Artists & Influencers :: they’re teaching me about church

I don’t remember a time in my life when we didn’t go to church. Growing up, it was always a Baptist church until high school when my parents decided it was time to move on from where we were for reasons that I never quite knew because I was in high school and what did I care?

They chose a small church with the word “evangelical” in the name. When I told one of my girlfriends from the Baptist church that we were now going to an evangelical church down the road, her eyes got big but she didn’t say anything.

I later learned she didn’t know what the word “evangelical” meant and assumed our entire family had joined a cult.

My husband and I have been married over 12 years and for all of that time, he’s been a pastor at two different non-denominational churches.

I’m thankful the churches we’ve worked at are both churches we would have probably gone to anyway.

But I’ve recently become aware that we’ve never chosen a church as a married couple the way most people choose churches. We’ve basically been paid to go to church.

That sounds harsh, but I don’t mean it to be so. I simply mean to tell you that my idea of church – both as an organization and as a body of people – is seen through the filter of being married to a man who works at one.

Just like any other job, it can be both delightful and maddening. Sometimes both at the same time.

This past year, my husband and I have done a lot of thinking and praying about church – what it means, why we love it, and why we sometimes don’t.

Here are some of the artists and influencers who are teaching me about church these days:

1. Sarah Bessey.

I’ve never met Sarah, but the more I read of her, the more I want to. She writes of a time when she was “a mega-church refugee, a burned out ministry wife, a doubter, a questioner, a people-pleaser, a tired performer, a new seeker all over again.”

In her own words:

“I needed Lectio Divina, a labyrinth, liturgy, and the Jesus Prayer, I needed my Bible, and my friend Tez in Australia, and I needed the Book of Common Prayer. I needed the established theologians, and poets, and the up-and-coming bold bloggers, I needed the emerging church, and now I need my little community Vineyard.

I need happy-clappy Jesus music, and I need the old hymns I sing into the cavern of the bathtub while I wash these small tiny souls in my care, and I need Mumford and Sons, too . . . I need it all, still, always, I hold it all inside.”

She is teaching me on new levels what I have always strongly suspected is true: there isn’t only one exactly right way to be a Christian. There isn’t one right way to be a woman. And there isn’t only one right way to have church.

There is the Church, the body of Christ. And he is

“…bigger and bolder, more lovely, in the wilderness, than I’d ever known or expected if I’d remained only in my one little camp. It was my crossing camp lines through reading, conversation, friendship, showing up to listen, that kept me. I’m all of it, I think it’s mismatched and holy and beautiful.”

These excerpts are from a post Sarah wrote for Prodigal Magazine: In Defense of the Cafeteria.

2. Dr. Larry Crabb.

Remember when I went away for a week back in October during my Hush series? And remember how I didn’t tell you where I was going?

I went to Colorado Springs to take a week long course with Dr. Larry Crabb. Now you know.

I’m reading one of his books now called Real Church: Does it Exist? Can I Find It? In it, he admits he doesn’t like going to church. But he isn’t without hope, and so he casts vision for the direction in which he heads.

“I’m not always convinced I’ve done the right thing, but I’ve pretty much jumped ship, and with a few friends (actually quite a few, a growing number) I’m paddling a small lifeboat in what I think is a different direction from where most churches are heading.

I think I’m moving now in a direction more in line with where the Spirit is heading, toward eternal truth that spiritually forms and relationally connects and culturally engages, all as part of a wonderful love story.”

Spiritual formation.

Relational connection.

Cultural engagement.

A compelling love story.

And the Spirit within me is moved with life and hope and longing for this.

3. Our small group.

Our small group time is one of the places we have the kinds of conversations filled with half-ideas and whole hearted questions. My husband and I have had arguments right there in the middle of small group. They’ve seen me cry like a crazy woman, and I’ve seen them do it, too. We’ve grieved together over miscarriages and adoptions, celebrated babies and new houses, and lived the everyday kind of faith.

These two couples are the real. We all have kids and our time together isn’t as consistent as any of us want it to be. But when we get together, we lean in close to Christ and to each other, and we listen to how the Spirit might be moving.

