many of the movies as i can. so many of you have probably read the help or at least seen the movie. a friend reminded me of one of my favorite lines from it this week, the words of the black nanny telling the little girl she cared for: “you is smart. you is kind. you is important.”
sadly, this little girl also received a powerful message from others in the her life that she wasn’t any of those three things. her mother was caught up in christian activities, putting on a good face, and keeping up with the jones’. passing on love & encouragement & acceptance weren’t her mother’s strong suits, and the nanny did whatever she could to make up for this lack.
when we’re honest, many people don’t feel smart, kind, or important.
many people don’t feel really secure.
many people don’t feel really loved.
sure, most can articulate “yeah, yeah, i know God loves me” but feeling and experiencing God’s love remains elusive.
we’re afraid to believe in ourselves. we’re afraid of our passion. we’re afraid of our gifts. we’re afraid of goodness.
we are much more comfortable and familiar with our badness. our lack. our always-falling-short-ness. our so-not-okay-with-who-we-are-ness.
my theory is that a lot of our faith experiences haven’t helped us with security; rather, they have sometimes increased our insecurity. the messages passed on to many of us through our families, relationships, and some of our church experiences are more like:
“you’re somehow not enough.”
“you’re a wretch.”
“you are missing the mark.”
“if only you were more like or had faith like ____ or ______.”
“if you could just do A and B and C, then X, Y, or Z will magically be yours”
“you’re not supposed to want anything good for yourself, because that’s selfish”
in these moments, there are some that would say i am soft on sin and dismiss our depravity. they don’t know me very well. i am well aware of our human tendencies toward doing-all-kinds-of-stupid-things-that-mess-with-our-freedom. i am well aware how much i need God, even though i don’t really want to. i am well aware that i am a flawed human being in desperate need of Grace.
but i am not only a broken, jacked-up sinner. i am also a whole, fully-loved-just-as-i-am saint. God’s beloved child.
and i think God’s children are supposed to feel smart, kind, and important. not so that we can be haughty or prideful, but so that we can be free and secure, holy and dearly loved, shining Christ’s light instead of letting it remained buried & hidden.
if we are reflections of God, what are we reflecting?
it’s said that the world will know us by our love. is that what the world sees when they intersect with us? do they see freedom? do they see hope? do they see security? do they see belovedness? do they see gentleness? do they see kindness? do they see passion? do they see something that they are drawn to?
i often don’t think so. in so many ways, i think what the world sees is angry, mean, insecure, and harsh. because that’s how many of us feel toward ourselves.
Jesus calls us to love others as we love ourselves. that’s probably a big piece of the current-state-of-the-church’s problem. how can we love others when we hate ourselves?
this is one of my deepest passions when it comes to cultivating a redemptive dignity-restoring faith community–that we could participate in helping each other shift from feeling insecure to feeling secure. from feeling imprisoned to feeling free. from feeling unloved & unworthy to feeling loved & valued. from feeling stuck to feeling empowered. from feeling dumb to feeling smart. from feeling useless to feeling important.
the other day i was with a friend who shared, “i’m starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, i really am loved….i’m liking myself for the first time in my life.” for me, one story like that will sustain me all year!
only God can do this work. it is a wild & beautiful movement of the Holy Spirit. but i also believe it flows most directly through people. God’s love will remain elusive unless we have tangible examples of it here. now. on earth. in our real lives. in our real experiences.
we need to not just tell each other the truth (that’s easy and a lot of churches are good at that).
we need to start showing each other the truth.
that we are loved. important. valuable. worthy.
that we have stories to live and songs to sing.
to get there, we must ask God to break through all of those crazy messages life & the church has passed on to us, to help us see more clearly our worth, our value, the possibilities that exist before us despite the obstacles. this lent, that’s what i hope we could know more deeply:
you is smart. you is kind. you is important.
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there are a lot of ways to pastor
“in his grace, God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well. so if God has given you the ability to prophesy, speak out with as much faith as God has given you. if your gift is serving others, serve them well. if you are a teacher, teach well. if your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging. if it is giving, give generously. if God has given you leadership ability, take the responsibility seriously. and if you have a gift for showing kindness to others, do it gladly.” – romans 12:6-8
* * * * *
the word “pastor” is such a loaded word. not quite as loaded as “church” but with some of the same baggage. we assume that pastors have a certain kind of education & training & credentials that make them able to do the work that they are doing. pastor has become a title, a role, a job description; the implication of it is that it is a role that is definitely connected to a church system.
we need to re-think the word pastor. i won’t rehash all of the thoughts from that old post, but it’s been on my mind in this past season as i hear from awesome & wonderful people who have huge hearts for people & God & are “pastors” in their contexts. often, their gifts aren’t valued because they don’t have the credentials or titles to go with it. they don’t make any money. they don’t have any formal training. they don’t have anyone to empower them formally.
but they are pastors–shepherds, caregivers, lovers-of-people. they are the ones that people go to when they are hurting. they show up when no one else shows up. they listen. and check in. cheerlead. pray. feed. care. laugh. cry. grieve. they are the loving presence of Christ in the midst of every day life.
others are strangely drawn to them.
my guess is that in every neighborhood there’s a pastor.
in every office.
in every school.
in every family.
in every organization.
in every group.
people who others go to for spiritual love & support & care in the midst of their real lives.
being a good pastor is of great value, and skills like knowing the difference between caretaking and caregiving, and so many other things necessary to the work should be appreciated.
i have a feeling a lot of you are pastors but have never had that title next to your name.
i also know a lot of you are pastors, with the title and role, and do all kinds of beautiful things to love & care & shepherd & guide the people in your communities. i do not for a minute want to minimize the hard work you are doing. i, too, have the title & role & some of the benefits that come from this position. i am grateful for this season in my life, and it is a privilege to be able to have my vocation & passion merge this way.
but i really want to honor all the amazing pastors out there who will never be in these specific church ministry positions. who will never go to seminary. who will never have the title. who may never preach from the front. who may always think of themselves “less than” typical pastors because the title has not been bestowed up on them properly.
here’s what i want to say to those of you in this boat:
you are a pastor.
God gave you this gift.
your love & heart & compassion & care & presence matters.
you do not need to be ordained by a system to be ordained by God to live out the gift that you have.
you do not need to go to seminary to somehow to be made legit.
you do not need someone “above” you to tell you how to use it.
you do not need to dismiss the fire in your belly & the love in your heart because you don’t have what the church associates with the role.
just keep doing what you do naturally.
be a safe person for others.
create little pockets of love without asking for permission.
go to people.
gather people.
love people.
the world needs you.
the world isn’t crying out for more theologians, seminarians, or the next-newest-and-greatest-church plant (although the “machine of church” might be).
no, the world is crying out for more “pastors”, people who will bravely and freely extend Christ’s love, hope, care, mercy & justice in a broken & hurting world.
keep remembering–there are a lot of ways to pastor.
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