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Posted on Apr 1, 2013 in ex good christian women, faith shifts, healing, identity, jesus is cool, spiritual formation | 9 comments

resurrecting.

resurrection definition

some synonyms for “resurrecting”:  awakening, bouncing back, breathing new life into, brightening, coming to life, making whole, overcoming, reawakening, recovering, rekindling, renewing, renovating, restoring, resuscitating, snapping out of it, springing up, strengthening, waking up.

yesterday was resurrection sunday. a day where we tell the easter story and Jesus risen from the tomb and remember that out of the death & darkness, hope and new life emerge. i am so thankful for resurrection and all that it means and the entire week at the refuge was a really beautiful & sweet one. without friday & saturday of Jesus’ story, sunday means nothing. without death & suffering, there is no joy. our past is always part of our future. our stories are always a strange and holy mix of sorrow & joy, beautiful & ugly, dark & light, despair & hope.

while i love the word “resurrection” and all that it means, i have been meditating more on the word “resurrecting” this past week.

resurrecting.

resurrect-ing.

it’s a verb. it’s active. it’s ongoing.

it’s not an event but a way of living.

one of my favorite lines in a poem is from wendell berry, one of the most often quoted around easter time. he says, “practice resurrection.”

so many of us are resurrecting in all kinds of unique & wonderful & scary ways.

we’re waking up.

we’re healing.

we’re shedding things that hinder.

we’re coming to life again after a season of painful loss.

we’re finding our voice.

we’re uncovering our passions.

we’re discovering life in unlikely places.

we’re showing up instead of hiding.

we’re thawing hardened hearts.

we’re loving in new ways.

we’re trying new things.

we’re loosening our grip on things we once held tightly.

we are rebuilding after deconstructing

we are resurrecting.

while i love sharing this scripture from 2 corinthians 5:17 when we baptize people, “the old has gone, the new is here”, in my day to day living, i like to change it a little (at our wednesday house of refuge we sometimes call it the KIV version of the bible, kathy’s inconsistent version) to say “the old is always dying, and the new is always coming.”

that’s much more what real life is like for most of us.  

the old is always dying, the new is always coming.

this week is the refuge’s 7 year birthday. it’s often difficult for me to describe how significant this is for all kinds of reasons. when we started the refuge, we were a bloody broken mess after getting fired from our old church and had no business starting a new one. but thankfully God uses battered worn things to make new beautiful ones. for 7 straight years we have slogged it out relationally, spiritually, and emotionally in community.  there have been so many wonderful things about it and a whole helluva a lot of hard things, too.  i have had so many sleepless nights longing for an easier path. so many days i am just plain  sick and tired of relationship and love and all that God has laid on my heart about “church.” so many moments where i feel confused about where we’re going and why we’re here.  so many days where i wish we had a different past so our present could somehow be magically better.

but no matter how wacky it has been, it also one of those God-given places i can keep practicing what resurrecting means.

where the old keeps dying and the new keeps coming–not only in my own life but in our life together as a community.

where there’s no finish line, no “i’ve arrived”, “we have this nailed down”, no “i’ll never struggle with that again!”

where i keep learning all kinds of things i need to learn about awakening, bouncing back, breathing new life into, brightening, coming to life, making whole, overcoming, reawakening, recovering, rekindling, renewing, renovating, restoring, resuscitating, snapping out of it, springing up, strengthening, waking up.

where i keep remembering that resurrecting is not born out of life & ease & comfort & light.  it comes out of death & trouble & discomfort & darkness.

but it’s always coming. again, again, and again.  all kinds of lovely slivers of hope. joy. peace. love. mercy. forgiveness. grace. justice. beauty.

death and life, life and death. the old always dying, the new always coming.

resurrecting.

resurrect-ing.

* * * * *

ps: i wanted to let you  know, too, that we are hosting our next online class for ex-good-christian-women starting april 15th. 4 weeks of strength & encouragement & challenge to keep resurrecting. we don’t have a next date planned so if you want to catch it, phyllis mathis and i would love for you to join us!  each time we run one of these classes i am always amazed at the healing and action that emerges.