Those two couples are teaching me about church.

4. Peter and John.

I’ve been spending some time in the book of Acts:

“When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus.”  –Acts 4:13

Do I have this kind of courage, the kind that doesn’t come from me? Have we, as a church, been with Jesus? Can anybody tell?

I could think on this verse for a very long time.

***

This is a post in a series called Artists & Influencers. Here are the other posts in the series so far:

I’m linking up this post with Christine over at Grace Covers Me as she releases her new book, The Church Planting Wife: Help and Hope for Her Heart

From January 30 – February 4, she’ll be collecting heart stories from women about church planting and ministry.

Maybe you’ll want to share your own, or at least check out some of the stories women are sharing over at Christine’s place. If you are in ministry, I’m sure they will be encouraging reads!

Who is teaching you about church?

for when you think you want control

“This is the second time in my life where I cannot control an outcome. The first time was the disease, [the second time is] now.”

Lance Armstrong,  in his interview with Oprah Winfrey

Lance ArmstrongLast May when Phillip Phillips won American Idol, he didn’t jump up and down or make number one signs in the air or fall to his knees and make a big scene. Instead, he humbly sang his song until about mid-way through when his emotions twisted up his throat and he had to stop singing and just put down his head.

Phillip Phillips seemed like a man who knew that the outcome of that competition was completely out of his hands. He looked genuinely shocked to discover himself as the winner.

I heard a quote where someone said the human soul wasn’t made for fame – watching Phillip win was visible proof of that statement for me. 

Last night in a two hour interview with Oprah, Lance Armstrong finally admitted to using performance-enhancing drugs. He said every time he won a tour, he knew he was going to win. He orchestrated it to be so.

Oprah said, “Fame magnifies whoever you really are.” I think she’s right.

Lance Armstrong said he was a guy who expected to always get what he wanted.

He was a controller of outcomes in every area of his life.

Except when he got cancer.

And when he got caught.

Did you watch Part 1 of the interview?

what it really means to get in the best shape of your life

You are picking your phrases, your one words, your goals for 2013. You are tending your lists and your desires and I hope your families and friends cheer you on in your endeavors this week.

As you consider what this year will hold, how perhaps through exercise you would like to change the shape of your thighs or the shape of your waist, consider also this:

What does your life hold right now?

What is the shape of your life?

I read Gift From the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh this summer. In it, she answers that question. As we consider where we’re going, the most important thing to know first is where we are.

Getting into the shape of your life means climbing into this right-now place, fold yourself into the rhythm of your current truth.

What makes up the silhouette?

What is flowing from your heart?

Where do your feet now stand?

Who is holding your hand?

The shape of my life begins with my family, the five of us living in our home together in North Carolina. We enjoy time together and time apart. We choose love when we remember and forgiveness when we forget. We stumble and then we help each other up.

We have desires for our future and those desires are important.

I am deeply curious about the mystery of Christ and how his life comes out of his people, how his life comes out of me.

I want to learn how to be a better writer, to accept the dare of pouring words over the shared condition of humanity in a way that somehow says to others, Me too and, There’s hope.

As a couple, my husband and I are open to change and transformation in ways we have perhaps never been before. There is beauty in the waking.

I want to be fully alive as the person, mother, and wife I uniquely am, not the one who others think I ought to be. I’ll finish with Anne’s words:

“But I want first of all — in fact, as an end to these other desires — to be at peace with myself. I want a singleness of eye, a purity of intention, a central core to my life that will enable me to carry out these obligations and activities as well as I can. I want, in fact — to borrow from the language of the saints — to live ‘in grace’ as much of the time as possible.”

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea

May all of my endeavors to lead a meaningful life be thwarted and interrupted if I seek to accomplish them in my own strength.

May I ever know the presence of Jesus in the center seat of my personality as the only glue that holds me together.

May I not set off to discover myself, but may I settle in as the person I most deeply am and know he is God.

