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Posted on May 14, 2013 in church stuff, healing, incarnational, leadership, synchroblog, the refuge | 35 comments

what seems to help in the midst of pain

pain is a treasure rumi quote

“when we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. the friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.” – henri nouwen

this month’s synchroblog is centered on pain & how to love & care for others who are in pain.  i laughed this morning because today’s my birthday and it’s a little ironic that somehow even on this day  i ended up talking about pain!  there’s an awful lot of grief & loss & hard stuff in this world and for some reason it feels like it keeps ramping up. so many hard things every direction. what is our responsibility in it?  what should we say or not say? what helps & what hurts?

in our human DNA is a deep desire to avoid pain, either in our own life or in the lives of others.

it’s hard to hurt.  and it’s hard to be around other people who are hurting.

at the refuge, our little faith community, there’s a high degree of pain. but i always tell everyone that really, we are no different from almost any other church or group (except that others might have health insurance & live in bigger houses). we just have a culture of raw honesty, where what’s on the inside is freer to come out on the outside. we are trying to be people who welcome pain to the table instead of run from it.  most humans share many of the same troubles & woes, but many don’t have a safe place to express it out loud.

pain and struggle often create shame. i remember when i first started sharing more of my real story; every part of me wanted to run for the hills, move away, do anything i could to not have to live with relationships where all my stuff was out on the table, exposed.

i’m always learning, too, but here are a few ideas that seem to help in the midst of pain:

1. less words, more presence.  i have a theory that we often have an unconscious hope that if we could  say the right words in the exact right way, it would radically help another person. most people aren’t one sentence away from feeling better when they are in pain.  presence seems to matter more than words.  long-haul-ness goes the furthest for those in pain. many people are eager to help and support at the beginning of pain eruptions, but over time many people drop off and quit wondering how we’re doing. safe people don’t do drive-by pain relief.  they are in it for the long haul, which i keep realizing is sometimes the hardest thing of all.

2. less statements, more questions.  along with the one-sentence-away-from-changing-everything theory, it’s a natural default to talk instead of listen. i don’t mean interrogation (although i can be guilty of asking too many hard questions in one sitting, ha ha), but questions usually save us from advice giving and fixing. they help people process out loud and take a lot of pressure off us coming up with the right words that can’t be found anyway.

3. less anxiety, more trust.  pain creates so much anxiety in us.  this is why when people are hurting, we have an instinct to “fix it” or do-something-anything that will help the hurting person feel better in that moment. i feel it all the time. it’s a weird innate control thing and in so many ways, it’s about us playing God and taking on more responsibility than we need to. it’s why i have a love-hate thing with 12 step groups. i  love that there’s no cross-talk, advice giving and fixing, but inside i sometimes feel a little crazy that we just thank people for sharing and go on to the next person.  however, it models something we need to learn–we can’t fix anyone else.  the best thing we can do is listen, honor the pain ,and trust the long healing path.

4. less perfection, more grace.  relational dynamics like hanging-in-the-thick-of-pain-with-people is not formulaic.  we will screw it up, we will say lame things, we will fail people.  recently i gave unsolicited advice to a hurting friend.  yikes, as soon as the words tumbled out of my mouth, i knew they would hurt instead of help. i was reminded, yet again, how we need grace as friends, as leaders, as people. we’re imperfect people trying to stay present in hard places; we won’t be able to master every moment.  this is messy and sometimes we will have to apologize & ask for grace (and give it to our friends), too.

maybe the best thing we can do to hold the space for others’ pain is to learn to hold the space for ours.  if we are people who push our own pain away, we usually will do the same for others.  if we are hard on ourselves for feeling certain feelings, we will usually be hard on others, too.  i love what the apostle paul says in 2 corinthians 1:3-4, that we comfort others with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.  it’s why i don’t think most people need another Bible study or church service; there are plenty of those.

we need places to practice getting in touch with our story.

i’m going to quote henri nouwen twice in one post because it’s a great reminder:

“the christian leader of the future is called to be completely irrelevant and to stand in this world with nothing to offer but his or her own vulnerable self.”

yeah, our biggest strength is our weakness, our pain. 

in the end, that’s all we’ve got.

