Let Us Be People of Easter

A devotion I wrote and gave to MOPS this week:

 

Friends it’s a joy to proclaim to you this morning that He is Risen!  I know it’s easy to think Easter is over--Target quickly put away the plastic eggs, obnoxious Easter grass that gets all over everything and doesn’t vacuum up easily, and marked down all the leftover peeps, but in the life of the Christian church we’re still smack in the middle of the Easter season.  I used to teach a class for children ages 4-6, and it was a program called Godly Play, where we taught children how to worship, how to participate in the life and liturgy of a congregation and we used to help them recognize and celebrate the various seasons of the church year.  We would explain to them when they saw the purple banners and cloths show up in the church it meant we were in the season of Lent, the 6 weeks before Easter, and that purple meant we were waiting for something huge to happen--Easter was so important it took us 6 weeks to get ready for it!  But what many people don’t realize is that the 7 weeks after Easter are called the Easter season--we’d tell the kids that easter was SO huge, was SO important to our faith that one sunday wasn’t nearly enough to celebrate it fully, the church needed 7 sundays where we would proclaim “he is risen! he is risen indeed!” to one another every week.  Many congregations have lost that practice, using those words, “he is risen” only one week a year, but i wish that was something we could reclaim.  Because those words matter.  They’re game changing, life changing words, history changing words.  And many of us only hear them once a year.  But i want to tell you again today that He is Risen.  Or as my 3 year old likes to run around saying “he is risen and fabulous!”  We have absolutely no idea where those words came from, but I love them.  Jesus is risen and fabulous.  

Jesus is risen.  But that doesn’t mean everything is perfect, it doesn’t mean life is without hard times.  We heard three incredible stories two weeks ago from our friends who freely shared about very difficult times in their lives.  Life is messy.  Life is downright painful at times.  There is a constant mixture of the beautiful and the bitter, and Jesus’ resurrection does not promise to take away the bitter as much as we wish it would.  At least not here, not now, not yet.  Shauna Niequist calls this life bittersweet, the idea that in all things there is both something broken and something beautiful--a sliver of lightness on even the darkest night, a shadow of hope in every heartbreak.  That if everything in life was sweetness, it would rot our teeth and our souls.  The bitter is what makes us strong, what forces us to push through, what helps us earn the lines on our faces and the calluses on our hands.  Sweet is nice enough, but bittersweet is beautiful, full of depth and complexity, it’s courageous, gutsy and earthy.  It’s the bitter parts of our stories that allow us to sit with one another, to reach out when we see others suffering a similar pain we’ve endured.  It is after having walked through those bitter moments and seasons in life that we are able to utter what I’ve come to believe are two of the most powerful words in a friendship.  The words “me too.”  Me too.  I’ve been there too.  You’re not the only one who has been so sleep deprived you’ve considered walking away from your kids.  Me too.  You’re not the only one who has been so fed up with a spouse that you’ve found yourself entertaining the question “do I want to do this for the next 50 years?”  Me too.  You’re not the only one who has worried over the health of a loved one, or grieved in the emergency room over the loss of someone dear to you.  Jesus is risen, but life is still messy, and walking through those messy times gives us the privilege of proclaiming to one another “you are not alone in your messy and bitter moments.”  

But friends, here is what the resurrection of Jesus does promise us.  It promises us that our messy, sometimes painful and bittersweet life won’t be that way forever.  The book of Revelation promises us, in what might be one of the most hope-filled passages in all of scripture that one day all suffering will end.  I believe that one day we will stand before the throne of God and never again will we hunger.  Never again will we know the scorching heat of the sun.  Never again will we shed a tear, in fact I believe it with all of my heart that one day God will wipe away every tear we have ever shed from our eyes.  Because Jesus is alive we have this hope.  I believe that the same Jesus who was put to death on a cross 2000 years ago is alive again today, and because he is risen we have hope.  One day there won’t be any more depression, there won’t be any more cancer, there won’t be any more drunk driving accidents, one day there will be a cease-fire forever in war torn parts of this planet.  Life is still messy friends, sometimes life is downright painful but I believe with all my heart that Jesus is alive and because he is alive we can live with hope.  