What is the shape of your life?

the courage we all so desperately need

The starfish sits on our dining room table, a few feet away from the white Christmas tree I found at the Goodwill. There is a lot of white in that room and I like it that way.

White is the color of space.

And so we head into 2013 in a few days and I find myself longing for the beach already. I do odd things in the midst of change, in the shifting from the right-now to the will-be. I tend to rush ahead to the next thing, but I don’t do it as much as I used to.

Sit, girl. Stay in the place where you are.

Tomorrow (Saturday) I will stand in front of hundreds of college students and speak out loud about the things I know for sure – the grace and love God has for his people. I speak at 2 EST. Pray for courage?

Even as I write that, I think of Newtown, I think of Jennie’s friend Sarah in a hospital in Texas, I think of Nish giving birth to a brand new baby girl in Utah, I think of home here in North Carolina. There is much to grieve and there is much to celebrate, all at the same time.

Jesus is the courage we all so desperately need, no matter what we’re doing.

May your weekend be filled with thoughtful reflection and hopeful anticipation.

how to reset your internal clock in time for Christmas

Over the past 35 years, I’ve watched my parents do things that have made me laugh, think, and roll my eyes. But when I first heard about this thing my dad does in the mornings, I knew I was going to have to start doing it too.

Four days before Christmas, while the kitchen is filled up with newly bought groceries, the kids spend their last day at school before break, the tree hangs on to drying pine needles, I need to remember how to reset my internal clock in the midst of the hurried bustle, the quiet grief from the events of last Friday, and the deep longing for Immanuel.

Want to know how to reset your internal clock, too? I’ll tell you over at (in)courage.

how to pray when you don’t know how to pray

We walk the kids to school like we do most mornings. Everything we can see is the same – uphill most of the way there, we stop to tie a shoe or two. I wrap cold hands around a half-full coffee mug.

When we get to the doors, the warm air from the building pulls us inside. But we’re walking sideways and distracted today, still shaken by images we’ve only seen in our heads. Normal thoughts swirl around with terrible thoughts – I hug my six year old bye for the day, laughing at the look he gives me.

Still smiling, I look over his shoulder into his classroom to see if there is a closet where the teacher could hide them.

There’s no closet, but there is a bathroom. That should do.

We walk away from the door, notice they’ve changed the artwork in the main hallway. I’m still thinking about his classroom, all those coats hanging on hooks on the wall.

I make dinner at the end of the day and for the first time since last Friday, I feel a wave of anger rise up in me. It comes strong and unexpected and brings tears of rage.

The chili starts to boil. I turn off the stove and set the pot on a cool eye. Chili isn’t supposed to boil.

Teachers aren’t supposed to have to hide kids in closets. Or bathrooms.

I thought I would only write one post about all this, but I’m not sure who I thought I was. I know this isn’t the first school shooting. But something about this one feels so personal.

As I stand at the sink after dinner, hot water runs over the heavy bowl. I lose my grip and the bowl slips. It’s loud and the water splashes my face and arms, soaking my shirt.

I have real emotion over it, mutter under my breath. Immediately, a flash of guilt - what have you got to be frustrated about?

I nearly stopped there, letting the guilt push me into proper behavior of thankfulness.

But as I become more fully myself, I think I’m also accepting my humanity in more complete ways.

I’m still going to roll my eyes at telemarketers and mutter when I drop dishes. My first response is still a human one when small annoying things happen the same way my first response is a human one when huge, unthinkable things happen.

We are fully human and our emotions run deep – our anger is red and sharp, our sorrow the deepest shade of blue.

Though I’ve only seen maybe fifteen minutes total of the news coverage, I have images in my head that I can’t get out. We all do – not the pictures we’ve seen, but the ones we imagine. I don’t want to imagine things from the classrooms, but the images come anyway.

It is horrifying.

We can’t linger there.

The things we feel most deeply – be it anger or sadness or fear – let these be hints of how to pray. Let your particular personality become fully awake in the midst of the questions. Where is your burden heaviest? Pray that.