//

other bloggers writing about pain this month:

 

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Posted on Apr 30, 2013 in friendship, healing, incarnational, just because i thought it was fun, the refuge | 8 comments

thank someone today.

photo-62

this past weekend i was part of a beautiful conversation in chicago centered on friendship between men & women.  i always say that while i don’t wake up every morning thinking about cross-gender friendships, i do wake up every morning thinking about people & relationships and ways we can participate in healing the shame and division of this world together (more on the healing shame & division part next week!).

my dear friend and refuge co-pastor karl wheeler and i spoke together on friday night. our conversation was called “making purple:  learning to show up, speak up, shut up, and trust love.” we had a great time telling the bloody, messy, fun, sometimes-insane story of our friendship the past 7 years leading the refuge together.  it’s a miracle, really, that we have made it this far, but it didn’t drop out of the sky.  we have worked our butts off to keep hacking at this and i’m ever grateful for God’s everlasting grace & mercy.

friday night, we thanked each other for the ways we both have tried as best we could to be a good friend, teammate, and partner as we nurture this wild and beautiful community alongside each other. it’s not that we haven’t thanked one another before, but it was really sweet to remember the ways we have helped each other move forward.

my friend jim henderson pointed out something in the Q&A that struck me.  he simply said, “hey you guys, thank you for thanking each other.” 

it’s easy for me to remember all of the hard stuff, but the truth is that way back when, karl was the person who called me to come play in a way that changed the course of my life forever.  he saw my passion, valued my leadership, and encouraged me to step into what i loved to do and lead a church together, something that in the evangelical world is extremely rare, especially since we aren’t married to each other.  i have come a long way since then, but his simple and strong belief in me all those years ago is a significant part of my ongoing story.

jim’s comment made me think about how many people–men or women or both–have had influence in our lives that changed little or big things for us along the way. 

they were seed planters or flame fanners or unexpected cheerleaders.  their love and encouragement, their making room for us at the table, their kindness, their support, their healing touch (and yes, even painful words or unsolicited advice) helped us move toward something better.

maybe you’ve already told them before, but sometimes–like friday night–it’s good to remember again and say it out loud.  it reminds us that we can’t do this crazy life without others.  it reminds us that the ways we are with each other matters and that fanning each other’s hopes, dreams, beauty, healing, and goodness into flame in all kinds of interesting and simple ways does not go unnoticed.

they may already know they’ve impacted you but maybe it would be encouraging for them to hear it again.  it’s always great to hear the words “thank you” and know that we somehow mattered.

most of all, i hope we never underestimate how desperately we all need more advocates, brothers & sisters & mothers & fathers, cheerleaders, friends, and dignity restorers in our lives.

 i love that we can play our unique part in helping each other forge forward, participating in each other’s stories in simple & important ways. 

there are so many other far more profound things to ponder from this past weekend, but my brain is mushy from working on this crazy-hard-overwhelming book project, and i do wonder if maybe the most simple things are actually the most meaningful.

so i invite us all to thank someone today.

no matter how big or small.

write them, call them, text them, facebook them, figure out a way tell them. 

it’s a gift not only for them, but for us, too.

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Posted on Apr 18, 2013 in faith shifts, healing, jesus is cool, the refuge | 30 comments

losing beliefs, not faith.

faith is khalil gibran

it’s been a wild and sad week around here. i’ve been around some pretty amazing open broken hearts and i am grateful.  thanks, too, for all your love & prayers for our little community; they mean more than you know. sometimes what happens when it comes to blogging is that i get an idea, know exactly what i want to say about it, never take the time to write it down, and then some kind of crazy thing happens and it gives the whole thing new perspective. a few weeks ago we finished up our walking wounded: hope for those hurt by the church class. it’s always such an amazing experience, to have a safe place to process grief and loss and find a way to move forward and a lot happens in those 4 weeks.