My favorite song-writer, poet, prophet, is the late Rich Mullins, who died tragically way too young.  But he left behind a treasure-trove of words that over and over again point me to Jesus, and to the hope we have in him.  One of my favorite songs of his is called If I Stand, and the chorus says

 

So if I stand let me stand on the promise

That You will pull me through

And if I can't then let me fall on the grace

That first brought me to You

If I sing let me sing for the joy

That has born in me these songs

But if I weep let it be as a man

Who is longing for his home

Friends because Jesus is risen we have the promise of another home someday. The resurrection does not mean we will never grieve here on earth.  It does not mean everything in our lives will be springtime and sunshine and roses.  But because of the resurrection we can say “i know this isn’t the end.  I know in my head, even if I don’t always feel it in my heart, that someday I won’t cry anymore, someday my loved ones won’t suffer.  As i look at the world around me I HAVE to believe that, I have to believe the pain in this world isn’t how God intended life to be.  Even in the midst of dark times, may we be people of Easter.  People who can help proclaim to one another that Jesus is risen, and because of those 3 words, everything in our lives will be made new someday.  We can grieve, cry, laugh, dance, fight, make up, parent our kids, care for our loved ones, and walk through the ordinary everday moments with great hope.  Jesus is risen friends, he is risen indeed.  

 

A Song of Reorientation

Disorientation, Reorientation. Feeling lost, discombobulated, confused, sucked into a whirlpool of chaos, followed by a turning right-side up again. We see this pattern over and over again in the Psalms--the psalmist will cry out to God from the midst of a vortex of pain, confusion and fear. He’ll cry to His maker “where are you?? When will you act? Why can’t I find you or hear you or see your face??” His honest, heart-wrenching prayers show us his lostness, in fact there’s an entire grouping of Psalms named by scholars “the Psalms of Disorientation.” These are some of my favorite passages in all of scripture, the prayers that give me permission to cry out to God in the midst of my own disorientation in life.

Thankfully, there is another grouping of Psalms that fill the prayer book of the bible. The Psalms of Reorientation--psalms and songs of praise that turn the confused and lost person back to face the One who is still in control. Prayers and poetry that reorients us and our lives, that helps us turn our faces back towards the One who reminds us that when we pass through the waters of life they will not sweep over us because God is our rock and our redeemer.

As we journey through life I’m learning that it can be difficult to stay oriented sometimes. Life feels chaotic. The world throws a lot at us. Disappointments arise and change occurs sometimes faster than we would care to see. This past year has felt like one giant spiral of disorientation for us. We began work at West Side on Jan. 18, and from day one we found our heads spinning with big events to plan, long-standing traditions to effectively pull off (and not “mess up” as we were told by numerous people), dozens of people to try and keep happy because they all believed themselves to be my husband’s boss, and a system of leadership and power that refused to engage in conversation about anything different, outside the box, or remotely new. By February we were exhausted, and that clear vision that we went in to this church with grew fuzzier and fuzzier. The swirling busyness around us kept us from being able to stay oriented to the vision of youth and family ministry God had given us in our time at Fuller. We found ourselves aimless, disillusioned, and doing everything we could to keep our heads above water. This isn’t to say God hasn’t done, and isn’t doing work within this community, but the way we have come to understand ministry, discipleship, outreach and worship were so vastly different from what was happening there that it became impossible to keep ourselves firmly planted.

The first weekend in June my girlfriends and I went out to spend the weekend on Whidbey Island to retreat away together. As my dear friend, Missy, and I were driving up the island looking for our turn off a song came on her ipod and she said “this is my song of reorientation.” I wasn’t sure what she meant by that and she reminded me of the Psalms--how there are psalms of disorientation and then psalms of reorientation that help us refocus in the midst of feeling lost. She said that this song had become her own personal “Psalm of Reorientation,” and that has stuck with me all these months. The song was called “Our God” and was recorded by worship artist Chris Tomlin. As I listened to the lyrics I found tears springing to my eyes. Life felt so painful at that time (we didn’t know this at the time but it was a week before our time at the church officially ended), and the lyrics of the song washed over my thirsty soul like a beautiful, moisturizing balm.

“Our God is greater. Our God is stronger. God you are higher than any other. Our God is healer, awesome in power, Our God. Our God.”

Simple words. But so true. In the midst of the swirling chaos around us we belonged to a God who was our healer, who was greater and stronger than any power structure, church system, or set of traditions that were thrown at us. As we’ve wrestled through the incredible pain of being abruptly asked to leave a church community, the pain of realizing we trusted people who betrayed us, the confusion of questioning our call to ministry, and the anger and disillusionment we’ve experienced being treated so poorly by someone we thought we could respect in ministry, this song has become a healing chorus for me. I’ve listened to it on repeat a lot, and I’ve come to a place where I am beginning to declare “yes, our God IS greater and stronger and higher and more powerful than anything going on in life.”

