Brushed by Grief

Grief. 

Grief brushed past my heart this week and reminded me that life is precious and can change in an instant.

“Mom, you need to come here,” my son yelled to me on Monday as we’re hurriedly tried to pack up our trailer to head away on vacation.

“Is it really that important? I don’t have time.” I inquired back.

“Mom, you need to come here.” The tone in his voice was intense. I followed him outside where he showed me our neighbors little dog running around the green belt.

“Why is Tico out?” I thought out-loud.

“No. Look.” Micah pointed to a lump in the road.

My heart sunk. Our neighbor had collapsed.

My neighbor, Bob.

At my church we encourage people to love our neighbors. Learn their names, learn their dog’s names, learn their children’s names, watch for opportunities to serve and love them.

We have lived in our house for 8½ years. The neighbors on both sides of us are in their 80’s and my husband and I keep our eye on them and check in with them often just to be sure they are doing okay. I hadn’t realized how much I was loving my neighbors until tragedy struck.

My neighbor, Bob, walks his dog religiously three times a day. The entire block knows who he is and the name of his little doggie.

Life changes in an instant.

I sprinted across the driveway to Bob, yelling at my son along the way to bring me my cell phone. Bob had fallen off the sidewalk, onto the hot pavement onto his side. I picked Bob’s head off the pavement and held it in my hands while I did a quick assessment of the situation. I knew ambulances were expensive – I also knew Bob and Mary live without air conditioning to survive on their tight income. I didn’t want to make a premature 911 call.

“Bob,” I said, while I rubbed his arm and head, “this is Connie, your neighbor. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

I asked him some questions and knew immediately he didn’t just trip and fall. His speech was mumbled and his eyes were dilated. He was verbally responding to my questions, so he knew I was there, but I couldn’t understand his speech. Micah had arrived and called 911.

5 minutes.

While my son called 911, my daughter brought out a pillow to rest his head and my other daughter caught his dog. I stayed with Bob while my girls ran to inform his wife who has herself been ill for four months. In shock, she slowly walked outside, not understanding what was happening. The paramedics arrived within two minutes. I answered the paramedic’s questions and helped Mary interpret what they were saying and what was happening. 

"Are you his granddaughter?" I was asked multiple times. 

"No, I'm his neighbor." 

Just a few short minutes later he had been whisked away.

Caring for the Shocked.

I volunteered to stay with Bob, but when I looked at Mary, his wife - she was lost. I decided to stay with Mary. She almost couldn’t make it back inside - she was in shock. I helped her call her daughters, get dressed, find her shoes, grab a sweater. I got her ready just before her daughter arrived, she was hustled into the car and off to the hospital. The house was empty.

Just like that, in just a few short minutes, my sweet neighbor (I found out later that day) had had a blood clot go to his brain. The TV still played. The half-cup of juice still sat next to the TV tray at Bob’s chair. Time was frozen. I looked around knowing this house would never be the same.  

Bob survived long enough for his three daughters and grandchildren to say goodbye.

He passed away the next day.

Loving Our Neighbors.

My children and I have been at Shaver Lake trying to enjoy our vacation, but my thoughts are lost in my everyday interactions with my sweet neighbor that I will never see again. It’s strange how we get accustomed to routines and people – and nearly take them for granted! I had just waved at him when I had come home from work earlier that morning, just talked with him the night before – and now – in a moment his is gone.

I am glad to have been Bob’s neighbor and especially thankful that we were home and able to be Jesus’ hands to one of His precious children at the end of his life.

Feeling Like a Failure.

My biggest regret is that I never worked up the courage to have a faith-conversation with him. I asked God a few times about opening an opportunity for that conversation- but that never happened. I don't know why. Here is my 84-year-old neighbor, who better to have had that conversation with?! But I kept our chatting light, focused on children, grandchildren, traveling, jobs, activities – all good things- but not the most important thing. Being by someone’s side as they are transitioning out of this life, and not knowing where he/she stands with Christ Jesus, is horribly terrifying. We believe the lie that life will keep moving in the same direction indefinitely and that, perhaps, one day we'll have that conversation. 