a big topic for so many of us is how hard it is to untangle our experiences with people & the system from our experiences with God.  they are so enmeshed with each other that as we separate from church-as-we-knew-it, we often don’t know how to still hold on to God.

the same thing can happen with belief and faith.

beliefs become so tangled up based on our church experiences and what we’ve been taught for so many years that we are supposed to “believe as a true-blue Christian”  that as we shed, unravel, deconstruct certain beliefs, we wonder if we’re actually losing all of our faith.  wondering if the last belief falls to the ground, any other last shred of faith will dissolve into the air and we’ll be left with absolutely nothing.

oh, how many times i have wondered this!  especially when i look at doctrinal statements or “what we believes” for certain ministries that i can no longer fully align with and keep my integrity.  as a pastor who really is passionate about Jesus and healing and transformation, it can feel really scary and i wonder “is what’s still left enough?”

i keep finding it is.

faith is different from beliefs or dogma. 

in so many ways, faith is what’s left when everything else is stripped away.

it’s that enduring crazy unexplainable thing that sustains when nothing else can.

it’s more powerful & stronger & more enduring than a list of beliefs and boxes to check or initial.

it supersedes language.

i keep remembering that doctrinal statements don’t save people or draw people to God–faith does.

i think of how many times in the gospels Jesus tells people “your faith has saved you” in some shape or form. not “your belief in all the right things has saved you”

to the “sinful” woman who busts into simon the pharisees house, “your faith has saved you” (luke 7:50)

to the hemorrhaging woman who desperately touches his robe for healing and blind bartimaeus who wanted to see, you faith has healed you” (mark 5:34 & 10:52).

to one leper out of ten who went back to thank Jesus for healing, “your faith has made you well” (luke 17:19)

for each of these versions (saved, healed, made you well), the greek word is sozo, which means “to save, to keep safe and sound, to make whole, to heal, to restore to health.”  sozo comes from the root word soaz which means “safe.”

i love this imagery. our faith helps us be made more whole, more safe, restored to greater health.

these people knew nothing, really, except a belief that maybe Jesus could help them.  they had a humility, a desperation, a desire, a hope.  that’s all they needed.

our systems have set up so many hoops for people to have to jump through, so many bullet points to memorize, so many belief statements to commit to, so many barriers to a free & wonder-filled faith.

after a week like this past week, when someone you love and care about takes their life, a long list of beliefs doesn’t really seem to bring any relief, healing, or wholeness. what does, though, is a crazy enduring faith that God is with us no matter what, that emmanuel-ness can never be shaken, that God shows up despite different theologies or doctrinal statements or words that even make sense.  that Jesus loved her deeply, fully, madly, and somehow knew the depth of her suffering.  that love covers a multitude of sins. that in some bizarre and unexplainable ways light always creeps out of the darkness, reminding us of what’s really important and it’s a very short list.

so many times i am in conversations with such dear and amazing people whose beliefs are unraveling and they think they’re losing all of their faith. when really maybe it’s actually just the opposite.

as the list of “i’ve got to believe this to belong and keep God happy” decreases, a faith that is less list-driven and more heart-driven, less good-behavior-focused and more freedom-focused, less fear-based and more love-based slowly & surely increases.  

yeah, Jesus said a mustard-seed was pretty darn powerful.

we can shed all kinds of beliefs and still have a strong faith.

this week, doctrinal statements didn’t help me. all the things i used to hold on to so tightly out of fear didn’t save me.

but my faith in a God who is in the darkest of the dark with us and cares very little about a long list of beliefs, yet cares very deeply about our hearts sure did.

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Posted on Apr 11, 2013 in church stuff, healing, incarnational, the refuge | 21 comments

the open-broken heart

there's no way to be human without having ones heart broken

* i wrote this post earlier this week but hadn’t posted it yet when i received word yesterday morning that we lost a dear refuge family member who had been struggling with a long season of not wanting to live. right now we are aching, struck by the painful realities of life. broken-hearted. and trying to hold on to God’s sustaining hope. i debated posting it this morning, but the reality is that i woke up today needing these words more than ever and if even one other person does, then i guess it’s probably worth it to share. i know we were never meant to suffer alone. 