Fast forward a few months to October 23, our first Sunday in our new church community. We take our seats and wait for the announcements to be given before we rise to join together for our opening song. A familiar chorus begins to emerge from the pianist’s hands and then the words appear on the screen. “Our God is greater. Our God is stronger. God you are higher than any other...” Two Sundays in a row, our first two weeks here, this was our opening song in worship. Experience after experience has shown us that as we serve here, this place is meant to be a place of reorientation for us. We love it at this church, more than words could ever express. From the schedule and calendar that are in place for the youth department (SO much more manageable for the volunteers and staff!), to the way the senior pastor embraces change, worship, leadership and mentoring, to the refreshing messages we’re hearing every Sunday morning about being open to the Spirit and moving forward and doing church differently.

In the midst of a season of so much chaos and transition and pain we are finding ourselves beginning to feel our feet back on solid ground. We still haven’t moved into an apartment. Our belongings are still in Seattle. I still don’t have a doctor to deliver this baby in 8 weeks. We own nothing for this kiddo other than a box of clothes my grandma has sent. But we are okay with that (most days, some days I cry a lot!). We know that in the next 8 weeks things will continue to fall into place, but more importantly our souls are beginning to find rest. We’re finding ourselves coming out of the whirlpool of the past 10 months, we’re catching our breath, and we’re looking around saying “this feels right again.” Our God is faithful, just as he promised he’d be.

Healing Waters--Houseboats 2011

I adore the annual houseboat trip that Glendale Pres always does. I just do. It is so different from any other camp experience I've had. We are on the water all the time, jumping in and out of the refreshing lake and it's the only time of the year I get to be on boats--which I LOVE--houseboats, kayaks, ski boats--I love them all. Plus at most camps there's not quite as much down time where my main job as a youth leader is to simply float on an inner tube and have conversations with students. It's that intentional "unstructured relational" time that I adore. There's no where I have to be, just sitting there in the water asking girls how life is. The depth of ministry that is able to be done on a trip like this is always amazing to me. When we moved to Seattle we still would get the emails from the youth program at GPC, and as they began mentioning houseboats we found ourselves quite disappointed we wouldn't be able to join them on this incredible trip. When West Side fired us back in June, Chuck's best friend, George (the youth director at GPC) said "I'm really bummed to hear that--but uh--is there any way you want to come on houseboats now that you have free time? I need another male and female leader." We jumped at the chance, bought plane tickets, and found ourselves loaded up in 15 passenger vans surrounded by the students we've spent the past 2 years building relationships with. Walking into the parking lot that day to load up and being met with squeals, hugs, and students SO excited to see us (and the baby bump--baby got LOTS of pats and love this week!) was beyond healing for my broken heart--a heart that was doubting whether church youth ministry is even worth it after being so hurt by our experience in Seattle. Words cannot express how healing it was for both of us to be part of this trip. I shed a lot of tears, tears I hadn't really let myself cry, as I watched how differently this church approaches youth ministry. They aren't perfect, but serving here was SUCH a different experience than serving in Seattle. I found myself sobbing listening to our leaders pour out our hearts to God on behalf of these students. When we asked girls what the "high" of their week was one of them said "having you back." After literally being voted out of a church community & told you're not capable of working with students at a place, to hear a 15 year old say "I just want you back, life isn't the same without you here" was so humbling and so encouraging. So much healing. Chuck had the same experiences. We barely saw one another all week but when we did we always said "we needed this. Thank you, Lord, we needed this trip so badly."