If you remember nothing else in this blog, remember this: don't wait for another day to share your faith, or have a Jesus-conversation with people in your regular routine! Dallas Willard defines our neighbor as "anyone in whom we have regular contact." We do not know what tomorrow holds, lets love our neighbors today, by actions and by speech!

I’m still processing this whole event, so I don’t have any words of wisdom to bring into this situation. What I do know is that I loved my neighbor and am grieved at his passing. I will miss hearing his kind voice say my name and talk until the shade tree in the afternoon. I will always remember his head resting in my hands and the peace of God being present with us.

Hug your family and friends. Tell them you love them. And treasure life! Spread the light and life of the gospel around you, especially to the routine faces you see everyday, that you have grown accustomed to seeing. 

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love, does not know God for God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world, that we might live through Him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sin. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another." 1 John 4:7-11

Just Another Day @ Seminary

Sometimes being female is just so tiring.

Why is it so difficult for some men in seminary or church leadership to have a simple conversation without bringing in gender-topics. I am not at seminary to "fight for women's equal rights," I am not at seminary to "represent half of our world's population." Believe it or not, I'm actually at seminary to learn!

In my Christian Thought class we're just beginning our final project: write a 13-page Theological Commentary on the topic the teacher chooses in a pre-assigned group. Not too bad so far, right?

Today we received our topic: Creation and Humanity. That's a topic with numerous Biblical texts- sounds easy enough.

Next comes the group assignment. (Here's the kicker!)
Our group consists of one man and three women (myself included). Here's how our introductions played out:

Man: "You're all MFT students, right?"

This lovely gentlemen assumes all women enrolled in seminary are in the Marriage and Family Therapy Program to be therapists. Classic.

2 Other Ladies: "Yes."

Me: "Um, sorry, no."

Man: "Oh, okay." Topic quickly dropped.

The self-proclaimed leader continued on...

Man: "So, I thought we'd start out by making sure we're all on the same page. I believe that women can teach, but they can't be elders or pastors. We all agree with that, right?"

You'd be horribly ill with how many times I've had this SAME scenario played out within the last two semesters of seminary. Ugg.

I kept my cool and politely informed the gentleman that we have differences in opinion.

I never cease to be amazed at the narrow-mindedness of some people. I am so tired of fighting for myself, proving that I have every right to be attending this seminary. I could fill my blog with multiple pathetic interactions, but all it does is make me sad and frustrated at the box we put women into.

I am hoping and praying God gives me grace for this uneducated person. I would not want to be a female in his congregation.

Okay, my rant is over...oh the joys of being a woman in seminary!!!

Btw, this is not a male-bash- I have met some great men too; the onslaught of annoying ones is just tiring sometimes. Not all men are belittling. There's hope!

Sacred Space

Spaces move me.

I have never before been able to articulate my connection to places until recently. During one of my seminary classes, the professor made the comment that some people have a connection to places. He called it, "Sacred Space." He gave a few personal examples from his life which forced my mind to begin thinking back to times I have had similar "sacred space" experiences.

Tonight, while reading Eugene Peterson's book, The Pastor, he was retelling the story of building his church. Our church, Loma Vista Community Church, is in this process of building so I felt myself being naturally intrigued as he explained some of their conversations, plans and activities surrounding the building of his church. 

The further I read, however, the greater anxiety I felt. 

So I paused and put the book down.

"God, why is this causing me anxiety?" I quietly prayed.

Like a waterfall of memory came a torrent of images, feelings, emotions.

In 1982, our church in Louisville, Kentucky was set on fire by an arson. I remember my dad getting the call that our church was on fire. Factoring the windchill, the temperature was -70, so cold the water from the firetrucks simply froze. Helplessly, our church sanctuary burnt to the ground.

I was only six, but the power of memory still has it's hold. Why did it affect me so much and why does it still have a grip over me today?

Sacred Space.

For me, coming to church is about meeting God in worship. My sanctuary at St. Matthew's Baptist Church in Louisville, Kentucky had beautiful, tall and narrow stained-glass windows stretching high- forcing your sight upwards to the heavens. The colors of the glass and the shapes and warmth of the sun streaming through the windows during a worship service was dazzling. I feel like the sanctuary must have faced north, because I can almost feel the sun on the right side of my face. I remember the wooden pews and maroon hymnals all looking forward to the raised stage where we'd focus our attention in worship. This was my sacred space. This was where I would meet God. 