* * * * *

note: i’m on a parker palmer kick right now.

right after i posted the intra-faith dialogue post i had a whole bunch of other things i wish i had said, like this is different from ecunemical. that is another thing all together; this is about divisions within those of us who come from the same roots and have gone different directions and at this point, i think so many doubt these divides can be crossed so it’s really hard to care about and because a lot of people have had so many unsafe & ugly experiences with certain conversations, there’s no way they are going to go back for more.

but honestly, all of them swept away after a really crazy week filled with news of death & suicide attempts & all kinds of other deep pain around here.

in the real raw moments of our crazy lives, the luxury of theological rambling goes out the window.

it makes me think how the world is crying out for hope while we’re talking about theology and how much time we waste arguing over the dumbest things while the dark is caving in on people all over the place.  it makes me think of what Jesus said to the pharisees, “you hypocrites…you shut the door to the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces. you yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to” (matthew 23:13-14).

so many people are pretty darn desperate for some hope.  most people don’t care about the greek meaning of the word “submit” but they sure do care about finding relief, light in the darkness, love in the emptiness, peace in the storm. 

after getting news that a dear friend & lover-of-so-many-hurting-people had died, i pulled out an old handout that he had given me years ago when he facilitated our house of refuge over 4 years ago. i still remember the story he told because it was so good but i wanted to read it again. it was in a chapter called “the open broken heart” by parker palmer.  he says that there are two kinds of broken hearts–one that is “an unresolved wound we carry with us for a long time, sometimes tucking it away and feeding it, sometimes trying to ‘resolve it’ by inflicting the same wound on others.”

but the other is a different way to consider what a broken heart might mean.  he says, “imagine that small clenched fist of a heart ‘broken open’ into the largeness of life, into greater capacity to hold one’s own and the world’s pain and joy.” 

he shares a hasidic tale where a disciple asks the rabbi, “”why does torah tell us to place these words upon our hearts?” why does it not tell us to place these holy words in our hearts?  the rabbi answers, “it is because as we are, our hearts are closed, and we cannot place the holy words in our hearts. so we place them on top of our hearts.  and there they stay until, one day, the heart breaks, and the words fall in….”

the reality of life this side of heaven is that there is extreme suffering.  so much pain, so much loss, so much heartbreak, so much not-the-way-we-had-hoped-it-would-be. 

life is so tender, so fragile.

yet at the same time, it is so strong.  i see the incredible courage of people who keep going after such extreme loss, laughter through the tears, forgiveness after so much hurt, moving forward after huge setbacks, beauty emerging out of heaps of ashes.

divorce. death. abuse. depression. chronic pain. addiction. bankruptcy. loneliness.

to be human means we will suffer.

parker palmer says that “when we don’t know what to do with our suffering, we turn to violence.” 

and we all know that violence isn’t just toward others, it is toward ourselves, too.

the most important thing is that we somehow don’t suffer alone.   

we were never supposed to suffer alone.

it’s why the church is not supposed to be about singing some songs & listening-to-the-preacher-preach & getting a spiritual fix.

it’s supposed to be a place for collective suffering, collective hope.

this is why i am a nut case when it comes to “church” (remember, i use that term loosely) because our best hope in the darkness is to have others with us who have unclenched fists & open broken hearts to help hold this pain.  people who don’t try to solve or fix or scripturize or try to make sense of what can’t be made sense of.  people with pericardiums that work.  people brave enough to welcome pain.  people who can, as parker palmer says, stand in the ‘tragic gap’, the “gap between what is and what could and should be…”

i’m so thankful for those people in my life, for a God who is close the broken-hearted, for a church that does not minimize suffering and keeps turning toward hope.