Ex Good Christian Women's Club. Register now.

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Posted on Mar 30, 2013 in advent & lent, formation friday, spiritual formation | 14 comments

formation friday: the cross

cross collage

“it is finished” – john 19:30

it’s good friday (well, it was, but since i’m just now posting this it’s holy saturday). and because it’s so important to not be too serious all the time, i really love david hayward’s cartoon.

each year, the cross has had different meanings to me. i’ve rewritten the same post different times here & here and every year it always shifts a little or certain things mean more than others.

when i was in israel & palestine in january, i had a whole new perspective on the cross and its realities (written by our group leader). one of the most significant pieces for me was the reality that the cross was more than likely eye level, on the road, right in front of everyone, not up on a hill like so much of our imagery suggested. the raw and intimate brutality of it all is so gory. the king, who came in to the roar of hosannas & anticipation, now hanging like the worst of criminals. beaten, scorned, mocked, abandoned–looking his mother in the eyes.

i like to honor good friday by remembering the story. the humility of Jesus. the ways we are always drawn toward success & power. the crazy way of the cross.

today for formation friday (aka formation saturday), i thought i’d just ask one question to ponder and reflect:

  • what does the cross mean to you this year?

there are no right or wrong answers, no spiritually mature ones or spiritually void ones. it’s just whatever is stirred up in your heart this year. for some, saying it out loud helps distill it. for others, just pondering it in our heart is all we need. but I do think it’s a good formation question to consider as we keep growing and transforming in our faith.

for me, as i was walking this week reflecting on the cross, i had two different word combos come to mind: brutal & beautiful and vicious & tender.

that’s how life is. that’s how Jesus on the cross is.

this year that’s what the cross means to me–another powerful and important reminder of God’s paradoxical ways. and how hard that is for me to live in as a human being hoping for a cleaner, easier path this side of heaven. i am constantly reminded how freaking hard & beautiful life is, how desperate i feel for my friends to catch a break, how broken our systems are, how often power & violence seems to win.

and then i remember the cross. it didn’t win.

love does.

but winning sure does look different than i ever expected.

peace and hope to you this easter weekend, kathy

ps: the image above is a little art piece i created this week just for fun. i tore up a bible (it was a teen girls promise bible that somehow ended up at my house and lightning did not strike), using a mix of scriptures i thought of this week. art is always healing.

 

 

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Posted on Apr 4, 2012 in healing, spiritual formation | 11 comments

scapegoats.

scapegoatsscapegoat:  [skeyp-goht] a person or group made to bear the blame for others or to suffer in their place.

* * * * *

this post has been swirling around in my head for over a year now and i finally got a chance to sit down over a month ago and write it.  then i still didn’t post it until now. i think i’ve been avoiding it because i don’t want to listen to my own words, ha ha.

in a recent conversation about church woundedness with a few friends i was reminded how there’s a similar pattern in many of these kinds of painful stories–a scapegoat.

on the journey toward easter, we prepare for the biggest scapegoat in history–Jesus.  we see what happens to a scapegoat.  we see how the crowds turn in a snap.  we see betrayal.  we see the consequence of our sociological dysfunctions and human brokenness.

it’s easy to keep scapegoat language safely tucked into the old testament or in the Jesus story and forget how powerful and strong it is at work today–in families, groups, organizations, almost any system we are in.  rene girard, a french sociologist/philosopher, writes about this in his well-researched and utterly fascinating mimetic theory.  last year i was part of a 2 day intensive hosted by my friends at center for transforming mission that processed some of these ideas together.  while my head was spinning with ideas far above my limited, give-me-the-practical brain, i was deeply moved by it.  he nailed a critical point about human nature–our tendency toward violence.