After contemplating on this loss, I text my mom to ask her some questions about my memory of that day compared to the reality of that day. Except for the date - I was spot-on in my memory.

My parents still have a small frame with pieces of articles from our sanctuary. The frame has always made me sad. Interestingly, when I asked my mom about the frame tonight, she said the frame "is a promise of restoration." I guess that message didn't get down to the Children's Department. My parents hung the frame on the wall as a memory of restoration, but I only saw loss.

Restoration.

I gave myself time tonight to grieve the loss of my beautiful, sacred space lost 34-years-ago. Though the fire is forgotten for most, it has shaped me. I recognize I am in process and I pray God continues to guide me to books like this which give me hope and vision for architecture and design that points people to God and creates a sense of worship and wonder - the same worship I found as a child years ago. I cannot create space with my heart guarded, afraid to commit to a space. I must allow myself to work through this process, perhaps find some healing along the way, as I am part of a team creating a special space to house the presence of the Most High God. After all, His presence is what remains- even when everything turns to ash.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

Charleston Church Massacre

"Nine people were killed Wednesday night when a shooter opened fire at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina, during a prayer meeting."

As I have been praying for the men and women affected by this shooting, I am reminded of what they were doing when the gunfire broke out... 

They were praying. 

I doubt they were praying for themselves. More likely they were praying for dear family members, community leaders, and for God's Kingdom to come to earth.

When a person is murdered, their blood actually cries out for revenge. When Abel killed his brother in Genesis chapter 4, God comes to Abel and asks, "Where is Abel your brother?" to which Abel responds, "I do not know. Am I my brother's keeper?" God then says something fascinating about the blood of a person, "The voice of your brother's blood is crying to Me from the ground."(Genesis 4:9-10) Life is in the blood. Blood is what brings life. God explicitly commands the people of Israel, "Only be sure not to eat the blood, for the blood is the life,.."(Deut. 12:23a) The blood of Jesus, ultimately, brings life to anyone who puts his/her hope and faith in Him. When blood is spilt in murder, blood cries out for revenge and only Jesus, the mediator (Heb. 12:24), has the authority to quiet the need for revenge.

The blood of these sweet people has been brutally poured out in a place of worship. While we set up measures to keep us safe from terrorist, we are destroying ourselves from within. This is not a situation of happenstance; not case for insanity. This was a hate crime carefully planned out - plain and simple. I know it's uncomfortable to look at pain.  It's uncomfortable to face the gaping wound of racism in our country, but we have to acknowledge that it is here and very real. As parents, we need to teach our children the difference between good and evil, right from wrong.  Not talking about this situation silently tells our children that this tragedy is not a big deal.  Talk with your children.  Cry with your children.  Let them see that hate against another person is not okay. Not okay. Jesus, a Jew, was traveling through Samaria, and sat down by a well to rest.  He then proceeds to have a conversation with a Samaritan woman at the well.  Jews HATE Samaritans and men disreguarded women.  Jesus is revolutionary!  He breaks down two cultural no-no's (boundaries) for us in John 4; he models a Savior who loves all people,

Galatians 3:28 – “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free man, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

The divisions that separate people in the real world, slave or free, Jew or Greek, male or female, black or white – are simply flattened or leveled in Christ, as a consequence of God’s new creation. Take time and read through the names below of men and women who lost their lives because of hate. If hate resides in me, remove it from my being so that I can be more like Jesus.  

Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, Rev.

Clementa Pinckney, Rev.

Cynthia Hurd

Tywanza Sanders

Myra Thompson

Ethel Lee Lance

Daniel Simmons

Depayne Middleton-Doctor, Rev.