God, may we be people with open-broken hearts who honor our own suffering and the suffering of others well–with faith, hope, love, and dignity.

 

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Posted on Mar 28, 2013 in advent & lent, incarnational, jesus is cool, relationships, the refuge | 10 comments

receiving.

greater sacrifice

before i dive into a different holy week post, i wanted to share something important related to yesterday’s easter hope(less).  i definitely didn’t write it for everyone. many are in a really good place related to easter and it’s okay to enjoy it! i’ve noticed that some of us can have survivor’s guilt when it comes to faith. i just want to honor this important thing: we all have our own unique stories that are unfolding in different ways. the best thing we can do is be as true and honest to those stories no matter what they look like and be safe enough to honor others’ as well. 

with that, i wanted to share a reprise of a post i wrote 3 easters ago for maundy thursday. even though i can say i have inched toward receiving better, i hope over time it can grow in depth and freedom.  i am guessing i might not be the only one who’s better at giving than receiving?

* * * * *

a new command i give you: love one another. as I have loved you, so you must love one another. by this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” – john 13:34-35

today is maundy thursday.  in latin, maundy means “command”, reflecting the commands that Jesus gave his disciples in the upper room the night he was betrayed.  one of my favorite passages of scripture is john 13-17.  i come back to it a lot, and especially love the story in john 13 of Jesus and the passage in john 13 of Jesus washing the disciples feet as a powerful example of what love looks like. i am often reminded how it’s really not that hard to wash other people’s feet. i have done it before in my christian experience, and while beautiful, it is not that difficult.

on the other hand, having someone else wash mine–well that’s a whole different story. at the start of the refuge we had a foot washing as part of mercy boot camp, an intensive the refuge hosted.  i can say that it was brutally hard for me to soak in the love and sacrifice of my friends as they washed my feet.  i will never forget the experience.

i am also more convinced than ever that for most of us, it’s way easier to give than receive. i know it is for me.  it’s easy to be in the driver’s seat, the place where we are somehow “helping” or “loving” someone else., the place where we get to offer our love, our time, our resources on someone’s behalf.  and i do believe a big reason why the “missional” conversation is popular right now in the wider church is that it is calling out God’s image in us that many modern systems have been neglecting in terms of spiritual formation–to love with more than just words.  to enter into the places no one else wants to go and offer hope and help in really tangible ways.  and of course, i’m not saying that’s easy.

but i definitely think receiving is much harder than giving.

this powerful story of Jesus washing the disciples feet and calling us to do the same reminded me of how much humility it requires to let someone else wash ours.  to humble ourselves and let others’ “good” in, too.  to allow ourselves to be vulnerable enough to receive.   to respect and recognize what a huge barrier pride, control, and power really are.

yeah,  giving is important. serving is important.  sacrificial love is important.  and on special days like this it seems easy to get convicted by all the focus on sacrificial love and think maybe i just need to give more.

but what if the greater sacrifice is to let someone else wash our feet, instead of us washing theirs?

to receive love instead of give it?

to be like the disciples, and let the least likely person in the room pass love on to us?

true community, true love, is about washing each other’s feet.  loving others.  letting others love us.   the missional conversation is not complete with mainly focusing on giving and not teaching about the power of receiving.  receiving from those that we think only need us.  receiving from others who are different from us.  receiving from those just like us.  receiving from the least & the last.

and yeah, one of the prettiest parts of this story is a reminder that we can’t parse it all out and keep God and people separate.  i have no doubt that part of loving God is letting God love us through letting people love us.  yikes, that’s a lot of letting love in.

maybe that’s the hardest part.  maybe that’s why Jesus made this such a big deal.  maybe that’s why most of us don’t learn this in churches because most leaders don’t know how to receive and our human default is self-protection.  many of us only know how to give.  because it’s safer.  easier.  far more comfortable.

receiving from people, receiving from God are not my strong points.  and in these moments of intentional reflection and a steeping in the gospel stories i am painfully aware of how truly annoying the ways of Jesus really are when they get under your skin.

so today, this maundy thursday 2013 i am grateful for Christ’s reminder of what love looks like.

not just giving, but humbly receiving. too.