I am an intense feeler with a sensitive imagination, and so I feel pressed to pray in the ways that make sense to me. I pray that those children and teachers and first responders who have survived will have renewed imaginations. That somehow, the horror of what their eyes have seen, what their souls have lived through, will fade.

There is an honest part of me that doubts that is possible.

I read Psalm 23, read about the Lord as Shepherd, the kind who leads and quiets and calms.

The kind who restores souls.

Lord, may it be so.

*

 

one alternative to pessimism and optimism

The pessimists say life is hard and won’t get better. The optimists say life is good or will be soon. But the believers say our hope is in Jesus whether life is hard or life is good, releasing the right to predict the future, holding on to God who comes to be with us now.

Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel. - Isaiah 7:14

Don’t paint the world black seeing only negative space. Don’t paint the world pink and try to call the bad things good. Let the believers consider Immanuel, the with-ness of God, right where we are, not where we wish we were instead.

the importance of holding on

We’re on day eight of fever in our house – two have the flu, one has strep, and two parents have a common cold. Yes, that’s three different sicknesses all up in this house.

I fought against it for about two days last week, wishing I could change what I could see was happening. I realized around Tuesday that this Thanksgiving break was not going to look like what I planned. Some things were canceled, expectations passed by unmet, and all three of my kids suffered terribly with coughs and fevers and wakings in the night.

On Saturday when I started to feel the ache between my eyes, the runny nose and the heavy limbs, I got a little teary and ridiculous about the whole thing. I cuddled up to the idea of disappearing in my bed and letting someone else take care of all the things and people needing attention. Will we ever stop wanting our moms when we start to feel sick?

Today we begin the recovery from the fog. For me, that means trying to remember how to form a sentence. I have a manuscript due sooner than I’d like to admit. Books aren’t written by good intentions, so I have some serious work to do.

But all these things are small, really. Our family will be well soon enough, the book will be written in time, and all these disappointments from last week don’t add up to much even when put all together. I was even able to finish The Distant Hours this weekend and I’m glad I stuck with it. Slow start, great finish.

I remember once my husband telling me whatever you hold on to will hold on to you.

I held on to disappointment some last week and it kept a pretty tight hold on me. Today I’m holding on to gratitude instead, not just for the gifts but to the Giver of them.

What are you holding on to today?

when you have a thousand brilliant excuses for doing nothing

“We are afraid of failure. We don’t like it; we shun it, avoid it because of our inordinate desire to be thought well of by others. So we come up with a thousand brilliant excuses for doing nothing . . .

Each of us pays a heavy price for our fear of falling flat on our faces. It assures the progressive narrowing of our personalities and prevents exploration and experimentation. As we get older, we do only the things we do well. There is no growth in Christ Jesus without some difficulty and fumbling. If we are going to keep on growing, we must keep on risking failure throughout our lives . . .

How much faith, how much hope, how much love does the perpetual procrastinator really have?”

Brennan Manning, Souvenirs of Solitude

A few weeks ago, I cried while reading a food blog. It wasn’t because I was so hungry or because there was anything intrinsically tear-worthy in the avocado. Rather it was because the idea of writing about food was so comforting to me, so other-than what I write about, that reading it pulled up tears before I had a chance to figure out where they came from.

I would love to run from my work and get lost in a food blog. There is a time for that, to be quite sure. But I am grown-up enough to sense when the timing is off, when I am avoiding what I need to face, when I am putting aside the risk of failure by clicking through one more recipe.

I’m sure there are some food bloggers out there who click over to my place in order to avoid facing their own work and their potentially painful daily allotment of failure. We all have our unique shape of fear. There are no greener grasses, only different lawns.

 A thousand brilliant excuses . . .

Today as we face our dishes, our proposals, our classrooms full of the future; as we sit to create, to write, and to live on purpose, may the promise of growth outweigh our fear of stumbling.

May we remember how swiftly perfect love drives out fear.

May our thousand brilliant excuses spin around into one brilliant act of belief.

As you stand in long lines to vote, to buy gas, to renew  your drivers license; as you set out to face whatever this day holds, may you remember that you bring the Spirit of the living, loving, capable God with you wherever you go.

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