violence doesn’t always look like guns & bombs & physical assault.  violence looks like turning against our brothers & sisters & ourselves & God to protect ourselves.  this can come out in all kinds of different ways that are far more subtle than war.

we separate. we turn against. we withdraw. we blame. we point the finger. we circle our wagons.

all in an effort to protect ourselves, to save our own skin.

families use scapegoats.  companies use scapegoats.  churches use scapegoats.  politicians use scapegoats.

they help groups & systems stay insulated & protected.

it will be easy for some of us to read this and connect with the feeling of being a scapegoat. unfortunately, i know the feeling.  it sucks. it hurts. it’s violent. it’s really hard to recover from.  it’s easy to say that it’s inconsistent with the ways of Jesus, and i believe it is.  but it’s actually very consistent with what Jesus experienced.  2,000 years ago we witnessed the biggest sociological experiment in history; and now we are participants in the same weird, violent, oh-so-not-the-way-it-has-to-be patterns.

subtly, directly, we are often looking for the scapegoat or maybe somehow living out being one.

either way is icky.

groups create a scapegoat to protect the group from looking at their own dysfunction.

and we create scapegoats to protect ourselves from the same thing.

it is a way to deflect things away from ourselves and direct our energies toward easier, safer targets.  we often forget that when we point our finger, we’ve got one finger pointing toward “them” and three fingers pointing toward “us.”

it’s so easy to blame others.  to wrap up all my pain & shame & ugliness and put it in the spot called “someone else’s fault.”  i do not for a minute want to minimize the real and clear damage that many have endured when we became the scapegoat in our families, churches, companies, etc.

but for the sake of the spirit of holy week and honest reflection, i’d like to center my energies on how i use scapegoats as a way to deflect my own pain.

i can blame “the church.”
i can blame the politicians.
i can blame other people.
i can blame my addictions.
i can blame my past.
i can blame God.
i can blame myself for things that aren’t even my fault (my specialty).

i can blame a long list of people & things & circumstances & situations that help me find some temporary relief for my suffering.

but the relief that scapegoating brings is only temporary.

the reality always remains.  in every system, after someone is scapegoated, the same ugly unhealthy stuff remains underneath that will continue to perpetuate the same ugly unhealthy stuff on the top over time.

scapegoating buffers us from the reality that we have things in our hearts that we need to reckon with.  for me, most all roads lead to fear–fear of rejection, failure, of being unloved or not enough.

i think part of this reflective season is acknowledging our scapegoats–the things we blame & direct our anger toward so that we don’t have to look at the deeper pain within.

scapegoats split us and perpetuate violence against ourselves & others & God.

Jesus brings shalom, wholeness, integration–a better way. a humble way. a vulnerable way.

scapegoating is easier at first; but in the end, it leads to death.

humility is harder at first; but in the end, it leads to life.

God, show us how to be people of humility & peace, not violence & blame.


 

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Posted on Apr 2, 2012 in advent & lent, church stuff, jesus is cool, leadership | 16 comments

kings.

blog kingsyesterday was palm sunday.  i love the easter story; in fact, this week is my very favorite week of the entire year.  like advent & the anticipation of Jesus’ birth, i love the upside-downness of it all.  Jesus, the promised king, the messiah, all grown up, enters into jerusalem to a roar of “hosannas!” and the thrill of impending victory.  people were excited, inspired, drawn, hopeful.  they were ready for him to kick ass and take names, to topple the empire and restore justice.

he’ll make all that was wrong right.

but as the week progresses, things radically shifted.  he had stirred the pot too strongly.  he’d upset too many apple carts.  he challenged the status quo far too deeply.

he started doing all kinds of un-king-like things.

he touched lepers.
he dined with sinners.
he called out religiosity on its hypocrisy.
he told everybody they needed to be last, not first.
he said that love trumped all.
that the way up toward God was to go down to the places of real life, real pain.
that God desired mercy, not sacrifice.

and then, next thing they knew he was washing feet, talking about dying, telling us we needed each other in all of this.