It's funny that God really does put people right where he wants them. The last afternoon I was getting bored being "at camp" (back at the house boats while others were out on ski boats flying across the lake). It was hot, I was tired of being in the sun, and I wasn't feeling like I had had any significant conversations with girls that afternoon. I really wanted out on a ski boat at the 4:00 time slot. But the boats were full, too many students wanted out for the last boat run of the day, so I had to forfeit my spot. I found myself thinking "I have 2 1/2 hours til dinner, what the heck am I going to do with that time?" I was floating in the water with a small group of girls but they all drifted away to go play on the water trampoline (something I couldn't do cuz of baby). All of a sudden I'm alone with one of the girls who I had had such a difficult time connecting with all week. She was fairly new to the group, and was SUPER quiet. I honestly wasn't even sure she was having fun. But I figured I should try again and asked her something random like "how are you feeling going back to school in the fall?" She started talking. And talking. And talking. About some of the deepest, most painful things going on in her life. I simply asked a few questions here and there, and eventually suggested we get out of the water and go sit on the back of the staff boat where I knew we wouldn't be interrupted. This 2 1/2 hour conversation is probably the deepest, most intense conversation I have ever had with a student in my life. She let me speak into her life boldly and ask difficult questions even though she had only met me 4 days earlier. She opened up about her boyfriend and the way he treats her, and let me share with her what I thought. We talked about how she deserved to be treated, we talked about what I wanted for her in a relationship (to not be afraid of his anger, reactions, or control). We talked about the abusive cycle she is finding herself trapped in. We talked about marriage and what it's like to be fully free to be known by someone, without hiding parts of ourselves out of fear of them. We talked about her parents and how they're reacting. We talked about who she is, what I had seen in her that week that made me believe she had the courage deep inside to break free from him, and we brainstormed people in her life she could turn to for help with that. We talked about how God sees her, and what God wants for her in life. I watched a bit of hope and courage return to her eyes and posture. I heard her say "I want to be single, I want to know God more. I want to grow and be different." It was an incredible conversation, one I will carry with me for years. At the end she looked me in the eye and said "I know you've said you kind of want a baby boy, that you have a lot of nieces and think a boy would be a fun addition to the family, but Sarah, I really really hope you have a daughter. You would be such a good mom to a girl, and if I had a mom like you I might be in a really different place in life. I'm going to pray God gives you a girl. She'll be the luckiest girl ever." More tears. My heart aches for her. But I praise God for this divine appointment, for being in the right place at the right time. There were so many moments from this trip that brought joy, hope, and healing, but this conversation was probably the biggest one. I was reminded of what my husband tells me all the time--that we get to be pastors wherever we go, and we don't need a congregation to validate that calling with a paycheck to be an effective minister. It truly is an incredible calling, and this truly was an incredible week to be reminded of that.

Of course there were silly moments of the week--lots of games, dancing, singing, wake boarding, inner tubing, food, sun bathing, and general mayhem. But this year, I'll remember houseboats 2011 as the waters where my soul started to heal.

I'm Sorry

One of the things I'm learning about human nature is that we've somehow been taught it is not okay to not be okay. We've been taught that even if we do admit something is wrong we're immediately supposed to brush it off and tell people "oh well, I'll be fine, it'll be okay." If we do go into detail about why things are hard, and somehow take up the entire conversation with someone, many of us feel guilty about that. We "should" have just said we'll be okay and then asked them how they were doing. That's what we should be doing. Has anyone else ever felt like this? I know I have. I ran into this all the time as a hospital chaplain, people would tell me that life actually was not okay for them right now, and when I would say "I am sorry" they would brush me off "oh it's okay, I'll be fine." I run into this all the time with the teenagers I've loved over the years. Somehow we have created a culture where the socially acceptable mantra is "It's okay." It's okay that my boyfriend dumped me. It's okay that my parents fight all the time. It's okay that my teachers don't take me seriously. It's okay that adults in my life don't take the time to really listen to me. It's okay that I have cancer, I'll be fine.

You know what, it's actually not okay. And in my opinion, it's okay to say it's not okay. Many people can't say this for themselves, so I've learned that one of the most important things we can do for a person who is struggling or suffering is to say it for them. I've done this a lot, and the response is always amazing. It usually invites deeper conversation. Sometimes it will bring to the surface those tears that have been threatening to spill over--the tears the individual is desperately trying to stuff down in effort to prove that she really is "okay." A student I know well actually wrote a blog post on her own blog about the time I did this with her. These words that she wrote have meant the world to me, because it shows me how simple, yet essential it is to give people to space to not be okay. Here's what she has to say, in her own words:

so tonight when i was at church we were given the opportunity to talk to the person next to us and share about a time when God has gotten us through a rough time. I got the chance to talk to Sarah, which I am so happy i did because she taught me something tonight that i will for sure keep with me for the rest of my life. when she asked me to share i told her that the rough time is now and thats really true. like right now my life is just…. haha let’s just say there have been a lot of tears in the last month and i’m really surprised i havent run out of them yet. and when she asked me if i felt betrayed (I had a sense as to what she was going through, I didn't just randomly guess the feeling "betrayed"), i said yes and she responded by saying “im sorry”, and after hearing that phrase so much i just automatically said “its okay”. but then she said something to me that no one had ever said before. she told me “no, its not okay. it sucks. its okay to say it sucks” and for the first time i realized that is right. its crazy to think that there are so many times people have offered me sorrys and i’ve just kind of turned them down by saying “its okay”. i guess its because i’ve heard “i’m sorry” so many times in my life that it stopped meaning something to me… and then later another leader came up to me and asked me how i was on a scale from 0-10 and i told her -5, and of course she replied with “i’m sorry” and once again i said “its okay” and she looked me straight in the eye and said “no, its not okay. its okay to say ‘yeah it sucks’”. words cannot describe how much what those two said to me tonight meant to me. cause it does suck right now, and because of them i’m not afraid to say it does anymore. so, for anyone reading this, if someone says “im sorry” to you when you’re feeling as crappy as i am right now, don’t be afraid to say “yeah, it sucks” because they mean their sorry…. they really do care even though it might seem like they don’t because others don’t. alright, thats it.