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Posted on Feb 16, 2013 in advent & lent, formation friday, healing, jesus is cool, spiritual formation, the refuge | 15 comments

formation friday: thirsty

thirst ash wednesday light

“but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” – Jesus to the samaritan woman in john 4:14

it’s a little hard to believe that christmas came & went and now we are diving into the season of lent. i know some of you love this season in the church calendar and some of you can’t stand it.  i am one of those people who like it.  the part i appreciate the most about it is the intention. i like ways to help me remember God, connect with my humanity, and soften my so-easy-to-become-hardened heart.

one of our refuge traditions is that we host a sacred & contemplative space on ash wednesday to begin the 40 days toward easter.  the theme of this year’s gathering was “thirst.” i can’t re-create the stations or the moment, but i thought i’d share one of the reflections here for formation friday because it was such a great way to start the season.

i do not drink enough water every day.  coffee, no problem, i never lack for that. a diet coke, oh how i crave one sometimes. but water, the thing i most need to make my body work properly, that is the thing that seems the hardest to do.

it really is how i often live so much of my life: the thing i need most is the thing i seek after the least. 

it bugs me, really, my natural bent toward not-doing-what’s-really-good-for-me.

this lent, i am thirsty.  not for diet coke and coffee.  i’ve got enough of that in my life.

what i need more of is living water, the kind only God seems to be able to provide. the holy spirit working and breathing new life and redeeming and restoring and healing and strengthening and transforming and encouraging and making-me-new-and-then-new-again. 

the kind of water that satisfies the deep places of my heart and soul and reminds me that i’m loved.  that i’m enough. that i’m human. that i’m not alone. that life is greater than death. that good is greater than evil.

that God is always near, pouring goodness & truth & peace & love & hope into this flawed & broken pot.

and there’s always more.

if i will just go to the well and drink.  

on my israel & palestine trip, i went to jacob’s well, the place where Jesus met the samaritan woman at the well in john 4. it’s one of my favorite stories and it’s almost 100% that the well we stood at was the exact place where Jesus met her (you can’t fake a water source). my mom and i both drank the water from that well.  and i’ve got to tell you, it tasted good.  like really good.

it made me want to drink more.

i’m entering into this lenten season thirsty.

how about you?

* * * * *

this is one of the thirst stations we did at our ash wednesday services (my friend jenny creates the most beautiful things!) here are the scriptures & questions:

my inner self thirsts for God, for the living God. when shall I come and behold the face of God? when can I go and meet with God? psalm 42:2, amplified & NIV

you, God, are my God, earnestly i seek you; i thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water. psalm 63:1-3, NIV

part 1 – acknowledge one thing you are thirsting for; one place where your soul feels dry, that you can continue to reflect on during this season. write it down on a stone and place it in the fountain, asking God to bring water to it.

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part 2 – the candle on the center table is a symbol of Christ, who gives us light, to be able to face reality, and gaze more deeply into the loving face of God. take a taper and light it from the center candle, then place it in the sand container.

photo-34

you are not alone in this wilderness journey.

(that was one of my favorite parts, all those candles lit.  it’s comforting to know i’m not the only thirsty one.) 

we did a few other things in the midst of music & scriptures & prayers and all left with a water bottle to use for the next 40 days to remember that we don’t have to go thirsty.

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this was our closing prayer:

let this water be a symbol, not just of life, but of transformation.

in every way that water refreshes, rehydrates, cleanses and renews–

remind us of you, God, as our source.

Living Water, flow into our parched souls.

in your name, Jesus, amen.

peace and hope and living water to you this lent. love, kathy

* * * * *

ps:  if you want to get some really great lent resources, check out christine sine’s blog. always such lovely stuff!  next week i’m going to share more about her new book, return to our senses: reimagining how we pray.

also, if you are new to this blog, here’s a list of other formation friday posts

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