wait a second!  this wasn’t the kind of king-like behavior we were hoping for.

things went bad to worse after the foot washing.  he was arrested, tried, and sentenced to die.  and then, instead of getting off the cross and saving the day that way he actually died.

right there in front of them.

he was sacrificed. he appeared powerless, defeated.

all that excitement for nothing.

some king he was!

sure, we know a few days later, the tides turned yet again and he wasn’t dead but alive.  appearing to his friends.  telling them some of the same crazy things he had been telling them before he died.  the spirit of God, alive and well, at work in people’s lives ever since.

but the truth is that it’s always been a confusing story.  one that makes us scratch our heads a little and wonder “why did God choose to do it this way when there were a lot of better, more clear, easier-to-understand, more really-king-like options?”

as i reflect on the beginning of holy week and our journey toward easter, i think so many of the same human dynamics are at play today.  sociology is powerful.  our demands for strong, powerful, charismatic, certain leaders is alive & well.  just look around at big rocking churches.  there aren’t a lot of people leading them who are washing other people’s feet, dining with lepers, and telling mind-boggling, confusing stories that has everyone shaking their head, going “huh?”

rather, what makes most of them strong is their certainty, their power, their charisma, their “king-like” qualities.

my theory is that even though we know Jesus is the real king, we are still desperately looking for one here that makes more sense than Jesus.  pastors, leaders, podcasters, writers, speakers, someone to tell us what to do & think, what’s okay & what’s not okay, what the scripture says & doesn’t say, who’s in & who’s out.

we are drawn to power & charisma, not the beatitudes-infused kind Jesus embodied and preached, but a worldly power that keeps us underneath so we can feel more protected, comfortable, contained. 

we are addicted to inspiration.

but the gospel was never supposed to be protected, comfortable, or contained. or inspiring in a sit-and-listen-and-feel-better-afterward kind of way.

what makes it the gospel is its wildness, rawness, unexpectedness, and challenge to us.  that God shows up in the least likely places instead of the most.  that he pierces the darkness with unexplainable light. that we should follow his weird & wild ways, not men’s self-serving ones.  that in order to be born again (and again) we need to die yet again (and then over again).

when i was in el salvador this past week with my family i had a lot of time to think & write & read; one of the things i thought about a lot is how desperate we are for an earthly king.  i am sometimes, too. i want someone to swoop in and tell me what to do and rescue me from my doubts & questions.  i want someone to put me & God & the whole kit and kaboodle back in a box so my faith can somehow be more manageable.

but then the feeling always subsides & i realize i do have a king.

a humble one, who says that i’m blessed when i realize my spiritual poverty (not when i’ve got it all nailed down).

a gentle one, who whispers to me that he understands my pain & struggle because he was human, too.

a wild & crazy one, who keeps reminding me that his ways will always be counter-cultural & harder but also better.

a not-the-way-kings-usually-look king, who says he’s not here to boss me around and make all my troubles go away, but rather that he’d be present in the midst of them.

a counter-cultural king, who calls me to spiritual poverty, mourning, mercy, meekness, justice and love as the path to freedom.

my hope is that over time we’d learn to quit crowning earthly kings, giving our time and money and souls to them, thinking they will save the day.

rather, i hope we can pick up our crosses and follow the one who really can.

* * * * *

ps: i really love this post by sarah bessey that i think points to what we expect of ourselves, too, when it comes to this king-hero-strength-means-big-and-amazing issue:  in which i have an evangelical hero complex.