She's right. Validating someone's feelings, reminding them that it's okay to not be okay, letting them feel whatever it is they are feeling, these things aren't difficult. But they give a person so much freedom to truly feel, and I have come to believe that it is only when we truly allow ourselves to feel, to fully experience the emotions we're dealing with, only then can we begin to experience healing. As Jerry Sittser writes in his amazing book on grief, A Grace Disguised, "the quickest way for anyone to reach the sun and the light of day is not to run west, chasing after the setting sun, but to head east, plunging into the darkness until one comes to the sunrise.”

Remembering Praise

It's been a week of grief around here, what a strange juxtaposition from this weekend of joy celebrating Jenn & Sandeep's wedding. Our friend Praise passed away very suddenly on Monday afternoon, leaving hundreds of people shocked and struggling at various levels with intense grief. She had been traveling overseas in Singapore and Thailand in the past few weeks, and the doctors suspect she contracted some kind of virus that began spreading through her body. She didn't know she was sick until Sunday at church, went to the ER, was admitted for having trouble breathing, and passed away 24 hours later when her lung collapsed and her heart stopped. And the doctors still couldn't figure out what it was that was attacking her body, or how to treat it. I know her family is in complete shock, along with the church community she grew up in (here in the area) and Fuller's campus. Praise graduated from Fuller with me in 2009 and just began a job working in the office of admissions here. She was extremely active with the youth at her church, and thanks to facebook I've seen the incredibly raw grief these kids are struggling with--not understanding why this happened to someone so absolutely incredible. To be honest, we're all struggling with that question. None of us understand, and that feeling sucks. She was a surfing buddy of Charles' their whole first year here, and made incredible efforts to reach out to me, to bring me into the surfing community even if I didn't actually ride waves. Praise didn't care, she just loved people so much she simply wanted them around and included. From the moment I met her (and learned that her name really is Praise, that's not a nickname!) I was always a little in awe of her. She is one of those people who absolutely radiates pure joy whenever you come into contact with her. She loved Jesus passionately, and she took seriously His call to go and love the least of His children, to give a voice to those who had none. Praise teamed up with the Sold Project an organization that is working around the world to prevent child prostitution and to empower people to act out against this horrific trend happening around the world. Not too many 28 year old women spend their breaks from work/school in places like Thailand working to bring light and justice to incredibly dark places. Praise adored being at the beach, playing in the water, taking pictures, experiencing the beauty that surrounds her. And now she's with Jesus, experiencing the unimaginable beauty that awaits all of us, her brothers and sisters in Christ someday. She loved taking jumping pictures--photos in famous place of people jumping up in the air. Someone wrote on her facebook page after she died "I can almost hear you asking Jesus to jump so you can take his picture." What a photo that would be! But the rest of us are sad. Are so so sad. It's been a long time since something has hit me like this, and I think for Chuck too. I am so grateful that we're able to grieve together, that I had a man who is willing to sit with me as I weep, who will reach out and walk with me as we both struggle to come to terms with this. And honestly, we're angry. This isn't right. There is no reason someone as incredible as Praise should be gone. There have been some beautiful moments that have come since her death because of her, but that doesn't make it easier. We're grieving alongside many of our friends, and it's been a rough few days for all of us. We miss her, her laugh, her beautiful smile, her genuine "how are you doing?" that she'd ask as she met you around campus. We were saying that it seemed like Praise lived more life in 28 years than most people do in a full lifetime, which is so inspiring to us. I know Chuck wishes he could go catch waves with her this weekend, instead of going out with their other buddies in memory of Praise. We were talking the other night about how sometimes it seems like when you name a child, their name ends up being a bit prophetic. There truly is no other way we could describe your life, dear friend, than a life of Praise.