Susie Jackson

Join me in prayer: God, each name here represents a family who is in deep sorrow and struggling with how to move forward, how to respond to the media, what to say. I pray that their blood would not be poured out in vain, but that the prayers of these saints would ascend to Your Holy Throne. You would hear their prayers of love, of peace, of forgiveness, and of reconciliation. As a sister in Christ, who believes wholeheartedly that the ground is equal at the foot of the cross and we "are all one in Christ Jesus" (Gal. 3:28) may this Kingdom, God's Kingdom that unifies people, come to earth. Only by Your strength and power can the blood of these innocent people bring life instead of death; bring peace instead of war; bring unity instead of division; bring forgiveness instead of revenge. I pray that, like Samuel (1 Sam. 3:19b), the prayers of this group would not fall to the ground, but that the prayers offered in faith by the people at Emanuel Church on Wednesday night would be answered and that the seeds of their faith and love would produce life, healing and restoration one-hundred fold.

God, I do not pretend to understand the anger, frustration and sadness the families of these dear ones must feel. I pray You would surround them with Your love, support, and comfort. May they abide in Your grace and know they are being held up in prayer and love by people around the world.  Amen.

Continue to pray. With spiritual eyes, you can see this tragedy is a game-changer and has the potential to move a mountain. Let Your Kingdom come.

"But now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love." 1 Corinthians 13:13

Maundy Thursday Rememberance

Church tradition celebrates the Thursday before Easter as Maundy Thursday.  What is so special about this day?

For the Jewish calendar, this date was also the first day of the Feast of Unleavened Bread- the day of the Passover Meal.  The Passover meal was to be celebrated to remember how God delivered the people of Israel from slavery, out of the hands of Pharaoh (Exodus 12). If you recall the night of the first Passover, the people of Israel had to find an unblemished, year-old, male lamb. They were to sacrifice the lamb and then wipe the blood of the lamb above their doorpost. The angel of death visited on that night and killed every first born- except for the people who were living under the blood of the lamb.

It is on this Passover night that Jesus shared the very first, 'Lord's Supper' (Communion, Eucharist) with His Disciples.  

Keeping the perspective of the dual-celebration going on here (Passover Meal and Lord's Supper), of which the Disciple's couldn't see the correlation, we can see the importance and prophetic message of the cross of Jesus Christ shine through with the connection to the spotless (sinless) lamb as the sacrifice. It is as if Jesus is standing at the crux of time affirming the sacrifices of the Old Testament and Tradition and then instating Himself as our the new sacrifice- our ultimate sacrifice.

"While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, 'Take and eat; this is my body.'" (Mt. 26:26)

"Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, saying, 'Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.'" (Mt. 26:27)

Then one of my favorite parts, "When they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives." (Mt. 26:30)

From the meal together, the Disciples headed to the Mount of Olives (Garden of Gethsemane).

Here, in the garden, Jesus prayed.  If ever you questioned if Jesus was fully human, while simultaneously being full-God, read the prayers of Jesus at this critical time in His ministry.  You can hear Jesus wrestling with his humanity and His Father's will.  

Here are some of my favorite lines from Jesus' prayers at Gethsemane:

• "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death."
• "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will."
• "Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation." 
• "The spirit is willing, but the body is weak."

He was then betrayed by one of His disciples with a kiss (Judas) and then arrested.  Jesus' journey through government leaders and false accusations goes on through the dark hours of night - each step closer to the cross...

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Thank You, John Paul Jackson

John Paul Jackson

I love Jesus. His friendship, faithfulness and redeeming love has been my ever-present comfort and strength since I was just a little girl.

I've always had this connection with God that is revealed in nature and other “unique” ways- colors, seasons, smells, images, textures.  I thought of myself like a bit of an oddball since I felt I communicated/connected with God in these sensory venues and everyday stories.

Where most people thought I was crazy, I was introduced to a Godly man who founded my “craziness” and gave words and understanding to the spiritual world around me that I found myself.

His name was John Paul Jackson and today he passed away.

When I first learned the news of his passing, I was filled with grief. As the day trudged forward, the weightiness of the news became heavier on me. 

As I think back on my teenage and early adult years, John Paul Jackson is one of the people who had a tremendous influence on my life – though I never met him personally. While I was so very young, I remember watching (and hearing about) the interaction between John Paul Jackson and John Wimber (a Vineyard Pastor). I appreciated the way John Paul would work in conjunction with the local church and respect the Pastoral leadership of the Church community.

