Mexico in Photos

Yes, that's me - with a mask to limit the impact of shovelling sand, cement and mortar in the middle of a dust storm...

A developing theme?

I always find it interesting the way God seems to develop similar themes in a wide variety of people and situations. Or maybe it's simply that when God begins to develop something in our lives, He also opens our eyes to see that we are not alone in our thinking.

I have devoted a lot of time, thought, prayer and study lately to the theme of God's presence in the midst of the "messy" - in the ugly moments of life, in the painful moments, in the suffering, the temptations, the situations marked by evil. God has laid this theme heavily on my heart of late. "He gives beauty for ashes."

I have been overwhelmed by the number of things I have read recently that tell me that other people are thinking along similar lines. I knew there were a few "odd ducks" like me within my immediate church community, but thought that it related to our personal experiences only. And then I read things like Renee's post that I linked to earlier today, the article by Dan Haseltine that I quoted from last week, and this post from Cameron Conant.

Conant is describing an encounter with a new friend of his and writes:
Last night he said that if you want to experience the joy of Easter, you must first experience the agony of Thursday and Good Friday.

It's like people who refuse to walk through their pain; it might be easier in the short-term, but in the long-term, it prevents them from experiencing true freedom and true joy."

As a pastor, my job is to help people fully enter into their pain," my new friend said.

That might have been the most brilliant statement on ministry I've ever heard.

It might be the most brilliant statement on ministry that I've ever heard too. Especially if we first enter our own pain, and then speak from the position of wounded healer. In Haseltine's words (and my new favorite quote!) - We must be both the walking wounded and the perpetually healed.

As I've thought about this subject over the last while, I've kept returning to the image of the suffering servant that Isaiah paints. Who knows better than Christ what it is to minister from a place of suffering, from emptiness, from both woundedness and healing? For it is out of that place that redemption is birthed. And redemption is the most beautiful, awe-inspiring thing that I have ever encountered.

He grew up before him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had not beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desires him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53:2-5)

Stations of the Cross

You should all visit Renee's blog this week. Each day she has been reflecting on a station of the cross. The reflections have been beautiful and challenging.

I particularly loved the one she wrote today for station seven - Christ's second fall. You can find it here. Then go back and read the stations 1-6.

Anything that helps me meditate in a new way on the Easter holiday is worth the time I need to spend reading it. Easter, like so many things, can become trite if you don't devote the time. I'm still trying to figure out how to create reflective space on Good Friday this year. Our family is busy, because my dad and brother leave for a month long mission trip to Ukraine on Easter Sunday afternoon. But I am determined to carve out at least a couple of hours on Friday to reflect and meditate - hopefully in the mountains somewhere.

Matching Moods with the Weather

I was thinking this morning as I padded out to the kitchen in my bare feet and pygamas and stood looking out the window and eating a cookie for breakfast that the weather we've had in Calgary lately has suited the mood I've been in since returning from Mexico remarkably well. The weather has been drizzly and melancholy. On Saturday, when I felt a breakthrough moment, and knew how I was going to address something that had until that moment been unclear, it was clear, and even kind of warm. On Sunday night, when I sat in a restaurant until nearly 1am and talked with friends, then left more confused and frustrated than ever, it rained heavily as I drove home.

And the weather this morning is no exception. I had some more conversations last night, and walked away frustrated, confused, and maybe even angry. I had tried so hard to communicate what I've been thinking and feeling lately, and as much as my friends tried to listen, it felt that we were in separate spaces, seeing and hearing, but going past each other without understanding. Ships in the night is the phrase that comes to mind.

As I lay in bed and waited for sleep to claim me, I cried out yet again to God for clarity. And then I did something that still feels dangerous to me - I invited Him to give me dreams - to speak to me in my sleep if He wanted. Now, I have friends who have and cherish an active dream life - I don't. Too many years of horrific nightmares - the kind where you wake up and can't breathe, and you wonder why your bed is shaking, and then realize it's because your whole body is trembling from the fear. So, you know how desperate I'm feeling if I ask God to speak in my dreams.

What are the chances that I prayed that prayer, and then dreamt for the first time in a couple of weeks, that that dream is not something I need to pay attention to? Because I did dream, and it feels somewhat significant, but it was kind of scary too. There were definite fear emotions attached. And here's the thing - if that was God speaking, shouldn't it make sense to me? Because it was an odd dream, with things that must have been symbolic, and I have no idea what the symbols would have represented.

So I stood looking out the kitchen window this morning, feeling kind of unsettled, confused and tired, and the grayness of the morning, the low sitting clouds, the drizzling rain matched my mood once again.

Pioneers and Settlers

There was something spoken at church last night about being either pioneers or settlers. I am part of a church community filled with pioneers - people who love the unknown, who love to go to new places and try new things. And it's great.

I am not a pioneer. And I have wrestled with that over the last year or so. I am a settler, called to ministry within the body of Christ in its local setting. I am called to the church - to the broken and wounded and hurting within the walls of the church community. Yes, I have a heart for those outside the walls of the church, but my passion ignites for those who have entered in, and are looking to be met - to be human, to be healed.

Nothing excites me more than a situation like last night. A young woman with whom I have walked life on an intensely close level got up and spoke out her story. She spoke truth, and healing, and I felt breakthrough. Nothing makes me want to celebrate like watching this young woman succeed, like watching her life knit itself together into something beautiful, like watching her find beauty in the ash heap that had defined her life.

I'm thrilled to be part of a community of pioneers. I think they're doing amazing things, and I hope I get to go along for the ride occasionally. But I'm not about pioneering. I'm about building from within so that those with a pioneering spirit can be sent out in strength and healing.