 

 

 

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Posted on Apr 26, 2011 in advent & lent, healing, identity, spiritual formation, the carnival in my head | 13 comments

our drinking-vodka-out-of-frozen-turkeys

our drinking vodkas out of frozen turkeysi hope everyone had a really great holy week.  it was a wild one around here & i loved it in all kinds of ways.  we did a beautiful & simple good friday gathering & then a fun & so-refuge easter celebration on saturday night.   easter is my favorite season; to me there is so much beauty in the reminder that out of death & darkness new life emerges–over and over and over again.  death, grief & resurrection (i call it friday-saturday-sunday living) is not something to talk about once a year but rather something to practice in the day-in-day-out rhythms of our ordinary lives.

to me, the easter story is about love.  wild, pure, deep, unexpected, enduring love.

and the more i engage in relationship with people (and myself!) i am struck by the deep need for love in this world.  not talking about love.  not theologies about love.  not ideas about love.  but love.  in-the-flesh  and making-a-difference-in-the-deep-places-of-people’s-hearts-and-stories love. yes, i think this world needs more and more little pockets of love.

i shared this story at the refuge during lent but i thought of it this weekend, too.  it is from the book lit by mary karr.  i think some of you have already read it but if you haven’t, i highly recommend it.  there’s this one scene in the book that i’ll never forget.  mary is an alcoholic just starting to attend AA meetings for the first time.  her first reaction to the other people there is so typical–“i’m not like them.  i’m not as bad as them.  i’ve got it much more together than these crazies” (i hear this one often when it comes to the refuge, too).  but she goes anyway.  she puts her butt in the chair and she listens.  then, the best-dressed woman in the group stands up.  totally put together, educated, wearing designer clothes, she proceeds to talk about how when she was drinking she would hide her booze in the carcass of a turkey so that her kids wouldn’t find it.  they searched the house high and low but it always eluded them. she thought she was so crafty.  in her worst moment she ended up desperate for a drink but couldn’t get the bottle out so she heaved up the turkey, guzzling vodka right out of the carcass.   that was her last drink.

mary’s initial reaction:  “oh my God, no way would i ever do that! i’ve got my drinking under control.”

my initial reaction:  “wow, that’s pretty desperate.  glad i’m not that bad off.”

but the truth is that i am that bad.  my drinking-vodka-out-of-frozen-turkeys just looks different, maybe a little cleaner, a little neater, maybe a little more productive, but it’s all about the same thing.  in those moments of desperation, we are looking for love. something to fill the pain & loneliness and settle the scary dissonance inside us. so we work, eat, drink, sex, shop, porn, rage, spiritualize, and a whole lot of other things to try to find “love”.

as the story unfolds, mary finds peace and hope and God through community.  she begins to experience love in deep places, receiving it instead of rejecting it, letting it transform her instead of run away from it.

it all comes back ’round to the beginning, to the first beatitude, to “blessed are those who are spiritually poor”, who are willing to admit “i need God, i need help, i need love.”

when i’m honest, i’d often much rather drink vodka out of frozen turkeys than admit that.

this story isn’t about “stopping” drinking vodka out of frozen turkeys.  that’s what an awful lot of church energy often gets focused toward.  rather, this story reminds me of the deeper truth, the deeper story going on underneath–how can i/we be filled up with the radical love and peace of God in the midst of this broken world and how can i/we pass this love on to others, too?

this easter, i was reminded yet again of the depth and beauty and mystery of God’s love for me, for all of us.  and how much i need God, need help, need love. and how different the world would be if we could all really feel it in our bones & live out of that place more freely, more fully.  not so that we’d be happy clappeys with no sense of pain, but rather that we’d know, when we’re standing by the fridge with a turkey carcass in our hands, that there’s a better way.

a way of need.  a way of love.  a way of hope.  the way of resurrection.

* * * * *

a few other quick things:

  • i had the honor of being part of she loves magazine for easter sunday.  the piece i wrote is called she can’t be silenced.  there are some really beautiful voices and hearts over there, check it out.
  • i will be in seattle this thursday-friday-saturday for the inhabit conference, hosted by parish collective, transFORM network & mars hill graduate school.  focus is centered around my favorite topics:  practice, presence, place.   looking forward to being part & seeing a bunch of fun friends. hoping my back holds out okay.  if you’re coming, let me know.
  • i just bought one of these, a little easter present to myself this year.   david hayward is one of my favorite reads, all his stuff is so good.

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