John Paul taught me that character supersedes gifting. 

I took weekend classes out-of-town called, “The Art of Hearing God.” In his classes I learned how to quietly listen to the still, small voice of the Holy Spirit.  He taught us, through various other teachers, how to play games and do some activities to isolate His “voice” and learn how to adjust our lives to listen to Him.  He taught about the three pitfalls of ministry to watch out for (Gold, Girls/Guys, Glory).  I discovered through multiple classes that my odd connection to God in nature and life activities was actually a gift and ability to see supernatural lessons and concepts in my physical world around me.

As I look through my old class material, I recognize so much of my formation as a leader arose out of John Paul Jackson’s classes.  His leadership training was unique in its approach of Spirit sensitivity, while being explained and supported by Biblical stories and verses.

John Paul’s classes were heavy in service-leadership language.  The goal of cooperating with the Spirit was never to be ‘weird,’ but to support and serve the Pastors and church leaders and to operate within the spiritual covering and authority God has given.

In my 20’s, I attended John Paul Jackson’s Dream Interpretation classes.  My ability to see ‘supernatural’ lessons in our physical world expanded as I learned how to listen to dreams and guide people to God through their dreams.  I learned that, indeed, God is speaking to everyone and drawing people to himself- even in the venues of dreams. 

John Paul Jackson’s legacy and influence on my life will continue forever- and I'm just one minor person. As today is Ash Wednesday, the scripture that came to my mind when I learned of the passing of John Paul Jackson is John 12:24 – “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” My prayer is that John Paul’s years of ministry and planting seeds will continue to produce much more fruit.

Thank you, John Paul, for your encouragement and teaching to seek God's face, learn to listen to His voice and follow my Savior's lead.  You will be missed greatly, my spirit aches at the hole you leave behind, but I have no doubt I will see you again.

The Power of God vs. Faith

I'm preaching this Sunday on, "The Power of God."

When I used to teach teachers how to teach Sunday School I would warn them that during the week leading up to their message, God desired to interact in their daily lives with the lessons they were preparing for the children for Sunday.  It was a warning because some days teachers were teaching difficult lessons like, "Peter in Prison Praising God" or "God Loved a Man Named Job" or "Be Joyful in all Situations."  Teachers picked up packets knowing that God was going to give them lots of "material" during the week to bring the lesson to life and show that the Bible is not only applicable- but it (and God!) is active and alive.

When I first read the title Pastor Joe gave me, "The Power of God," I thought, "well that can't be too bad."

All day today I have sat at my desk reading through fantastic stories of God's power in the Old Testament and then that same power demonstrated through Jesus Christ in the New Testament.

Yet, while I type, I am simultaneously watching my phone for incoming messages from my sister-in-law on my nephew who is in the hospital.

I have to remind myself that faith is not necessarily answers or understanding, but standing in the tension of what I know to be true about God and what I'm actually experiencing.

Biblical faith is not determined by the "amount" of faith I personally have, but instead by what (or who) my faith is in. Which is why my measly mustard seed of faith, put at the foot of the cross, can cause the miraculous to come to pass.

Years ago I heard a sermon on Galatians 2:20 that has forever stuck with me. It wasn't until I picked up an NT Wright book that it all came together in my head and is making some sense.

"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me."

The sermon went something like this: see that small prepositional word "in?" Correctly translated, a better word for the context of the sentence is the article "of" which shows to whom the faith belongs. "I live by faith of the Son of God." It's not my faith- but His faith.

“On that day you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me, and I am in you.” John 14:20

I am hidden in Christ and can trust in Him. Even when I feel most vulnerable, or most uncertain, my faith does not rest in my personal situation or measly human capabilities- but in (of) the Son of God.  

"Faith by itself is no good - especially if it is faith in a god who is as powerless as a block of wood! What matters is the Creator God, who is the object of faith."  - N.T. Wright, Small Faith Great God

Despite my sometimes faltering personal faith, I serve a great, powerful and constant God and He is the basis of my faith.

God, reveal your power to my nephew!

Love and prayers to you, Matthew!